Café Richard

A short story: 

Once upon a time, after living in France for over a year, the Lancelots each went on their Saturday runs separately. Lady L to Marché Bastille for a kale-sighting and Sir L for a haircut/run combo. 

They decided to reunite afterwards at the central in-between spot of the palace-like Hôtel de Ville in the Marais. 

When Lady Lancelot was near the horrid and scary dungeon department story of BHV, she phoned her brave and newly coiffed Sir L to see where he was. 

He replied in his brave and heroic voice, "I quickly went into BHV to slay the mean and ugly dragons (as in sales people that don't help you) and now am catching my breath, relaxing at a nearby café." 

Lady Lancelot replied, "Oh you poor thing! But thank you for defeating the BHV army for us both! What café are you at my dear Sir Lancelot?" she asked. 

"Café Richard," he answered. 

Lady Lancelot searched and searched for this corner café where her Lancelot love claimed he was. It was nowhere to be found. She quickly gave up and phoned him again desperately searching for him near and far.

And that's because Sir Lancelot thought that the coffee brand he was drinking at the café which is the SAME coffee brand (as in Café Richard) they serve at literally every café in Paris and printed on every single coffee cup at these cafés, was the name of the actual café. 

Welcome to Lancelot Land my friends. 

... And scene. 

***This post is dedicated to my Grandma and Aunt Diane because while I was home in America they  told me that they were tired of seeing a red Turkish flag and want me to start writing more! 

Istanbul I

It's time for a girls trip! My mom and cousin Ana (who I went to Italy with last year) all met this morning in Istanbul. Instead of thinking that I will document our trip when I return (which I never did with the Loire Valley, Normandy, Cap Ferret, etc) I am going to share the highlights of each day with you. Plus since my dad was not able to tag along (he has yet to retire from teaching) and always wanted to see Istanbul, I hope this makes him feel more included and like he's here with us. 

Both having big travel days and an overnight flight, arrived in good spirits but we wanted to keep the day simple. A walk around the neighborhood where the hotel is and a good lunch. There is nothing like airplane/airport food to make you crave a big lunch. We're all still very much addicted to buying actual travel books and then use the internet for secondary advice. And my Frommer's book called out a fantastic fish restaurant by the water, right next to the fish market.

As we left the hotel it began to rain. My mother is convinced that she brings a cold front with her wherever she goes. Is she heading to Florida? Yep, it won't be 80 degrees but 65. Heading to New Jersey for a beach week? Rain the entire time. Oh? Istanbul when it's supposed to be 65 degrees? Try 45 and rain... which is our forecast for the entire week. We knew it would be hit or miss and are going to enjoy our one day of forecasted sun this Sunday.

The walk from our hotel (recommended by a friend) to the fish restaurant was for lack of a better word - masculine. I've never traveled to a country with strong Muslim influence so I was not sure why we did not see any women on the street. I'm not exaggerating. There was not one woman in sight! As our walk continued down the hilly road with a narrow sidewalk, we began to see why. There were lamp stores and hardwares stores. Stores specializing in bolts and nuts. Stores specializing in ropes. Clearly it was the "lighting" district. Imagine if every department of Home Depot was divided into different shops. We were on that street - clearly not a place many women would even want to be.

At last we found the fish restaurant. It was 3:30pm and I crossed my fingers that they were still open for lunch. Success and thank goodness because I had two tired and hungry people with me. 

The owner immediately seated us and brought up a tray of the fresh fish options that were caught earlier today. The bread came out warm and we quickly devoured everything. The restaurant was simple and not expensive and we could not have asked for a better first meal in Turkey.

Do you ever envision your first meal somewhere? Like when Ana and I went to Italy last year and arrived later than planned on a Sunday and nothing was open. We were dreaming of pasta all day and had to wait another 24 hours. This meal delivered. Crisp salad, tomatoes that are actually the true red color you would expect of such fruit and fish grilled in light olive oil and lemon juice. Perfection. 

Unfortunately the rain continued and became heavier as we continued the walk. We attempted to go see a mosque nearby (Arab Mosque) but could not really find the entrance. Plus we knew that there are the specific prayer times each day and had no idea when they are - so did not go in with the fear of disrespecting a bunch of men who work in the light industry. 

The masculine theme of the walk continued as we ventured back to our hotel. Black & Decker, leaf blowers, tractors, small riding lawn mowers. Any fisherman supplies are at your fingertips. Hooks, anchors, ropes, boueys, nets... you name it. This is the quartier for commercial fishermen... which we are not. 

We then worked our way into the toilet section. I mean... truly this is man heaven. My dad would have loved it. Pick a snow blower and then your perfect toilet seat!

But it all felt a bit strange and probably was not the best "first impression" walk of the city - especially in the rain. As Ana said, "This is not the Istanbul I saw on the internet." 

We were double puzzled because our hotel is supposed to be in a "cooler/gentrified" area and we just weren't seeing it. 

Finally we arrived at the top of a steep hill and saw the restaurants and cafes we were hoping were by our hotel. Given that we felt like wet dogs, we picked a warmly lit spot and enjoyed a juice, tea and cappuccino while planning our week ahead (and carefully considering the dismal weather forecast). It may be a chain but it hit the spot.

Mom and Ana are taking a little cat nap right now and then we're staying for dinner at the hotel. We'll take on the rain tomorrow. 

Addresses: 

Karakoy Balikcilar Carsisi (Karakoy Fish Market) 

Arap Camii (Arab Mosque)

15 Futuhat Sok

The House Cafe

Asmalı Mescit Mh. General Yazgan Sk

Bjork in Paris

Do you go to a lot of concerts? I used to love seeing live music. And during my college years and first few years in New York, I'd even go see DJs like Paul Oakenfold and Armin van Buuren. Hilarious right? I was a closet trance fan but it is that trance music that got me through marathon training.

As time went on, I'd make sure to buy tickets for bands like The XX, Florence and the Machine (I've seen her six times), Phoenix, Passion Pit, etc. The concerts normally were in relatively "local" places like Central Park, Terminal 5 on the midtown west side of Manhattan and every once in awhile would be in the bandshell in Prospect Park. Yet, I never had any issues going to and from the concerts. No rammed subways. I could always find a taxi. It just seemed easier.

Cut to Paris. Sir Lancelot rarely gets out of work on time to make an 8pm show.

A lot of the venues that host our favorite bands/singers are on the outskirts of Paris.

I don't like standing and being pushed around as much as I used to.

Plus we never eat dinner before the show and I find myself waiting for the show to start and then be over just so I can go eat.

It's to the point that we didn't even go to the Feist concert because the thought of heading out to Le Zenith seemed just too daunting. And Hot Chip? We went in, discovered they would not come on stage until 11:30pm and peaced out.

Where did my concert loving self go? Is it just age? I'm just almost 29. Surely that should not account for being a concert-hater.

Yet when I saw that Bjork was coming to Paris, I knew that this was something we could not miss. While I do not even own her newer music, I listened to Bjork all the time in high-school and there is a special place in my heart for some of her melodies. First sort-of boyfriend going off to college memories. First make-out in a random park memories. The first time I broke a 6-minute mile at a track meet memories. Staying up until 3am (and getting up at 6:30am!) trying to finish a DNA-model mobile (it was hideous) memories. Trust me, I have no desire to be 15 again, but her music brings back lovely times!

And finally... I enjoyed a concert. For the first time in a long time. At the start, It wasn't promising. Bjork was also at Le Zenith (where we bagged Feist) and decided to take a taxi since all the metros stop are surrounding this larger industrial park and it was dark. Our initial thought was that the taxi driver would leave us closest to the venue. Of course he didn't. We had to walk for about 20 minutes through random paths in this park, searching for the lack of signs pointing to the venue. Finally we joined the stream of people rushing towards the main doors.

After you get over the fact that you're in the middle of no-where and the horrible red/grey interior of the building which felt something like I imagine a spaceship (which actually is appropriate for Bjork), the venue itself was fantastic. Big where there was energy but small enough where we had seats and it still felt like an intimate concert.

And...there was no opening act and Bjork came on only 10 minutes after we sat down. Concert bliss.

As I expected she was crazy wearing a weird wig and a dress that was covered in rubber breasts. She only played about three of her oldies but the spectacle was just that. A spectacle.

Plus she finished early enough so we still were able to eat dinner.

For a walk down memory lane to a good intro playlist to Bjork, listen to my favorites on Spotify here. 

Throwback Thursday: The Trouville Brocante

For Sir Lancelot's birthday we took a five-day trip to Normandy. Staying in Cabourg at The Grand Hotel (I just felt like I was in a 1930s movie every night!), we drove to different towns each day.

One late afternoon after visiting the seaside town of the Honfleur, the sun was still shining to we chose to take the scenic route and pass through Trouville. It was an odd two hours that we spent here.

While the sky and sun were bright, the weather was cold and the wind was picking up. It was the first week in November after all. And since it was turning cold and was around 5pm, there was no reason not to indulge in the first vin chaud of the season. 

On our walk towards the weekend brocante, I spotted this deserted building which looked as if it was something right out of the Boardwalk Empires set - glorified, art deco Ocean City (clearly nothing what Ocean City is like now...). What used to be a spot for war veterans, it was now empty... stuck in time... I could just imagine the dances or elegant events in those large windows. Now with a few construction cranes around, it was/is in the process of being gutted and made into a hotel/casino. Gross. I just hope that the group that bought the building has the intelligence to keep the structure and old charm. 

We weren't sure what to expect with Trouville and to be honest were not overly thrilled with the town itself. It's as if the town is going through an identity crisis and can not figure out whether to be a casino town catering to tourists that like casinos or a town that caters to families who enjoy cheesy carnival rides. What it is not is a town that caters to a young couple just passing through. Point in case, maybe stop by if it's warm and walk on the beach, but if it's not warm, I would bypass Trouville all together and just spend the day in neighboring town Deauville.

What we did find was at the brocante. Let's be honest, Sir Lancelot could find something to buy in a stack of needles. We found this painting. The two women manning the stand were around 70 years old and perfectly manicured. Painted lips and eyebrows, bouffant hair and all the words they needed about some random painter who really was quite famous... to convince Sir L to buy.

In his defense, it does go with his theme of painting victorian women in ball gowns and I adore the colors. But here is what I just can't get out of my head...

Doesn't it look like the woman at the desk is on a computer wasting time Facebook? 

I'm convinced the conversation happening here is the lady in pink saying to her friend in blue:

"Oh, you mustn't tag me in that photo of our day at Versailles with that bitch Marie-Antoinette... please... she's just so insufferable." 

A Snowy Walk to L'Alpette

On our last day of winter holiday, Sir Lancelot finally was able to get out of bed earlier and we did not dilly-dally during breakfast which meant he was able to hit the slopes by 9:30am. For those that know us well, this is a HUGE feat. 

While he was going to have a few early morning le surf runs, I did not have my downhill skiing lesson until 12:30pm... what to do. Luckily when there are a million mountains around a hike is always a good option. 

So I took my camera and the telecabin up a mountain with Sir L and then hiked from there. The early light was bright as the sun aimed to break through the clouds - which it did just in time for my sad attempt at ski alpine. I vigorously hiked for around 30 minutes until I reached the top with an altitude of 1,895 meters. Not amazingly high perhaps but the views proved otherwise. 

It's not very often that I find myself hiking up a big hill in the snow, trying not to fall, in the morning light. Not very often at all. There isn't much light in Paris and definitely no light shining into our bedroom as the courtyard shadows shield it. 

It was me, my Moon Boots and the Alps. There is something about being in nature and surrounded by trees instead of obnoxious French men trying to drive their scooters over me on Parisian sidewalks that can really do some good for your mental health.

The destination was L'Alpette, a well known lunch spot, that while we did not eat at, is sort of an institution of types in Megève. And after the long hike uphill that I took, I could have used a hearty lunch. I just love the look of the place. Isn't it just what a top-of-the-Alps restaurant should look like?

Exploring your own neighborhood.

Last night I had drinks with an old colleague back from the days I advertised sugar kids cereal. He is from LA and our working relationship was mostly by phone at odd hours and then we'd spend a few weeks here and there if we were doing commercial shoots in LA. He was in Paris after spending a few intense weeks in Europe for various production projects and we met up at his hotel near Etoile. 

Luckily it was so close to our apartment that I was able to walk there in less than ten minutes. What I realized while walking there is how there is so much of the surrounding streets around our apartment that I don't know at all. I took a back way to the hotel in an effort to walk down a random street and found: 

I found two small cafés that look like perfect places for an apero once the weather warms up. I found an independent bio store that had a relatively good variety of bulk items - including walnuts - which are more difficult than you would expect to find, bulk or not bulk. I found a crappy sushi place that maybe will be good for a cheeky take-out lunch. 

What I also discovered is that there is so much of my neighborhood that I really don't know. It's like once I found the few convenient places, I quit exploring and I'm not sure why. There is something about exploring here that I have hesitation about. I'm not very good at it. Maybe I was never good at it and since I was never really good at it, I'm even worse at it in a foreign language. Maybe it's because I have "more" time to explore and so do less exploring. Or is it that I feel guilty exploring when I'm trying to create something that is more of a normal job type schedule. I'm not sure. 

What I do know is that I need to make more of an effort - even if it's just once a week - to walk around my neighborhood more and explore what's in my own backyard.

Greetings from Megève!

Lancelots are on location this week in Megève. 

Sir L is hitting the slopes on his snowboard which is called le surf, in French. And I'm making an effort to the enjoy the snow with a few cross-country ski lessons and lunches including rosé on top the mountain. Plus after Sunday, the sun came out and is supposed to be out all week! 

French BFF

Sometimes you just miss your girlfriends. 

***This is not my photo by I can't for the life of me remember where I took it from. So if it's your photo, please let me know so I can credit you! 

Throwback Thursday: The Tale of the Moving Books

I'm having fun with my Throwback Thursdays. It's been a nice little trip down memory lane of a year ago and there are so many things that happened that I actually never wrote about.

On this Thursday, I'm going to tell you about our moving day into our Paris apartment. We'd already spent a month in temporary housing in the 8ème near the Courcelles métro - actually not that far from where we live now. From what we were allowed to bring with us via plane and not shipment, we had the quite the schlep via taxi from the temp place to our new home. We also had to somehow manage transporting the eight chairs that we'd bought at the flea market.

Move in day was pretty intense mainly because Sir Lancelot's mother had passed way the day before, actually not even 24 hours before and we'd arranged to have all of her belongings from Spain arrive at the same time, so we wafted through her scent of Gardenia perfume and cigarette smoke a little too soon for comfort. 

Aside from the emotional aspect, the movers quickly brought everything in via the street elevator through our windows and then started unpacking. Their agreement is that they unpack all boxes and leave everything on a flat surface - which all sounds fantastic until you realize that they've unpacked a box of crystal glasses on your bedroom floor because your dining room floor is covered in random furniture that actually belongs in your bedroom. It's hard to make big decisions like "yes, please put that couch in that corner - oh wait, that corner is filled with coats - so I guess you can just put that couch in the other room for now." But the other room is really where the table goes. By the time you leave, everything is on flat surfaces but feels utterly upside down. 

Then there is the time-old issue of French closets, or the lack of French closets. I'm not a priss about closets. My first New York apartment, my lovely father built me a closet - and to this day it is the best best closet I've ever had. In my second NY apartment, I was glad to have a closet!! It was small, but it was my own! In my third NY apartment, my rent stayed the same but I upgraded to two closets and a coat closet. I felt like I'd hit the closet jackpot. Then when Sir L and I were engaged and moved into together, I had one bigger closet all for me and a coat closet but we also had other closets in a hallway to just put stuff into. Clearly when I moved in, those other closets which were pretty empty became filled very quickly. Why do us women just have more stuff? 

But back to France. No closets. We were lucky enough to have one room which would act as a laundry room, pantry, linen closet, basement and coat closet. I am thankful for this room each and every day.  I never would have thought there would be such an issue of self storage with our Paris apartment. No wonder the French are known for having so many armoirs in their apartments since there literally is no where else they put their stuff.

Move in day!

But here it is after. It's a small room with a lot of functions and I'm not able to get a good view of each function.

Then there is the second room. Which now functions as a place to hold furniture we didn't think we would have (inherited from Sir L's mom) and our made-to-order clothes closet and all the books. 

Sir L already owned about 500 books when we inherited another 1000 or so from his mom. And in Chez Nous there were no shelves to speak of. Luckily our helpful handy-lady from the local hardware store (we call her Mrs. Fix-It), recommended a handy-man who we call Mr. Manu. He built our shelves but not until December. So for two months we lived with the books.... everywhere. I think Sir L had to move the books about 5 times. And this is only 1/3 of them - the rest are in our cave. 

Sir L prepping our temporary closest which collapsed during day 2.

After!

It's been an interesting chain of events and I would say that by the beginning of 2012 we were pretty settled. Frames hung (also by Mr. Manu) and everything pretty much in its place. 

Chez Lancelot 3 days after moving in!

We feel very fortunate to be able to call this lovely place our home.