To Bisous or Not to Bisous

In one of our first cultural lessons in French class we learned that the customary greeting is to give bisous - kisses on both cheeks (although its really more like brushing cheeks while making a kissing noise). The textbook also stated that it's perfectly normal for guys to give each other bisous but in reality I've witnessed this occur very few times; guys generally shake hands with each other while bisous are reserved for guys greeting girls or girls greeting other girls.

For the longest time I was in the habit of only giving bisous when the other person initiated it. On the one hand it is a very French thing to do and seeing as I am not French, I would personally feel like a huge tool if I made it everyday practice. Furthermore my impression of non-French people who do this is that it's a cheap trick in an attempt to come off as being sophisticated. (I don't care how many times you've been to Paris Fashion Week, Rachel Zoe, but the fact remains that you are très Américaine). But more importantly I don't particularly like being touched. Think about it. Someone else's face brushing right up against yours, especially if it's a person you just met seconds ago for the first time? For me it's way too intimate. Handshakes, hugs or fist bumps seem more proper, but maybe that's just me.

It used to be that when I recognized someone going in for the bisous I would sort of stiffen, like bracing myself for contact. Thanks to my internship, though, I've learned to adapt.

Whenever anyone entered the kitchen the first thing they did was systematically say, "Bonjour," to each and every person. For 99% of people this also involved bisous, with the one exception being the founder of the pastry shop; he shook your hand, or your wrist if you were in the middle of something and your hands were dirty. And this is perhaps what I found most surprising: that people - even those whom you hadn't officially been introduced to - would stand next to you and wait until you paused, turned, and said hello. This could be uncomfortable at times because certain individuals at work went a little heavy on the cologne/after-shave/whatever scents guys use.

My etiquette was terrible, apparently, because I should have been making this a habit since day one. It's not that I considered myself exempt from exchanging pleasantries, but as a lowly intern I figured no one would really notice or care if I didn't. But one morning after pecking one of my friendlier co-workers on both cheeks, she told me I ought to go around and personally greet everyone. Naturally I was only told this about halfway through my time there. No wonder no one talked to me at lunch; they all probably thought I was antisocial.

Personal issues aside, this custom seemed quite counterintuitive in an environment that placed such great emphasis on speed and productivity but, well, French people. In America I'm pretty sure making eye contact and uttering a simple, "Hey," even from across the room, would suffice in most situations.

The one positive of bisous as far as I've experienced is that some people full on kiss you on the cheek. So if it's say, a hot guy, you can pretend that the gesture isn't completely platonic. Trivial, I know, but a girl can dream, right?

Photo Diary: Springtime in the 5ème

Taking a break from attempting to describe the chasm of mixed feelings regarding my internship, here are some reminders of why I love this city and will miss it when I leave in a few short months. After a long winter (it snowed again in March, if I recall correctly), the weather has finally decided to cooperate with the seasons. And now that it's not pitch-dark and freezing cold when I leave in the mornings for work, I'm finding it much easier to roll out of bed at 5am.  

Below, some scenes from the neighborhood. 

1. The Pantheon. 

2. Brasserie near the Luxembourg Garden. 

3. Joggers in the park. 

4. Visiting the food truck on my night off after spending a glorious afternoon catching up with a highschool friend at Parc de Buttes Chaumont on the first true spring day (70+F!). 

5. One of my personal favorites of spring/summer: strawberries! 

Fontainebleau

Back in January I had the pleasure of meeting my uncle's friend Pascal, who kindly extended an open invitation to visit him and his family in Fontainebleau. If I've learned one thing about France over the last 9 months, it's that the more I travel outside of Paris the less I like the city and its denizens. So last week I called him up and we arranged a day for me to come round for lunch and visit the city's main attraction - the château.

When I arrived yesterday morning Pascal was already waiting for me at the station, and even though it hadn't been that long since we'd last seen each other, it still made me smile to see how enthusiastic he was about everything. 

"There's a nice village I want to show you!" he said as soon as I had buckled my seatbelt.

​Me with owner Steve.

And off we went to nearby Samois, a small town right on the Seine. As we wound through the narrow streets he occasionally slowed to point out particular buildings and passageways. It was charming and rustic. But we didn't actually stop and get out of the car until we approached the riverbank and Pascal spotted a friend - a New Zealander named Steve who owns a B&B on a boat. Steve seemed pleased to have company so he invited us in for a little tour. The main level of consists of a large deck with jacuzzi, richly furnished lounge and bar, and an enviable kitchen. Below were the 4 guest rooms, also pretty lavishly decked out (pun intended?), and pictures of celebrities who had stayed there.

 "Recognize this guy?" Steve asked me, pointing to an autographed photo. The face looked vaguely familiar, but was obscured by a bushy beard.

It was Robert De Niro. 

Steve quizzed me on another, which this time I recognized - Debbie Reynolds, because Singin' in the Rain is my favorite movie.

After the tour we hopped back in the car and drove into the forest that surrounds the city of Fontainebleau (for a 10-mile radius all around, according to Pascal). Standing on that rocky outcropping I immediately felt a pang because it reminded me of home; of the trees that give Washington its nickname, and of camping with my family during summer vacation. With the wind you could hear the distant sounds of cars speeding down the highway, but engulfed in that pristine panorama of nature it seemed but a whisper.

I wish we could have stayed longer but by then it was almost noon, and Pascal's wife Sophie had prepared lunch - a delicious beef stew - for all of us at their home. And because Sophie is half Vietnamese we had it with rice. Yum. More things I miss about home...

Pascal dropped me off at the château in the early afternoon, explaining how to catch the bus back to the train station and apologizing profusely for not being able to stay and show me around (he had previously agreed to help a friend out with his new property). But, really, he and Sophie had already done more for me than they knew. Whatever you may have heard about French hospitality probably only applies to Parisians; as much as I adore the couple we really are just acquaintances, and yet they welcomed me with open arms. I hope I'll have time to pay them another visit before I leave France for good, but if not at least I have this lovely day to remember them by.

Sophie had warned me that Fontainebleau would seem "small" in comparison to Versailles, but in some ways it made for a more positive visiting experience. Yes, the rooms aren't as big as there are less of them than in its more famous counterpart, but Fontainebleau is every bit as opulent. It's history is more intricate as well, dating back to the Middle Ages, and since many monarchs who resided there did their own renovations the result is a hodgepodge of architectural and artistic styles. And I'm not just talking about interior design; even from the outside the palace is very asymmetrical. Because of my timing I got caught between a couple of tour groups, but in general Fontainebleau has a lot less visitors. It was still easy to take photos without getting randos in the frame, whereas at Versailles I didn't even bother to try.

If you go: The train schedules on the SNCF website are misleading. At the time of writing, trains heading to Montargis (Fontainebleau will be the third stop) depart from Gare de Lyon 19 minutes past the hour. Trains from Fontainebleau-Avon depart every 30 minutes on the hour back to Paris.  The journey is approximately 40 minutes each way.

Chantilly: La Crème de la Crème

This past week of funemployment has been a bit of a château shuffle. Originally I was meant to hit up Chantilly with a friend last Friday, but when she bailed I tagged along with Steph to Chartres. Then my plan was to go to Fontainebleau on Wednesday to tour the castle and visit some family friends I had previously met in Azay, but some last minute changes forced us to reschedule for next week. The net result: I salvaged yesterday by going to Chantilly instead, and thus dodged another day of staying in on the pretext of avoiding this suboptimal "springtime" Paris weather while really just watching Glee or Game of Thrones ​(usually both - I watch one while the other loads).

So what about Chantilly?​ Started in 1358, finished in 1882. I'm not exactly sure who lived there but for a long time the estate was linked to the Montmorency family. Nowadays it's under the care of the Institut de France and the château houses the Musée Condé, an impressive art collection. In addition to the gallery, accessible rooms include the library, chapel, great hall, war room, music room, and what were once I suppose private apartments. Have a look.

An English friend once complained to me that wherever Americans go in Europe, all they do is rave about "OMG - the history" of whatever they happen to be standing next to.​ It's true, I confess, but in our defense we really have nothing like these grand palaces and cathedrals - many of which are even older than our country - at home. I think that's why I continue to seek them out wherever I go.

The château was modest in size (or maybe it just seemed that way because a relatively small proportion is accessible to the public), but it looked quite striking from afar what with the partial moat and sweeping stone-paved driveway leading up to it. Coupled with the geometrically designed park surrounding it (by André Le Nôtre of Versailles fame), no wonder Chantilly has been featured in film and celebrity weddings. However since most castle-oglers stop only at Versailles, Chantilly has the added benefit of being virtually empty.

The famous cream with a slice of strawberry tart.​ Almost makes up for the fact that I didn't celebrate Pi Day this year.

But to pâtissiers like myself, Chantilly has ​another meaning - the sweetened whipped cream invented centuries ago by a chef whose name I have a strong feeling once appeared on a written exam at school and that I embarrassingly cannot recall at the moment. So when I saw the on-site restaurant advertising "la vraie crème Chantilly" I knew I had to try it even though, like most food in France, it is absurdly overpriced.

How do I describe the delectable confection? It's not like whipped cream, per se, in that it's denser - more mousse-like than anything else - with a pleasant vanilla flavor. (But also I'm pretty sure cream here has a higher fat content than what's used in the US). The server gave me a giant scoop, perhaps because I was the sole patron in the establishment, and even though I didn't finish it I still felt slightly sick after. So rich. Good thing I decided to walk back to the train station.​

The castle grounds also feature the hamlet (cluster of peasant-style buildings for rich people to play in) that inspired Marie Antoinette's, a still-used racecourse (​curiously named the Hippodrome) and the Musée Vivant du Cheval (literally: Museum of the Living Horse). I refused to set foot in the latter because ever since a traumatic childhood incident involving an outing to Medieval Times and subsequent severe allergic reaction, I have been averse to horses. But if equestrian is your thing you should totally check it out.

Notre-Dame de Chartres, the Gothic Giant

Ah, post-final exam bliss. Since Monday I've been filling my days eating out with friends, watching movies, shopping for chef's uniforms for my internship (hint: it's really difficult for someone my size, but thankfully there is no dearth of tailors in this city), preparing for my summer trip, and doing pretty much everything I can think of that I won't have time for once I start working next week.​ Having covered most of the Paris "necessities," I've been keeping a mental list of day trips. Versailles. Check. Giverny. Check. And now I can add Chartres!

A medieval town about an hour's train ride outside of Paris (we never did figure out which region it's in, but I'm guessing the Loire Valley)​, Chartres is known for having one of the best preserved Gothic cathedrals in the country. Even the name of the city pays homage to the distinct blue hue used in the stained glass. (Or so said Steph's guidebook). Near the main foyer there's an interesting inlaid labyrinth, meant to symbolize something about getting closer to God. I believe the words David, Goliath and minotaur were thrown around in the explanation, but now I've gotten it all mixed up.

It's ironic how many churches and cathedrals I've been to in Europe considering my complete lack of religious beliefs. But despite that, I suppose what I'm drawn to is the history and the workmanship. And, from an anthropological standpoint, the stark contrast between, say, this cathedral and a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple is really quite fascinating. (Ooh, I feel the makings of a future post brewing...)

After making the rounds through the cavernous interior, we climbed one of the spires to the top - some 300 steps and god knows how many meters - and were met by spectacular views and a frightfully chilly wind. Despite the nice weather the previous weekend (I only had to wear three or so layers while working on the food truck and not the usual five to six), it had snowed mid-week and in fact there was still some piled up on the steps near the top of the spire. I was afraid of slipping and falling on the ancient stone, but everyone made it up and back down safely, including Steph's mom who is visiting from Melbourne to attend our graduation ceremony at the end of the week.​

​Following the descent we made our way to a cozy salon du thé to regain the feeling in our fingers and toes over some house specialty hot chocolate while planning our next move. Turns out the cathedral is essentially the only destination in Chartres, so after wandering through the historic area a bit more we hopped the train back toward the chaos of Montparnasse station.

Another day, another view. Hoping I can cram a couple more excursions in this week. We'll see.​

Saint-Malo Through an iPhone

At the advice of Jane, co-owner of Au Bon Accueil, I took a short train ride out to Saint-Malo and booked my homebound journey to Paris from there, rather than spend my last day in the Pontorson/Mont Saint-Michel area which, according to her, "is not very interesting at all" once you've seen the island and the abbey. Good thing I listened, because the hours I spent wandering around the walled port city (still in use) were easily the highlight of my trip.

It was low tide when I arrived, so I ​wandered around the nearly deserted beach for a bit before mounting the stairs to the ramparts, and was instantly reminded of how much I miss living near the water. Maybe that's why Paris has begun to feel claustrophobic; it's too landlocked for me.

The entire loop around the city's walls is about a mile long, with spectacular ocean scenery on one side and a privileged view of the old, stately architecture on the other. If the weather hadn't kept fluctuating between drizzly rain and sun breaks I might have stopped to read my book up there for a while. 

Below, some of my favorite scenes from Saint-Malo.​

See the rest on Flickr.​

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If you go...

Eat: Le Corps de Garde Crêperie. Sure there are crêperies everywhere (this is proper Brittany, after all), but this probably the only place where waiters dress in quasi-pirate garb with black pants, ruffled white shirts and red sashes, and the dining room is strategically placed such that customers can look out over the ramparts and across the water as they eat.​

To the Wonder: Le Mont Saint-Michel

One of the more divisive films playing at Venice last September was Terrence Malick's To the Wonder​, which vaguely follows the relationship between an American man (Ben Affleck) and a French woman (Olga Kurylenko), from their blossoming romance in France to the decay of their attraction once he brings her home to the midwest. Rachel McAdams plays another love interest and Javier Bardem is the local priest. Confusion ensues.  

At the press screening I attended, the majority of the audience booed at the end. To put things in perspective, when Malick dropped The Tree of Life ​in 2011, it was not so much a revolution for the filmmaker but rather a telling sign of things to come. Seriously, not even the actors really knew what was going on. Malick was too busy shooting his next feature to attend the festival, so watching the press junket from the media lounge I remember poor Kurylenko fending off all these tricky questions on her own. (Affleck, I assume, was back in LA perfecting Argo​).

However there is one magical scene early on, when the couple is still in love, where they're frolicking in the tidelands of Normandy against the backdrop of Mont Saint-Michel (whose nickname lent itself to the film's title).​ These precious few seconds, out of the movie's 120+ minute run, made the deepest impression on me, and I've been dreaming about that place ever since.

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Mont Saint-Michel is certainly photogenic, but only from certain angles; which is to say discounting the myriad school groups, tourists and renovation projects. Connected to the mainland by a narrow bridge, what used to be a sacred and dangerous pilgrimage has been all but overtaken by commercialism. Whereas in previous centuries visitors had to brave the rising tides and pockets of quicksand to get to the abbey, nowadays shuttle buses conveniently drop them off right in front of the walled city's main entrance. Inside, the lone, winding street that slopes upwards toward the abbey is lined with souvenir shops, hotels, crêperies (the thin pancakes are the regional specialty of nearby Brittany) and restaurants with identical menus proudly displayed in French, English and Japanese.

On a good day in the off-season, it might not be so choked with tourists. Having gained entrance to the abbey by mid-morning, during certain parts of the tour I was so alone that the click of my camera's shutter in the cavernous stone halls echoed louder than my footsteps.​

But as the afternoon wore on and bus loads of tourists continued to arrive (by the sounds of it many of the school groups were daytrippers from England), not even taking the back alleys or the ramparts were sufficient to avoid the crowds. I left through the same door I came in that breached the outer wall, pausing and turning back along the causeway to snap more pictures. Each time, though, it became harder and harder to dodge the buses, tractors and cranes threatening to sneak into the frame.

If I reached my hand out in front of me, blocking the ground teeming with people, I could see only the abbey rising from the vast tideland. Yes, it was still magnificent. ​Maybe, like the film, it's best understood in bits and pieces.​ To see it as a whole simply ruins the effect.

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If you go...​

Stay: Au Bon Accueil. ​Run by a husband and wife team of British expats, this is probably the only hotel in the area that offers pick up/drop off at Mont Saint-Michel and the nearest train stations. Rides and breakfast are included in the price.

Eat: Crêpes are the local specialty, whether they're the buckwheat, savory galette variety or the sweet kind. On the island, La Sirene offers a quiet dining room above street level that's probably more comfortable than eating takeaway, as the other crêperies have you do. Near Au Bon Accueil, the Telegraph bistro has a 10f€ set menu with savory galette, sweet dessert crêpe, coffee and your choice of wine or cider. (Take the cider - it's another Brittany tradition). ​

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See more of Mont Saint-Michel on Flickr.​