Street Performers in Paris

One of my goals while in Paris was to see some street performers. I think it is so cool that people showcase their talents (albeit some rather bizarre) in this way. I can only imagine it is more profitable for these young men than bagging groceries at the local SuperU. (Incidentally, grocery stores don't employ people to bag your groceries for you - you have to do it yourself). And I hope it means they are earning enough to keep them from attempting other less safe, less legal forms of street enterprise.

The first performance we encountered was a guy playing an amped guitar on the steps to Sacre Coeur. But we were quickly distracted from appreciating his campy cover tunes by this other young man and his balancing ball. In the photo below he is about 15 feet off the ground, having shimmied up the lamppost with the ball on his head the entire way. He also did all sorts of acrobatic maneuvers on a wall, all of which included the ball never touching the ground. It was pretty amazing.

Besides musicians in the subways and artists in the courtyards, the performance highlight for me was coming across dancers on the Champs-Elysee. I had just said to David and Janell that I wanted to see some street performers when we happened upon them. Little did I know when I took this video that they were just warming up / playing around in anticipation of their more refined, choreographed performance. Sadly, because I had already used a bit of memory in my camera for this video, I didn't get anything from the "real" show. But this is a pretty good sampling of what was to come. It was exactly what I was hoping to experience while in Paris!

*I cannot promise appropriate lyrics in the following video. In all honestly, I was too busy taking in the coolness to notice!

Hommage a la Tour Eiffel

For our family, the highlight of our Paris adventure had to be visiting the Eiffel Tower. Perhaps because it's glow-in-the-dark image graces the bubble-gum pink walls of our daughter's bedroom, or simply because of its iconic fame, we found ourselves in awe and insisted on seeing it both during the day and lit up by night.


Above is Montmarte and Sacre Coeur taken from the 2nd level of the tower. One can go all the way to the tippity top, but not this one. I was in death grip-mode at 350 feet (roughly a football field length UP), let alone the 896 feet-worth of height found up there! No way!
Below is the Arc de Triomphe.
We took a special trip out just to see the tower lit up at night. It was still a little early, but I think it made for better pictures this way instead of it being totally dark.


This final image is my favorite. A while back, when Vivi figured out we were going to be in France and that the Eiffel Tower happened to be there, too, she requested one thing for her birthday: To see the tower lit up at night. Granted, we are about 5 months early, but she didn't seem to mind.

Pieces of Paris

Just thought I'd add some more photos of Paris. The weather was pretty horrible, but hopefully you will agree a little photo editing made the memories look a little better.

l'Arc de Triomphe

Pont Alexandre

Je ne sais pas. (I don't know.) But it is rather pretty, isn't it?

I exercised great restraint by not going in this lovely shop to buy biscuits and jam, after all this isn't London and my purchases need to reflect such!
(Yes, I am buying lots of wine.)

We're finding every decent town in France has a "Hotel de Ville." I'm guessing this one is the grandest of them all.

Sacre Coeur at the top of Montmarte
My favorite part of this stop was reading the banners at the entrance way to the basilica. Bohdan was so impressed he took a picture and then shared this information with his entire class!

In French on the left and English on the right, it reads,
"Depuis 125 ans ici jour et nuit quelqu'un prie le Seigneur.
Venez adorer le Seigneur."
For 125 years here day and night somebody has been praying to the Lord.
Come and adore the Lord."
And inside there were signs that further indicated that indeed, for every hour, 24/7, prayer happens in this building and consistently has been happening for the past 125 years.
Can I get an "Amen?"

Next up, an Eiffel Tower photo shoot and hopefully some anecdotes from our adventures in Paris.

A Paris Tribute

Little did I know when my friends and I attended the Mama Mia Sing-Along at Regal Theaters over two years ago that I would have the chance to capture the lyrics to "Our Last Summer" in person, on film. Thanks to the company and idea of Janell, here it is:

Our Last Summer - Abba

The summer air was soft and warm
(Not so much. It was freezing and raw most of the time we were there.)
The feeling right, the Paris night
Did its best to please us

And strolling down the Elysee

View of the Arc de Triomphe taken while crossing the Champs de l'Elysee

We had a drink in each cafe
(I am horribly ashamed to admit we did not stop at any cafes for drinks. At 5.50euro for a hot chocolate, we simply couldn't justify it!)
And you
You talked of politics, philosophy and I

Smiled like Mona Lisa

The Actual Mona Lisa in the Louvre Museum

We had our chance
It was a fine and true romance

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all

Walks along the Seine,

Janell and I strolling along the river Seine.

laughing in the rain

You can't tell, but it is raining!

Our last summer
Memories that remain

We made our way along the river
And we sat down in the grass

By the Eiffel tower

Janell, Vivi and I (btw-Vivi knew exactly what and why we were doing this!)

I was so happy we had met
It was the age of no regret
Oh yes
Those crazy years, that was the time
Of the flower-power
)Sadly, the weather wasn't conducive to strolling through any of Paris's famous parks.)
But underneath we had a fear of flying
Of getting old, a fear of slowly dying
We took the chance
Like we were dancing our last dance

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all
In the tourist jam, round the Notre Dame

The Notre Dame

Our last summer
Walking hand in hand

Paris restaurants

Janell's first glass of wine while we waited for our lunch. It was a Morgon Rouge.

Our last summer
Morning croissants

Making our way back to the apartment with fresh baguette and croissants (in the bag).

Living for the day, worries far away
Our last summer
We would laugh and play

And now you're working in a bank
The family man, a football fan

I couldn't help include a shot from one of Bo's football matches!

And your name is Harry
How dull it seems
Yet you're the hero of my dreams?

My Dinner Dilemma

We're just shy of three months here and have already enjoyed numerous dinners a la Francais. Which is to say we've partaken of home-cooked meals made by locals, not that we've enjoyed home-cooked locals. ("That is called cannibalism, my dear children, And is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies."1) On the one hand, this has been wonderful. We've felt very welcome, enjoyed some truly amazing dishes, and experienced the most gracious of hosts willing to struggle along with us in chopped-up Franglish conversation. On the other hand, it has been quite intimidating as the list of gourmets we need to have over for "reciprocal dinners" keeps growing while I attempt to remain in denial.

Even though I'm known for using any excuse to throw a party (I once threw an impromptu celebration - with printed invitations and everything - when my then 3yr old son announced it was his favorite stuffed animal's birthday), I must admit I am completely reticent to host anything involving a meal made be me which is then served to French people. I have never seen dinner parties done so lavishly than in the homes of these friends we've just made. I suppose it could be argued they went out of their way to impress the Americans, but I don't think so. The savoring of good food is as integral to the French culture as the vineyards are to it's landscape. People here don't eat just to sustain life, they eat to dine, adding enjoyment to everyday life. For a foodee like me, it is truly divine. But I fear I excel far more at the consumption of exquisite nourishment than I do at the creation of it.

At our first dinner, we arrived around 6:30pm and enjoyed the lovely summer evening sitting on a deck overlooking the valley of the Vienne river while we partook of "les aperitives" - a crisp, light rose, sparkling white wine, sausage and cheese-stuffed petite croissants, mini-quiches, mini-crab tarts, chips and nuts. Once the sun settled in for the evening and the night air turned brisk, we adjourned to the dining room where a most elegant table for twelve was set. Being that I've got 14 years worth of breaking/losing wedding registry items, matching plates and glasses that don't have Disney characters on them seems impressive enough these days. But this was candlelit, gorgeous and breakable!

The menu consisted of darling individual-sized potato tarts like the one pictured here, and something akin to a fork-hearty beef and carrot stew. This was all accompanied by an unlimited supply of fresh baguette and copious amount of red wine.

Around 8:30pm, I mistakenly began to mentally prepare for our departure when the next course was presented - crisp mixed greens with a tangy vinaigrette, accompanied by more baguette and wine. A platter of assorted French cheeses followed. I tried little bits of everything, but of course have no idea what I was eating, except one was very identifiably goat cheese. Unfortunately, I did not learn until after this dinner that the French are perfectly fine with you leaving any amount of food on your plate with all courses except the cheese course - where apparently it is in bad taste to leave any morsel behind. Once I mustered up the courage to start exploring the "Fromage" counter at Leclerc, the reason for this cultural "faux pas" became quite obvious in that with every uneaten bite your basically throwing away money.

Our American disbelief behind the success of the French diet became alarmingly clear when the final course commenced roughly three hours after we had begun eating. Dessert. A generous slice each of a perky lemon tart and glazed fruit tart (which I brought having acquired it from a neighbor-but I suspect it came from a store), coffee or tea and more bubbly for the adults, while the kids enjoyed ice cream bars. No doubt my husband would have preferred to still be a kid. But I was in my glory.
The only thing missing was the chocolate.

When we got in the car that night, despite the rapid onset of a drunken food coma, I managed to quickly surmise the dangerous spot I was in.

"How in the world will I ever be able to return their invitation after a dinner like that?"

"Aww, easy," David encouraged me. "Just tell them they're invited to a traditional American meal and serve hamburgers and french fries."

I would have laughed. But my expanded stomach was constricting those muscles too much to manage it.

1 Must give credit to Johnny Depp in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" for this little gem of a quote.

Finding Family

Disclaimer: For those of you who know we just returned from a trip to Paris, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not through with photo-editing, so you will have to wait. For those of you who prefer to avoid the taboo topics of politics and religion, perhaps you should skip this one. And finally, for those of you who have (im)patiently waited for a post about the church we've found, here you go:

Statistics across the internet vary, but suggest 60-70% of the French people identify themselves as Roman Catholic, 10-15% as Muslim, 35-54% atheist, and roughly 3-5% as Protestant - of which an even smaller number consider themselves "evangelical." Therefore, I had fairly low hopes in finding a solid, Bible-based, church family in such a small population in the French countryside. I had visions of our family taking advantage of open Catholic churches to sit for a minute in prayer, but never meeting a soul and feeling horribly out of place. But God knew where we were headed and He knew I would not do well in such a spiritually isolated condition, so He led us to France Mission, a network of Evangelical Protestant churches with a community right here in Chinon. I found their website back in April and contacted them directly. We exchanged some emails back and forth prior to our arrival and I was able to relax, knowing we would be spending the year getting to know some of our French Brothers and Sisters in Christ. We were so excited!*

True enough, upon our arrival, there was a gift bag waiting for us at Paul & Sylvie's, put together and left here by the members of Eglise Protestante Evangelique du Chinonais (or EPEC for short). It had candies for the children (who shared them with their parents), some Legos and beads, honey from one of the church member's very own bees, and La Bible, which no doubt will be a treasure of mine for years to come. It was a remarkable feeling of belonging which I didn't know would be so precious until I felt it; knowing people here were anticipating our arrival, were excited to see us and would welcome us here.

Our first Sunday here we got to experience that welcome first hand as we were greeted and kissed and welcomed over and over by the lovely gathering of people for "la culte" (the worship service). To our wonderful delight, we recognized the tune of many of the songs due to the fact they use a lot of translated contemporary British and American praise music. For example:

Lumiere du monde venue dans l'obscurite. Tu m'ouvres les yeux et je vois tant de beaute que mon coeur emu t'adore; je sais que ma vie est en toi.

Light of the world, You stepped down into darkness. Open my eyes, let me see beauty that made this heart adore you; hope of a life spent with you.

Et me voici pour louer, me voici a tes pieds, me voice pour dire: "Tu es mon Dieu."

Here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that you are my God.

I still find this to be very cool. Sometimes I try to sing in English while everyone else sings in French, but I find I cannot recall the words when the French is being sung, so I bumble along in my American accent doing the best I can to sing to my King with my fellow kinsmen in their native tongue.

Back to that first Sunday. After the service, we were invited to lunch by Wayne and Margaret, a lovely British couple who retired here in response to God's call to help with the church. It was amazingly refreshing to enjoy an afternoon of conversing where no one had to speak slowly, repeat themselves, or wait patiently while I fumbled for words. Their accounts of their spiritual history was tremendous, having been a part of the great revivals that swept across Canada, the US and England in the 1970's and 80's. What a God send they are!

In the subsequent weeks since, I have managed to sign myself up for the Wednesday night Bible study on the book of Jeremiah, the monthly Friday afternoon study of Philippians, and to help teach Sunday school to Bo's class (there's a whopping 3 students, so I think I will manage okay)! We've had lunch with the Pastor and his family, where we somewhat awkwardly attempted conversation in broken French and English. We've had a meeting with the Pastor where we told him our own history with the Church and Christ. THAT was a linguistic challenge! High school French in the States simply does not account for discussions of faith! My vocabulary is sorely lacking, I'm afraid. And we've continued to attend Sunday services, where we attempt to grasp whatever meaning we can from the sermon, sing along in our poorly pronounced french, bow our heads and say "Amen" at the appropriate times, and get comfortable with exchanging "brotherly kisses" more literally than we do back home.

Having done missions trips to Romania and Japan in the past, for David and me it was no surprise, but is still as awe-inspiring as ever, to see the family of Christ breech borders and languages once again. For it is written, "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise." Galatians 3:26-29

Car vous etes tous fils de Dieu par la foi en Jesus-Christ; vous tous, qui avez ete baptises en Christ, vous avez revetu Christ. Il n'y a plus ni Juif ni Grec, il n'y a plus ni esclave ni libre, il n'y a plus ni homme ni femme; car tous vous etes un en Jesus-Christ. Et si vous etes a Christ, vous etes donc la descendance d'Abraham, heritiers selon la promesse. Galates 3:26-29

The Main Meeting Room of the Church

*For an interesting article about the changing tide of Christianity in France see this Christianity Today article: http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2005/march/20.28.html

Les Vendages

No one had to announce the commencement of the grape harvest for us this year. Apparently they ripened early - by almost a full month. Normally, the valley isn't full of the sound of tractors and harvesting machines until sometime in the first few weeks in October. But one mid-September morning, the vineyards came alive with people, cars, trucks, tractors, trailers, and this, the tall, narrow and intimidating harvesting machine:

I wish I fully understood how it works. Somehow, it removes the grapes, which hang in clusters along the bottom of the vines. Then the glorious, plump bunches travel up escalator-like conveyor belts to the top, where something happens to them involving round paddle-wheels. The harvester machine travels up and down the rows until it is full, upon which it then empties its load into a trailer towed by a tractor. When the trailer is full, it transports the grapes back to chez vigneron (the winemaker's house).

We were somewhat disappointed to discover that most of the grapes in this region are harvested using this method. Besides really putting a cramp in my style (I definitely had images of "A Walk in the Clouds" taking place in our front yard), it was confusing my poor daughter. Every time we passed a vineyard (which meant every time we stepped outside) Vivi would ask, "Mom, when are we going to pick grapes? I really wanna pick grapes." Apparently, our frequent visits to Butternut & Riverside Farms have her convinced self-service is the way farms normally work. Admittedly though, I wanted to pick some grapes too. So I began asking around. This led me on a wild-goose chase which, honest-to-God, landed me in the town hall of all places. I found myself one month into my French-improvement trying to ask the Mayor's secretary if she thought any of the vignerons who pick by hand would allow my family and me to help out for a day. Once she managed to understand my mumblings, she quickly produced a three-page spreadsheet of the local grape-growers and highlighted all the ones she thought still harvest some of their crops par main. Out of the Forty-Seven winemakers in Cravant-les-Coteaux (you know, that *small* village of roughly 750 inhabitants), I now had a list of some 15+ who might be willing to let us tag along. "Appelez-les," she said. Oh yes. Call them. What a perfect idea. That way, they can stand around with a phone to their ear for twenty minutes while I try to find ways to get my phone-nerves under control so I can ask if we can pick some grapes. Then they can stand around for another twenty minutes while I try to comprehend their reply without the assistance of visual cues. Brilliant idea.

Lucky for me, their street addresses were also listed. Even luckier for me, two of the highlighted names I actually recognized from signs right down the street from our house! After studying up on the necessary vocab, I was ready to find us some grapes to cut! I stopped at the first house and marched into the courtyard looking for the "degustation" room. Most every winemaker has one of these on their property - a room where visitors can get samples of their products before buying. A woman greeted me and looked very curious when I explained I had a "un question en peu bizarre." She laughed and agreed that having a 6 & 8 year old harvesting grapes along side their workers was a bizarre notion indeed. "We work too fast. It is not possible. But would you like to try some wine?"
Hmph. No. I didn't. What I wanted was to pick some grapes with my family. So, I politely refused the free wine (stop looking so shocked) and moved on to the next florescent name on my list, which happened to be about 100 yards down the street at Patrick Lambert's.

I was greeted by a slim, tall, older gentleman with a warm smile. He patiently allowed me to explain my visit in my broken French and seemed to enjoy watching me work so hard, but not in a mean way. He asked me why we wanted to do this thing and I explained because we are here, in wine country and it just seemed necessary for really understanding and appreciating life in Cravant. Bien sur!

He was very happy to oblige this silly American family. Success!! We made our arrangements, I prayed I got the details right, and two weeks later we met up with Monsieur Lambert and his workers in a field of vines heavy with gorgeous grapes. We were handed four pairs of pruning sheers and two buckets and we were each in turn told to "coupe les vines, pas les doigts." Actually, I am pretty sure every single harvester gave us this indisputable advice at least once. I am happy to announce we cut all sorts of vines and not a bit of finger.

The kids did great. From what I could tell, we didn't slow the workers down a bit. But maybe they were just being nice and hiding that fact. We spent a too-short two hours before we had to get David back to work. We all loved it. We got a taste of some grapes and promised to return after harvest season for a degustation (which sadly has yet to happen). All in all, it proved to be a fantastic memory-making event from start to finish. I'm so glad I persevered and I'm so grateful for Monsieur Lambert's generous hospitality.