The woes of traveling at Christmas....

We all have crazy travel/airport stories. One of mine happens to be from last year's "Snowmageddon" (who comes up with these stupid names?) where I had the pleasure of spending the longest 24 hours of my life at JFK Airport.

As me and Sir L were engaged at the time, we decided to do Christmas apart.

He conveniently planned a business trip to Paris the week before Christmas and then would fly to Barcelona to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas with his mother. I would join them on December 27 for a week of Barcelona sunshine and a festive New Year's Eve.

Of course it did not go according to plan. And while this story is not about France or our life in Paris, it was traumatic enough event that I feel like writing a post to remember it by. Plus one of my favorite American Girl in Paris blogs wrote about her experience last year which made me really think back "fondly" on mine.

The Scene: Paris, Pittsburgh & Barcelona. Followed by Penn Station & JFK Airport. 


December 8: Paris is hit with a "tremendous" amount of snow. Snow reached 10 centimeters or about 4 inches. Charles de Gaulle uses up all plane de-icing fluid, etc because of this "storm."

December 18: London's Heathrow Airport is shut down for a week because of minimal snow which paralyzed the entire city and suburbs.

Lady Lancelot remarks, "Well, I'm flying British Airways to Barcelona through Heathrow but it will be cleaned up by then." 

Lady Lancelot also remarks, "I can't believe how London was not able to handle this snow! JFK is able to handle anything."


December 19: Sir Lancelot's flight to London for a meeting is cancelled. He flies out on Tuesday and the meeting is cancelled. Lady L is happy she has two extra days with her fiance.

December 22: Lady Lancelot flies to Pittsburgh for Christmas with her family.

Lady Lancelot says to her co-worker before she leaves, "I just want a drama-free flying experience. Please."

December 23: Paris cuts 50% of flights due to shortage of anti-freeze fluid to de-ice planes. An emergency supply is flown in from US overnight (ha ha ha...imagine snicker from American Lady Lancelot as Sir L explains this over phone).

Sir L's 4pm flight from Paris to Barcelona is originally delayed by 2 hours, then 4 hours then finally cancelled at 10pm. It takes Sir L 3 hours to realize he won't be flying anywhere for Christmas.

Madame Tootle is dressed up in her Barcelona flat ready to go to dinner with her son. Clearly she is disappointed that we won't be arriving.

Because Sir L is an executive, his Paris hotel where he always stays picks him up at the airport, he sleeps on a comfortable bed and they book him a private carriage on the overnight train from Paris to Barcelona for the next evening.

He will have to spend Christmas Eve somewhere in Northern Spain. "Bon Noël indeed," he says, "At least there is a door with a lock so I can be alone."


December 25: Christmas Day. Sir L is with Madame T. and Lady L is with her family and they bolt over to Baltimore for a large dinner. There is rumoring of a large storm set to hit the entire East Coast on December 26. Lady L drinks copious amounts of red wine to pretend the storm isn't going to happen.

December 26: Lady L wakes up bright and early and immediately checks out weather.com and views the bad news from the 12-hour radar. Not looking good. She begins to cry and have a 26-year-old tantrum in front of family before anyone's consumed coffee.

She takes the train from Baltimore to New York. The snow begins while on the train. She tricks herself into thinking that it's really not that bad and not coming down that hard.

The snow begins to stick.

3:30pm: Lady L takes a cab and risks her life heading to JFK Airport. She knows the flight will be cancelled but has to check-in anyways just in case a miracle happens.

It doesn't.

And Scene. 


Facebook let me document the evening and now the Facebook Timeline feature lets me truly relive it.

Of course the original flight was finally cancelled at 9:30pm.  Meanwhile the snow came down harder and harder and the winds reached up to 60 mph leaving no possibility for snow to be cleared. I somehow got ushered onto the "last flight" that would leave JFK. I'm terrified and crying as I practically see the wings of the plane getting torn off by the wind. It didn't feel right and I felt like I had to make my "goodbye" calls before takeoff. Of course the flight was cancelled the storm only got worse. The flight attendant told everyone that it would not take off and they had blankets and food coupons since everyone would be sleeping in the airport.

I thought to myself, "Well, lucky for me I live in Manhattan and can just get home and sleep in my own bed." Nope. The subways were shut, the taxis stopped coming hours ago and I was snowed-in at the prettiest airport in the United States.

I went to the bar for two hours until it shut (who shuts the airport bar at 10pm when all the flights are cancelled? It's not like the bartender could get home!) and then took a NyQuil, wrapped myself in my cape jacket and used my carry-on bag as a pillow. With eye mask and iPod, I was able to sleep until 8:30am.

At around 4:30pm taxis started to show up at the airport again with hopeful travelers. I went back home booked on a flight that was supposed to leave the following day. I didn't get out until December 28, out of Newark on a business class ticket because it was all I could get.

I made it in one piece and am very thankful that I was able  spend a week with my lovely late mother-in-law. We dressed up each night for dinner and wore high heels and furs and carried gold clutches. We secretly talked about my wedding dress and what the wedding flowers were going to be.

The travel woes of 2010 are the main reason that Sir Lancelot and I decided to stay put for the Christmas holiday.

I guess everyone gets their chance to spend a night at an airport. Glad mine is over and hope it never happens again!

Paris is Festive: Vintage Christmas

And tonight, on Christmas Eve while Sir Lancelot and I prepare our festive Christmas roast, we toast to our lovely family and friends and of course those we miss dearly. As we drink champagne and red wine and dance to Kate Bush (it's a Sir L Christmas Eve tradition), we remind ourselves how thankful we are for each other and this beautiful city we live in.

L'hiver

A photo for yesterday: the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year.

Paris is Festive: The Tree at Chez Lancelot

Paris is Festive and Chez Lancelot is festive. Even though it's just the two of us for Christmas, we wanted to keep tradition and bought our own Parisian tree.

Imported from Russia.

I guess French kids don't get the joyful family experience of hot cocoa, tractor rides out to tree fields and picking and cutting down their own.








Buying a tree is not very romantic here.   You are able to find them at most overpriced flower shops. The trees are even more overpriced than the flowers. I won't even tell you what this one cost. I thought NYC was bad? Hah. Plus you don't even get very much tree at the top. Like French women, the trees are skinny as well.

The one plus is that apparently these Russian trees do not need water. Instead of a tree stand (which let's be honest is the biggest pain in the butt ever), you have the tree trunk placed into a larger chunk of wood that acts as the stand sans H20.

When we questioned the tree salesperson about this her response was this: "Our trees aren't like American trees. They don't need water and will last through both holidays." 




Really? I beg to differ. While not having to deal with annoying tree stands that never work is good for Sir Lancelot, I'm not sold on the fact that a plant does not need watered.  Now that we've had the tree for almost three weeks, I'm starting to see the affects of not watering. The needles do not drop off unless you touch the tree but the branches themselves have drooped beyond belief.

Our tree decorating evening was almost ruined by the fact that we realized - on a Sunday nonetheless - that we did not have tree lights with Euro plugs. Oops. That would mean waiting an entire week to put the tree up which we did not want to do.














Luckily for us, in December, Paris turns into America and every store is open on Sundays. And let me tell you, the French love it. Everywhere is packed! Clearly they aren't sitting at home thinking how awful American consumerism is... they're out there partaking!

Point being, we were able to buy these ridiculous LED lights which have every blinking, fading, short blinks, fast blinks, all blinks in one, crazy function except just ON. We finally found a calm, light blinking feature that does not put you into seizures.

Somehow we successfully strung the tree which for us takes much longer than it should for two educated human beings... trust me. Stress levels get high and the biggest discussion every year is whether to start stringing it from the bottom or the top. This year I won only because the lights forced us to start stringing from the bottom.








Finally my favorite part are the ornaments. Being the nostalgic person I am, I like to sit and take out each ornament one at a time and talk about it. Sir Lancelot did not grow up with this tradition but I make him do it anyways.

We have ornaments from my grandparent's last Christmas, my first Christmas tree in New York, gifts as a child, gifts from friends, places Sir L and I have traveled and so on...

This year my mom sent me a few choice ones from home (how could I have forgotten that I bought a Madonna ornament in 2005?)

I was obsessed with "Confessions On A Dance Floor"

Upon arrival, I made Sir L sit through another round of talking about each ornament since these were new ones he'd never seen before! I mean, how could he not care about the point shoe ornament that I received in 1994?

To top off the Christmas festivity at Chez Lancelot, I convinced Sir L to let me use little houses (circa 1950 or so) and this Père Noël on our mantle.  My grandma has a massive Santa collection which she is now gifting. Here he is making his Parisian debut!











We've been fortunate enough to have a few invitations for Christmas dinner but decided to just stay put in our little holiday heaven.

Sir L will do an English roast (which I already pre-ordered on my own at the boucherie!) complete with yorkshire pudding, Christmas pudding and whatever other weird English puddings are out there and I'll make sure we have some steamed broccoli. My defense is it's a green tree and goes with the Christmas theme!

Joyeux Noël!

Paris is Festive: Champs-Élysées

Braving the cold and the mass amount of people, Sir Lancelot and I spent Saturday evening in the belly of the beast of Paris Christmas markets, on the Champs-Élysées.

We enjoyed vin chaud, getting pushed around by French people (more so than tourists) and ended our walk by Concorde. The lights lining the streets have come under a lot of criticism this year and Parisians and long-time expats are not fans of the circular hoola-hoopish lights. But as your walk further down towards the markets, more lights appear (like above) and the energy from the markets overcomes the sci-fi feel of the tree lights.  Still, another reason that Paris is Festive!

Julia & Lady Lancelot: Boeuf Bourguignon

Not to go all Amy Adams on everyone but last week I was busy Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

So busy that I barely had time to write anything until today. OK, well to be honest I didn't really master too much but I did try my first Julia Child recipe: Boeuf Bourguignon.

Sir Lancelot gave me the double-set of cookbooks for my birthday this past summer and it's taken me until now to build up the courage to attempt one of her recipes. I don't even think I opened the book until last week. For those that have not seen it, it's quite intimidating.

People who know me really well are probably shocked that I even attempted this recipe because the main ingredient is red meat.

I have never cooked red meat before. I didn't grow up watching my mom cook with it and don't think I have the red meat gene or instinct of what to do with meat like I do with (get ready for it).... kale.

Not only had I never cooked red meat, I also had never bought it. The intelligent version of me would have gotten my feet wet in America and bought some beef at Whole Foods, but of course I decide to just dive in and navigate my way through a Parisian boucherie.

I arrived more prepped for this shopping trip than any before. I knew exact amount of lardons and boeuf I would need to cut the recipe in half. I converted pounds and ounces to grams and had any other key French words written down and was on my way.

When I do any shopping in Paris, I really prefer to do it during "off" hours so that there are less people around me to 1) be annoyed that I'm stumbling over elementary words and 2) I get the best attention from the shopkeepers.

And I lucked out at the boucherie, because I was the only one in there the entire time. This meant when I said, lardons three times and the man still didn't understand me, no one knew but us! I finally showed him my shopping list and then he understood.

"Uhhhh, lardons, bien sur," as he placed about a millimeter more emphasis on the n.

What made me very proud was that his recommendations for three people (the Lancelots are piggys), were exactly around the amounts that I calculated I needed. Isn't everyone proud to know that I can use Google converters without messing up? All in all, my first solo boucherie trip went very very well. I love when I win and France doesn't!

Now that the scary part of buying the meat was complete, I had to face the scary part of actually touching the meat. And by touching, I mean cutting and fondling and getting pretty close to it. But I did it. Two inch pieces of beef were prepped and ready to go all by my two hands. The beef playtime continued as I lightly browned the meet in the pan. I could I could not wait to just sauté vegetables again.

Yes and by following the J. Child's recipe word for word meant I would be preparing the carrots separately from the mushrooms and the mushrooms separately from the petite onions. But all in butter.

This was another moment where the What Would Sharzie Do whispers came into my ears saying, "Don't you just want to make a nice big bowl of seaweed and miso soup right now"? 


It was too late and there was no turning back now - I mean I'd successfully handled the meat - I was on a roll!

While letting the meat cook for 2.5 hours in our just small enough oven, I prepped the mushrooms, petite onions and enjoyed the one leftover glass of wine from the Chianti that J. Child's recommended I use for broth.

The entire house smelled of cooked beef goodness. After it was finished cooking, I went to a yoga class wearing the same shirt that I cooked in. The entire class secretly wanted to eat me.

So how did it turn out? Pretty good to taste although not that pretty to the eye which is why I'll leave out the "after" photo. There are definitely a few things that I will do differently next time or pay more attention to. But  that's the best outcome is that I want there to be a next time! (It sounds like I went on a first date with this cooking experience...)

All in all, my first J. Child's recipe adventure was a success. The meat was juicy and flavorful, Sir Lancelot was impressed, I was relieved that I followed a recipe so well. Most importantly I learned so much from just one afternoon of intense cooking. I think I'm going to try something with duck next. Biggest question is: What Would Sharzie Do? 

Single girl behavior in Paris' 17th

This post goes out to Sarah Mama (and of course my first NYC roommates Katie & Suzi) back in the big NYC because they loved Eighth Avenue Saigon 48 Thai take-out just as much me!

When we lived in New York, Sir Lancelot traveled a lot. In fact, he traveled a lot to Paris - which is one of the main reasons we moved here. His traveling left me with a week here or there of alone time which for an only child is secretly a good thing.

While I cherish every second we have together, I also looked forward to being able to do things that I wouldn't ever do if he is home.

Aside from reading New York Magazine backwards in a bubble bath, I would make it a priority to have at least two nights (ok, sometimes four nights) of take-out, red wine and hours of DVR Bravo! TV. I would not cook, wash dishes and in the mornings I wouldn't make the bed. It was single-girl/alone time/only child/whatever you want to call it heaven.

So you can imagine my delight when I found this little gem of a restaurant literally around the corner, not even a half-block away from our apartment. Voila! Thai food! And it's not that bad.

Now that Sir Lancelot is getting into a work rhythm, there are nights where he is at the office way past an acceptable dinner hour which leaves me with two choices: #1 Go to the market down the street in the cold and dark and buy fresh groceries and cook something or #2 Go to Orchidee Thai around the corner and order veggies and pad thai and be back on my couch in less than 20 minutes.

My inner-voice says to me "What would Sharzie do?" (Sharzie being my strict, macrobiotic mother who raised me vegetarian until I skipped off to Penn State). She'd pick #1. Then my inner lazy self overcomes the WWSD whispers and I skip off to order some spring rolls.

The only thing missing is the Bravo TV but luckily I have back episodes of Gossip Girl to illegally stream to keep me company.

Last night was around the third or fourth night (no, not in a row) where I've gone here for take-out and the ladies are starting to recognize me. Then again, I'm sure it's not hard to remember the blonde girl who orders the same thing and can't really communicate. This recognition does ensure me a glass of wine while I wait for my food.

To top it all off, they have a stack of French gossip magazines to peruse (ahem, and practice my French reading skills).

This photo was the highlight from last night. Here is what Public things Will & Kate's kids will look like. Terrifying right??!?

Paris is Festive: Place de la Concorde

December 21st is fast approaching, which I know for many is a positive thing. My family considers it the best day of the year since from that point on, the days will only get longer.

One of the biggest differences from Paris to New York, or Pittsburgh for that matter, is in the winter, it is always dark. When I walk to French at 8am, light is just peaking through the night sky.

The same goes for the afternoon where dusk arrives by 4:30 or so, which makes the days seem extremely short and makes me want to get home even earlier for hibernation.

This past week on my wandering late-afternoon walk home, I was greeted with the parting of week-long clouds to these beautiful colors of a Parisian sky. The light from this time of day with the illumination from the holiday ferris wheel was an extraordinary contrast. If only my iPhone could have done the scene better justice.

It was the perfect moment for a glass of not-so-great vin chaud, a 10 euro ferris wheel ride and the sunset filled sky. This ride was the cherry on top and made me feel perfectly OK being back in Paris. Seeing the entire city from a new viewpoint was exactly what I needed.

This lovely experience is just one of the festive activities Paris offers over the holidays. If you're here, I recommend the ride and taking in the 360 view.

The Grinch got invited to a Christmas party: part deux

Instead of bringing Roast Beast we brought wine that was on sale! 

Fah who for-aze. Fah who for-aze! Dah who dor-aze Dah who dor-aze! Welcome Christmas, Welcome Christmas, Come this way! 

Aren't you singing along now? 

So this afternoon was the big French soiree at our neighbor's apartment and the Grinch made it out alive!   


In typical Lancelot style, we arrived about 30 minutes late but luckily for us, being late is pretty French. Still pretty pathetic considering our commute consisted of walking out our apartment door. 

To be completely honest, we were really nervous about going to the party. You'd think for two people that work in advertising that a small get together with some harmless mingling wouldn't be a big deal. I'm not sure if it was because it was Sunday or at our neighbors or that I was practically peeing my pants about the whole language issue. Needless to say, it felt like a first date and I had butterflies in my stomach. So silly. Turns out it wasn't a party with our entire building but a party for our neighbor's friends - which makes more sense. 

We were not sure what's appropriate to bring to a French party. We brought a bottle of wine. It was on special at the Nicholas (major French wine store chain) down the street. Our neighbors probably bought the same bottle of wine yesterday and knew we got it on special. When we gave it to them, the husband placed the bottle (wrapped) on the dining room table amongst all the other food. He never unwrapped it. It just sat on table in the middle of everything with out a real place the entire time we were there. If anyone has some insight as to what we should have brought - please tell me. 

I think the Bonjour kisses go a bit overboard. I do think the French custom of the "kiss" is quite sweet but there are moments where it feels excessive. It makes sense that we double kiss the hosts but when we go around meeting about ten people at one time do we really all need to be smooching each other on the cheeks? I only talked to two of the ten people we met. Then there is the issue of my hands during the kiss. Do I still shake their hand? Do I clasp them and put them behind my back? What about the rest of my body? Do I lean really far forward or am I expected to move in a bit? It's really a lot to think about for someone that I don't know and might never know. Sir Lancelot is no help in this department since he was back and forth between Geneva and England his whole life and could never figure the whole thing out. We're both confused and end up making out with at least someone at some point whether holding hands or not. 

It's still really awkward with our neighbor. As I wrote in my first post about this party, we didn't get off to a good start. Today, he answered the door when we arrived and barely said anything. It's almost as if he doesn't know how to speak French. You can tell he's a nice guy but really reserved which means he's quiet and mumbles so if he's asking me if I want more vin chaud, I have no idea what he says. It turns into this mumbling half-conversation of shrugs and weird facial expressions. I just try to smile to make it all go away. I normally find that almost everyone here knows a little bit of English. You know, words like "good" or "ok." Not our neighbor. I just need to remind myself more often that I live in France and need to automatically say d'accord instead of "ok."

I really wanted to see more of their apartment. I'm nosy and can't help it. Given that they're right next door, their front two rooms were almost the mirror image of ours. I was dying to head past the foyer to check out their two bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen. I was curious to see what their closet situation is like and how they organized their storage room. Unfortunately, it's very French to never show anyone the rest of your apartment so we never left the front two rooms. I don't think it's fair. To me since we live next door and share the same courtyard and practically the same apartment, we should have been given a little sneak peak - something special for the expats of the party. 

The homemade vin chaud (mulled wine) was really good. But you were not allowed to drink it freely. It was offered to us when we came in but was safely kept in the kitchen in the back. Probably a good thing for a Sunday afternoon. 

I'm really getting used to being introduced as "the American woman who only speaks English." No one can help introducing me that way - I get it but still come on people can you at least add "but she is learning French!" to the end of the statement? 

We were there for about an hour and a half. I made an advertising contact which will be good when job hunting starts in two months or so. And for the first time in forever, Sir Lancelot and I cooked, ate and cleaned up dinner all by 7:30pm. All in time to illegally stream "The Grinch," and keep with the spirit of our day. 


Here's to a good week for all of you as the holiday season picks up!

Raclette with The Kooples

My brother-in-law and his girlfriend are really cool. Trop trop cool. Way cooler than we will ever be. Sir Lancelot and I think they should be part of The Kooples (a Franco-British clothing brand) advertising campaign. I mean if you set side my lame art direction skills, can you really tell which couple is the ad and which is my family? Nope.



So when The Kooples invite you over for dinner, you accept. Especially when that dinner will be raclette.

What is raclette you ask? It is a Swiss dining experience. Since Sir L spent his childhood in Geneva and The Kooples are born and raised there, we like to revisit traditions from their homeland. And it was a chilly, damp Paris night - so perfect for being cozy with cheese.

Like fondue, raclette is interactive and social which is why I would say it's more an experience than just eating cheese. But staying true to Swiss stereotypes, raclette truly is a A LOT of cheese. It's slices of Raclette cheese, roasted new potatoes, Cornichons (small pickles) and pickled onions, and thin slices of dried meat. It's also nice to have mustard on the side and to sprinkle paprika on top. And of course since The Kooples knew I was coming, they made sure to break tradition with some haricot vert for something green.

The interactive part comes into play when you play your slice of raclette on a small metal tray and into the raclette maker. It takes about 3-5 minutes for the cheese to melt. From there it's simple: cheese, potatoes, meat, pickles and onions. Cheesy heaven.




It's a fantastic culinary experience - unless you eat too much and go into a massive dairy coma - and yes, the Swiss also can go into a dairy coma.

The after effects of raclette are even worse if you are like the boys and compete to see who can eat the most slices. At one point they were doubling up.... clearly wanting to relive childhood raclette memories together as kids. Sir Lancelot paid for it later when I had to basically roll him home. Us girls stuck with around 4-6 pieces and still felt stuffed.

The final reason that raclette is such a social dining experience is that since you are consuming so much cheese at once, you are not supposed to drink water until much later after you finish eating. So the only other option is wine.

And there you have another way to eat very French - cheese and wine. It's everywhere you look and so hard to say no. I feel like I need a DARE program for cheese and wine here.










On a side note, Christmas is in full force here and Paris is by far a much more festive city than New York. I'm collecting lots of photos to share with folks back home so you can see the city at this time of year.

December

And before we knew it December was here again. Like every year, it has crept up and people say, "I can't believe it's already December." But it is.

There isn't much to say about this particular first of December. A friend who has been in my life the longest had a birthday, Paris was chilled and rainy and I felt a bit better about being back. 

Like clockwork, every December 1st, I put my Christmas playlist on repeat. It's been the same for at least 15 years (minus the recent Sufjan Stevens addition). The German and account management parts of me come out every once in awhile...

My favorite music on the playlist is George Winston's December.

I have listened to this album (yes, I say album because I remember my mom's vinyl) my entire life. I listened to December as my mom cooked, read me stories, practiced yoga, prepared for holiday gatherings and so on. It lasted through different homes, ages, bad Christmas outfits, American Girl doll presents and most importantly, twenty-six years of Christmas Eve readings of The Polar Express.  

This will be my first Christmas away from my family. I'm enjoying watching Christmas unfold on the streets of Paris and so excited to celebrate the first Lancelot Christmas in our new home. 

But as we prepare for December 25th and the upcoming festivities, George Winston will be on in the background and I will be thinking of you - my lovely mother - and thanking you for everything.