Friday, March 23, 2012

Spring is here !!!!

That's right. The days are warm, it didn't rain for at least four days in a row (a record that I had not yet had the opportunity to appreciate since my arrival), the trees are covered with blooms... but here in Paris, the two major clues that reveal the arrival of this season are : 1) the bistros have removed their wind and rain barriers, there are no more heaters between the chairs and the people are back in the dehors, sipping drinks, eating sandwiches and salads at the tables facing, one after another without solution of continuity, the sidewalks of the city  


2 ) the city is swarming with kisses, hugs and caresses at every street corner, in front of schools, in the metro, in the gardens, everywhere you look... adolescents, adults, seniors! All flirting relentlessly sometimes with so much passion to leave stunned even the most uninhibited among us.


The French and love ... a cultural fact well known throughout the world. Even Italians suffer from the competition in this field. I must say that all French men have their own style, elegant yet intriguing, to approach women. One example? The other day, in the hospital, a man in his sixties was sitting on the chair in the hallway waiting to perform a radiological examination. After a couple of minutes another patient, a woman, walk towards him and sat next to him. The man, with the most natural and sophisticated tone, exclaimed: "How lucky are you today, my lovely lady, to sit right here beside me!" Only in France!

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Une Petite Renarde rusée at the Opéra Bastille





Acte I 
La petite renarde était avec sa mère dans la foret soudain le garde chasse se réveille dans la foret et attrape la petite renard et la porte a la maison. Le jour après, la renard prend revanche : elle mange tout les poules et puis s’enfuie.

Acte II 
Elle se trouve en hiver et elle rencontre un blaireau qu’elle expelle et prend son terrain. Après elle rencontre un autre renard et elle fait connaissance et puis ils se marient et ils ont beaucoup des enfants

Acte III
Dans la foret la garde chasse le rencontre et la toue. Après il veux un autre renard et il comprend que c’est l’histoire qui recommence.







                                            

Street cleaning

Did anyone ever mention to you that Paris is a dirty city? After spending seven months in this city, I can absolutely assure you that this is true.  You walk around the city with your nose mostly pointed up to admire the beautiful monuments, the bow-windows,  the roofs and the facades... Everything looks so spectacular that sometimes you forget to look down towards your feet. In this city the probability of "messing up" your shoes is very high. Somewhere else, i.e. the rest of the civilized countries, people normally use trash cans, disposable bags for animal litter, ashtrays, etc. Here there is only one common garbage disposal: the curb. You can't really conceive the discrepancy between what is above and what is below the level of your eyes. 


But the French know that this is a huge problem, so instead of instructing and teaching their inhabitants (and visitors) to learn not to litter, what do they do? They implement the cleaning of the streets in such a way that every day, in all Paris, the curbs are fully washed twice. Additionally they adopted crews of sweepers and cleaning vans that carefully patrol all the streets. Hundreds of men and women, dressed in green, go around the city with brooms, pooper-scoopers, and all other tools and sweep about 2400 km (yes, everyday!!) of the city curbs. Needless to say,  the day after everything looks exactly the same, as in an endless cycle of poop and water. Let's hope these guys never go on strike!!!!

J'attends...

" J'attends le soleil " dit le jour
" J'attends la lune " dit la nuit
" J'attends le vent " dit le cerf-volant
" J'attends la justice " dit l'homme
" Moi aussi " dit le soldat
" Moi aussi " dit le paysan
" J'attends la richesse " dit le pauvre homme
" J'attends ma fin " dit la Terre
" J'attends la lune " dit la nuit
" Tu l'as déjà
dit "
" Je sais " dit la nuit
" C'est ça
que j'attends "
" J'attends tout " dit l'enfant


                                        by Josh  (Les Printemps des Poètes)

Monday, March 19, 2012

Wallace & Gromit at the Musée de l'Orangerie

Since we spent all Saturday at home cleaning, working and doing home works (as usual, outside it was pouring rain), on Sunday we took advantage of a brief clearing in the sky to visit Les Jardins des Tuileries. 



It was here where everything started, in 2003. We were here in Paris, for a conference. We had lunch with a colleague of Giuseppe from USC (at that time Giuseppe was still working at Eurecom, near Nice while I was working in Torino). She suggested him to consider to move to California, both of us. After lunch we came here, to talk and consider the offer. It was spring, there were hundreds of people walking in this beautiful garden, we were talking excitedly about our future when all of a sudden Giuseppe asked me to marry him. Wow! That was a surprise. We never talked seriously about getting married (despite having a 2 years old baby back at home...). I wanted to test him, so I told him that, if he was serious, he had to get down to his knees, right there, and "propose" in the old fashion way. He did! Right on the spot, in front of all the people passing by...he did. Well, of course you know the answer, otherwise I wouldn't be posting on this blog. Yesterday every little detail of that day came back (not that I really had forgotten it..) and it was like it just happened. 
Josh also had his share of good time playing on the jumpers. 


By the time we walked the entire length of the garden, it started to rain again so we decided to visit le Musée de l'Orangerie: sensational! The two oval rooms with the famous "Les Nymphéas" are absolutely stunning. We've been to Monet's house in Giverny, we saw the gardens, the pond and the bridge, but still there is no match.  


We finished the visit by looking at the exhibition "Debussy, la musique et les arts", which was very well done apart from the ....silence. It wouldn't harm a bit of  Préludes or La Mer, as a background. 


Finally, we saw this painting, by Paul Cezanne (this is his wife). 


Giuseppe's first comment was: "You really need to hate your wife to depict her like this!". 
Josh's comment was: "She looks like Lady Tottington, in the movie Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit". 
If you don't remember her, here is a hint to refresh your memory: 


I guess they are both right!

Defribillator in the Metro...


The RATP, which is the Metro Company in Paris, has installed several defibrillators in the metro. In theory, as explained clearly in their website, the device is designed to be used by people who have never used one before. It is a public-spirited gesture that needs no prior training.
Now, let's imagine the scenario: someone is laying unconscious on the floor next to this sign. The rescuer, in all probability not a medical doctor but a common person obviously in the middle of a panic attack,  picks up the inter phone looking for help. The voice on the other end of the phone most likely will say: "RATP a votre service, le poste de votre correspondant est occupe, nous vous demandons de rester en ligne et vous remercions pour votre comprehension". Let's face it: how many times do you hear French talk in English? Not so much. Additionally, this is one of the most touristic place on Earth. The likelihood that a non-French speaking (average tourist) vs French-speaking (resident) rescuer will use this device is  really high.
That being said, kudos to who had this idea and good luck for the unlucky guy who will need it. 

"Il y a des mots qui font rire"


Il y a des mots hilarants
Le  mot grotesque et le mot absurde
Les mots blague, bizarre, et le mot folie
Et certains noms de personnes
Et certains noms d’animaux

Le mot amusant et le mot comique
Le mots beehh et le mots bling
Et certains mots de waah et wooh
Et certains mots de bla et de blou
                                    by Josh
Here is the video from the school: Le Printemps des Poetes

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Kids movie night

This Friday, after as many as 64 emails and various program changes, I was able to bring 11 kids to the movie theater to see "John Carter", the latest Disney movie. Initially Giuseppe was supposed to come with me, but as soon as he realized that the number of participants was large, he  brought up a lame excuse of a business dinner. Coward! Luckily three other mothers from the class (Xiaoqing, Patricia and Kim) came to my aid, otherwise I don't know how I could manage all this by myself. The movie, strictly speaking,  was a pain...2hrs and 20 minutes of sufferance! The best part arrived at the end of the film when, at 21:30, a horde of hungry boys literally projected themselves on the streets of Paris, running, chasing each other, strolling around with scooters, in the direction of the pizzeria Les Jardins Contini. I just tried to imagine the terrified faces of the waiters who were waiting for us! Not to mention the other customers of the restaurant who, all of a sudden, found themselves surrounded by screaming kids who were throwing pieces of baguette along the table. We, as responsible adults, made ​​some vain attempt to control the volume, then quickly surrendered to the evidence and ordered the wine. If the owners of the restaurant has accepted the reservation, they surely knew what they were going to get, right? Not our business.



To tell the truth, everything went for the best, thanks to the promptness of the waiter, who informed the young customers that the Coca-Cola was over. Only pizza, water and ... of course, chocolate ice cream. We were later joined by Megan, Mimi, Olga and Linda. 

Patricia, Mimi, Olga and Xiaoqing
At around 22:30, when we, the mothers, were calmly sipping our Limoncello, kindly offered by the restaurant, and chatting, guess what?  All the children, by mutual agreement, got up, slipped on  their jackets and said they were ready to go home! What about the endless times when we, parents, had to drag you out of a friend's house, begging you to come home? Was it this the right moment to become good responsible kids?

Friday, March 16, 2012

Why do French say ...." faire long feu" ?

Literally it means "fizzle out".  When the action drags on length and it does not produce the desired effect, it is said to "faire long feu". This phrase has its origin in the middle of the artillery. Formerly, when too wet powder was put in the barrel of a pistol or a rifle to load it, the primer within was consumed very slowly. So the wick could not ignite and couldn't cause the explosion required to propel the ball out of the barrel.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Gummy Bear dance is here!!!!!!

....just imagine what would he do if he had good music!!!! What about Giuseppe? Is he totally stunned?

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Why French say..." tout le saint-frusquin " ?

To avoid long lists, the French language is full of phrases such as "tout le saint-frusquin" ( " all the holy frusquin"), used to conclude a
inventory of various things, like the Latin phrase "etcetera." In the slang of the XVIIth  century, the term
frusquin designated  clothes worn by the most modest. This term has given rise to the particular word "frusque" which described the clothes cheap. When talking about the whole frusquin of a person (usually poor), it thus referred to everything she had. The "saint" was added a century later, in reference to St. Crispin, the saint patron  of tailors and shoemakers, who never went anywhere without having all his tools with him.


Sunday, March 11, 2012

Health care

Where should I start? The beginning of this story goes back ten years ago when Giuseppe was in Nice and Josh was just born. Naturally the first thing we did was to register him under his daddy's Carte Vitale so he could get all the benefits of the French health system. Of course, not being officially married at that time, I couldn't do the same for myself but who cared, right? I am Italian, I was leaving in my home country, what else would I need?
Obviously things have changed. We are here for one year and if I need a doctor, I can't take a train and cross the border. Well, of course I could but it wouldn't be reasonable.
So in August, as soon as we arrived here, we went to the Securite Sociale to update Giuseppe's card such that I could be included as.wife. Sounds simple and pretty straight forward.
Wake up. This is France and you're dealing with public bureaucracy: compared to this, the DMV issue is a piece of cake. It turned out that we had to go to the office not one but three times, explaining three times the same story to the least collaborating clerk and then wait. Because they don't give you a damn receipt of all the paper works (opportunely translated in French because, God forbids, you can't expect anyone to talk, read or understand English...). Don't even think to solicit by making a phone call: you can literally see your nails grow back by the time someone will pick up the phone. And then of course this same person won't have a clue of where all your application is and he's going to transfer you to someone else. You know how this whole story will end, don't you. Total failure. Good thing the wine is excellent so you can relax your nerves...
Long story short: it's now March and last week I was finally able to put my Carte Vitale in my wallet! 


 
Hurray. Even better than in California! It took them only seven months to process the paper works! But now I can go to any doctor, laboratory, pharmacy I want, get whatever I need, pay upfront the entire amount (free medicine? that's  not what socialized medicine means), they'll swipe your card and...pouf! there you go, all your health information are updated (every single detail in a golden microchip, just like any credit card has all your account information, transactions and everything). and that's not all: you won't get hundreds of billing statements for the next six months as it happens in USA, where you end up not knowing how many times and how much you end up paying for the simplest surgical procedure: a bill for the labs, another for the room, one for the surgeon, one for the assistant, one for the ultrasound, etc etc. No, here your data go directly through their magical account system and in a couple of weeks you' ll get from your bank account a statement saying that you have been credited back seventy percent of all you have spent in the past month for your health. impressive, isn't it?
So it turns out that waiting so long was worth it and , yes, despite the initial problems (nothing compared to what we faced when we moved to L.A.) this France system is still my favorite.

Flea market

Take two kids, give them some money (about twenty euros, not enough to cause major damage but plenty enough to give them the sense of responsibility), give them three hours of time and place them in a huge flea market, as the one in Porte de Clignancourt. Then step back, somewhere between 5 feet, where they feel free and independent, and 10 feet, where you start freaking out because you see kidnappers and sexual harassers everywhere) and observe.
They'll stop at every little stand observing and touching and bargaining on every possible object (I was surprised to find out that they noticed furniture and paintings and art objects other than toys and clothing)!









Now, are you ready? Whatever you guessed they would buy (a toy, a fancy hat, a tool...), there's no way your imagination can catch up with theirs.
I'm almost sure I wouldn't come home with a pilot helmet (Giovanni) or a porcelain dog (Gabe). 



Thursday, March 8, 2012

Why do French say ...."pleurer comme une madeline" ?

When a person is overcome with emotion, she may start to "cry like a madeleine," that is to say, weeping bitterly. The term has its roots in the Gospel. It refers to the story of Mary Magdalene, repentant prostitute who, upon hearing that Jesus came to Galilee, had presented to him in tears, consumed by remorse for his sins. Her tears were so heavy she could wash the feet of Christ, before drying them with her hair. She then became one of his most faithful disciples. Today, a Magdalene or Mary Magdalene means a former prostitute, and they say a person to "cry like a madeleine" when one finds that her tears are excessive or unjustified.


Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Memories of Paris

After the white hair, here's another novelty whose memory will remain forever linked to this city: eyeglasses.  
Two days ago, Josh's teacher sent me an email inviting me to have him checked by an ophthalmologist because it seemed that there were problems in copying words correctly on the board ...really? With all those accents, what did she expect? I thanked her and started the long search for an ophthalmologist who had a waiting list less than two months. I was lucky: after only five phone calls, the appointment was set for today. Obviously I did the math wrong with Josh extracurricular commitments, so I had to cancel her lesson in climbing! We arrived in pouring rain to the clinic and after about an hour of waiting we were received by a young French doctor, very kind. I was ready to act as an interpreter and instead, with amazement, I have seen the profits (eventually) in the first six months of learning the French language by Josh: he calmly explained to the doctor all the symptoms : fatigue, some headaches, blurred vision. Bravo Josh, this school is paying off! In short, the final diagnosiswas hypetropia (no laziness in copying tasks, such as I had initially thought ...) and the therapy are the glasses. I paid a visit to the specialist (90 euros, not exaggerated, given that with the Carte Vitale that I had carried with me I will receive a reimbursement of 70% directly to my bank account within the next two weeks) and I went with the prescription to the optician's shop next to the school of Josh. The kid was not particularly thrilled by the outcome of the visit, but when confronted with a wall full of colored glasses,  he seemed to have forgotten the initial shock and and he try a pair of glasses  after another for about thirty minutes. Amazing offer: two glasses for the price of one! Since I'm positive that  the first pair will be lost or will break within a week, we ordered two pairs, with scratch-resistant lenses, anti shock, anti-glare, anti breakage, anti theft ... in short,  bombproof

They will be ready in a couple of days at which point, however, there will be no more excuses for poor copying  the words in the notebook ....

Monday, March 5, 2012

Le Marche'

Of course going to the market here in Paris is an incredible and memorable experience. I've seen several markets in Torino that are at least three times bigger than the one in South Pasadena. But here, it's the atmosphere that captures you immediately. First, the organization: a full course of banquets, all morning occupies the curbs for at least a mile in one direction and another mile in the other, until noon. Then after an hour everything is gone. The streets are clean (well, at least according to the city standards). This occurs four times a week in hundreds of different areas in the city. In my neighborhood the market is on Sundays so I don't really have problems with the strict policy of shutting down all the food stores during this day.  Second: the variety of products sold here is incomparable: from clothes to music, books, furniture, flowers, you can spend hours (and hundreds of euros, if you want) going around this place. 











It's not just the regular food you would expect in a supermarket: there are whole hares (with the fur still ...), beef tongue (good with veal in tuna sauce, as you in Torino), beef heart or beef (not my favorite because the meat is too hard but my cat went crazy), kidney (another of my least favorite food: they have a bitter aftertaste and are too soft when you bite them, kind of like eating worms...), and then mushrooms, truffles, endless banquet of fruits and vegetables, first fruits, candies. 


And the cheese? How can you resist? The prices are always a little higher than in a supermarket but the  freshness is unparalleled: you are there, with your eyes fixed on a Morbier when the smell of a Saint Nectaire hits you and you wonder which one should you choose.. there's not really any choice here, you just buy them all, one week after the other, so that by the end of your year here in Paris your curiosity is fully satisfied, your soul is in heaven and your liver is in hell!



No to mention  the banquet of fish: sea urchins, prawns, scallops and oysters at will. The problem with the oysters is that, unless you have a kitchen equipped with every tool necessary, you spend at least an hour trying to open them and when you finally put one in the mouth, you wonder whether all this effort was worthwhile.




 




Yes, that's my thumb! 


Here is Josh and his first experience with oysters: he didn't know whether to be more curious about their taste or disgusted by their appearance. The idea of putting in his  mouth something alive was just  repugnant and there was no way to get him to taste a single one. I would say that between eating an oyster and practice an hour of math, he probably would choose the latter. It wasn't necessary though. Giuseppe didn't need to be begged twice: as soon as  Josh asked to be relieved of this torture, he took the opportunity to gobble up the last oyster. 

 


I was too busy to take care of the wound on my thumb: idiot! I almost cut the tendon. What a stupid way to to put a permanent end to my aspirations of working again as a surgeon!

Why French say... "où le bât blesse" ?

A person, whether well intentioned or not, can cause his interlocutor to react by pressing "là où le bât blesse" (where the pack saddle pinches), that is to say, touching his chord or evoke a sentence, suffering or hidden troubles. Originating from the farmers culture of the XV century, this term refers to wooden device, called the bât ("pack saddle"), put on the back of a donkey or a mule to carry heavy loads. It should be well placed to avoid injuring the animal. It was of great importance because the wounds couldn't be notice until the pack saddle was removed. A person knowing "where the pack saddle pinches" was therefore able to prevent hidden injury, and therefore to safeguard the welfare of their animal.
 

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Mes vacances d'hiver

Pendant mes vacances d’hiver, je suis allé à Londres, en passant sous la Manche. Il était minuit quand nous sommes arrivés, ma mère et moi. Quand nous sommes sortis de la station pour aller à l’hôtel, nous avons pris un taxi noir : il était tout petit en le regardant par-dehors, mais dedans il était spacieux. Le lendemain nous sommes allés voir Big Ben : j’étais surpris car il était plus petit que j’imaginais.


Nous sommes montés sur le London Eye : il est gigantesque et nous pouvions voir toute la ville.
 

Après j’ai pris un double decker bus qui m’a amené jusqu’à Hamleys, le plus grand magasin de jouets d’Angleterre. J’ai acheté une boîte magique. Dans les jours suivants, nous sommes allés au British Muséum où nous avons admiré la pierre de Rosetta, les restes du Parthénon, les sphinges et une sculpture de Ramsès. J’ai aussi visité La Tour de Londres, une forteresse qui contient les joyaux de la couronne britannique : le plus grand avait une centaine de perles et de diamants.


Mon préféré était le spectre impérial, avec le plus grand diamant du monde : il était plus grand qu’’un œuf ! Le dernier jour nous avons pris un bus qui nous a amené à la station des trains au même temps qu’il passait sur le pont de Londres.

Ce voyage a été très fantastique.
Pendant le reste des mes vacances, je suis resté à Paris, où j’ai visité le Musée de la Marine, du Cinéma et du Carnavalet et j’ai joué beaucoup avec mes amis.