tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281659932024-03-10T23:23:09.830-04:00Polly-Vous Francais?Fun, facts, and foibles of a francophile American expat's life in Paris. Discover France with me! From fashion to flirting to film, from lingerie to the Louvre to literature, or simply visiting the art and architecture of the City of Light, this blog offers a bit of je ne sais quoi for the francophile in everybody. No, I'm not Polly Maggoo or Polly Platt, but I do love France. Vive la France! Parlez-Vous Francais?Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.comBlogger949125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-76680376961663568972021-09-24T22:59:00.001-04:002021-09-24T22:59:54.862-04:00What do you do with your exhibition posters?<p> I have been traveling to France for more than four decades and argh, I am an inveterate collector of exhibition posters. So timely! But what to do with the collection? Wallpaper a bathroom? Donate, but to whom? I sure can't put them in paper recycling. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nnRBa54mNrVcLzYSbUQSRaRbaq0_wvssrEsf12hjk7wWcGBLjisnN81GjsGFC60u3XqYp3VxOAmzPX1tOc86CvtmfozitCdHHi1y2LYSr2RvT65CN6I37_I81ewNebnKGHl0AQ/s1711/picasso.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1711" data-original-width="1168" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nnRBa54mNrVcLzYSbUQSRaRbaq0_wvssrEsf12hjk7wWcGBLjisnN81GjsGFC60u3XqYp3VxOAmzPX1tOc86CvtmfozitCdHHi1y2LYSr2RvT65CN6I37_I81ewNebnKGHl0AQ/s320/picasso.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14994422073997418418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-23780309324099212862017-11-18T19:31:00.001-05:002017-11-18T19:37:31.538-05:00L'hexagone dans le TriangleIt's been a while since I have posted to Polly-Vous Francais! I am happy to report that I am now in the "Triangle" area of North Carolina, where there is a vibrant French and Francophile community. Stay tuned for updates on French-related activities in the area.<br />
<br />
For starters:<br />
<br />
RDU, the airport has daily flights to Paris<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.rdu.com/paris/">https://www.rdu.com/paris/</a><br />
<br />
And the Alliance Francaise de Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill has just launched its new website:<br />
<a href="https://www.afraleigh.org/">https://www.afraleigh.org/</a><br />
<br />
And of course Raleigh is the sister city of Compiegne, which has great connections<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.raleighsistercities.org/">https://www.raleighsistercities.org/</a><br />
<br />
And American Friends of the Chateau de Compiegne<br />
<a href="https://afcdc.org/">https://afcdc.org/</a><br />
<br />
Stay tuned! Lots more updates from all over to be posted!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-56446393734686831222016-11-30T21:38:00.001-05:002016-11-30T21:38:42.054-05:00Seating ArrangementsToday I was at a meeting of French and American dignitaries to discuss French/American cultural activities. Just my cup of <i>thé</i>!<br />
<br />
The American organizers asked the ranking French diplomatic officer to sit at the head of the large conference table. "<i>Non, non</i>," he demurred, "we will sit across the table from each other."<br />
<br />
So the French delegation was on one side, the Americans on the other. "<i>L'océan Atlantique au milieu!</i>" I joked.<br />
<br />
As we were settling in, I mentioned to my French colleagues how seating arrangements can vary so much culturally between France and the U.S. "For example, the rule that in France a woman always sits on the banquette in a restaurant, and the man..." Before I could finish they all nodded appreciatively. "In the U.S., that doesn't exist," I said.<br />
<br />
"Ah," said monsieur, "<i>Alors</i>, that is because there aren't banquettes in the U.S.?"<br />
<br />
"<i>Si, si, il y a des banquettes</i>," I said. "<i>Mais il n'y a pas de règle</i>."Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-63635151827229311002016-02-29T21:48:00.003-05:002016-02-29T21:48:52.225-05:00O Panic! O Thrill! I'm Moving to Paris (History 2006 version)Is it possible to imagine the sheer excitement and thrill and bone-chilling<i> what-the-hell-am-I doing</i> anxiety when you are about to embark on a move to Paris?<br />
<br />
Well, that was me, one decade ago today.<br />
<br />
<i>Breathe, Polly, breathe, I told myself.</i><br />
<br />
House was turned upside down.<br />
<br />
I was busy moving my stuff into storage. Becoming best buddies with the consignment store.<br />
<br />
Organizing my grown kids' stuff into their own separate storage units.<br />
<br />
Figuring out bank accounts, mail, <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2007/12/replacing-matisse.html">goldfish</a>, phones. Not sure I was doing any of it right.<br />
<br />
<i>Breathe, Polly, breathe, I told myself.</i><br />
<br />
Every day was panic and exhilaration.<br />
<br />
I had friends and helpers, joyful and forceful, who boosted me when I needed it.<br />
<br />
I knew it was right, but I was anxious. Helpers insisted on <i>Rescue Remedy</i>. Friends and I insisted on wine.<br />
<br />
<i>Breathe, Polly, breathe, I told myself.</i><br />
<br />
Then the email of emails arrived from my Paris landlady, whom I hadn't yet met:<br />
<br />
"The apartment is waiting for you! Do you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast? We'll stock it for your arrival. The bed is made up with fresh sheets, and all you have to do is arrive safely and collapse into bed. We are having friends for dinner the next day to welcome you to Paris."<br />
<br />
<i>Polly wept briefly and breathed a deep breath of relief. This would work. This would WORK!</i><br />
<br />
And so I embarked on my Paris adventure, March 2006.Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-86867188743908648722015-02-07T18:57:00.002-05:002015-02-09T08:16:35.160-05:00Booksellers on the Seine (Post card version)I love my collection of vintage Paris postcards. I add to it every time I am in Paris, usually at lingering but somehow way-too-short trips to the <a href="http://www.timeout.com/paris/en/shopping/marche-aux-timbres">Marché aux Timbres</a> or the <a href="http://pucesdevanves.typepad.com/">Marché aux Puces at Vanves.</a><br />
<br />
This one, of a <i>bouquiniste</i> (book seller) on the banks of the Seine, appealed for a very specific reason: I have a painting from almost the same vantage point.<br />
<br />
Here is the post card:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFt_N22QgqWiC6pxhvjZqC-qQFDFGd4Zhjwkv6fVcAW-wijTxjY-hu503ceWX8otV_MU282h1ToVpgJuXI2SXS2r7Lq6Q5SOj8STU3HOhvldjLu5JYB8VVd4E0oOAxFykVHBtUQ/s1600/bouquiniste001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkFt_N22QgqWiC6pxhvjZqC-qQFDFGd4Zhjwkv6fVcAW-wijTxjY-hu503ceWX8otV_MU282h1ToVpgJuXI2SXS2r7Lq6Q5SOj8STU3HOhvldjLu5JYB8VVd4E0oOAxFykVHBtUQ/s1600/bouquiniste001.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And here is my painting, which I wrote about <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008/02/bouquinistes-quai-de-la-tournelle.html">here</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDJPCcC9XQMo-WWllrq4ZVNgA_EhniJHAzZVB27m7L5xMAYjv1bzvusKWMU8oKOcR1nxsUnDxCxfb16QfB3xZl6qeeE1osY0BwTlZv67ztYI1lm_AUYALf9KM7-WabEIOmFEt5Q/s1600/bouquinistes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDJPCcC9XQMo-WWllrq4ZVNgA_EhniJHAzZVB27m7L5xMAYjv1bzvusKWMU8oKOcR1nxsUnDxCxfb16QfB3xZl6qeeE1osY0BwTlZv67ztYI1lm_AUYALf9KM7-WabEIOmFEt5Q/s1600/bouquinistes.jpg" height="291" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Cool, <i>oui</i>? I love how the shadow angles are the same.<br />
<br />
Some collectors prize unblemished <i>cartes postales</i>, i.e., those which have no writing on them. Shame on me, maybe, but I love the post cards and greeting cards of yore with messages to friends, family, lovers, and -- in this case -- colleagues. I get a glimpse of French life -- someone else's life -- in a brief message. (Or sometimes not so brief, but that's another story.) Am I just a <i>voyeur</i> into others' past lives? Oh well.<br />
<br />
Here is the flip side:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZulNHw5xnqbuTAba9d6F7whYXSWtQhqYzuFpRx9QuOrtzaTlQEeXZ56q9ZJtsl3jOmeo6cyILQtNTRM1u3f1QXixpTWZaIXOjiN8nKJW6-q8ggEjastvCdpIHerodCBgQkcNNQ/s1600/bouquiniste002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZulNHw5xnqbuTAba9d6F7whYXSWtQhqYzuFpRx9QuOrtzaTlQEeXZ56q9ZJtsl3jOmeo6cyILQtNTRM1u3f1QXixpTWZaIXOjiN8nKJW6-q8ggEjastvCdpIHerodCBgQkcNNQ/s1600/bouquiniste002.jpg" height="247" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Translated, it reads<br />
"Best wishes to all the team. Work, work work. Fun, Fun fun! Hi to everyone."<br />
<br />
And the other cool thing that I discovered was that this company, Rhovyl, still exists in Tronville. I wonder if anyone there remembers this co-worker.<br />
<br />
I was trying to figure out the date of the post card, and so I hunted down the stamp.<br />
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Ah, it turns out it's not just any stamp. This is none other than the Marianne Stamp designed by Jean Cocteau for La Poste in 1961.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf378nS4sh6OCX6a8p3xlkbS9Flh4-GadZwLddHOE8_RnW9TLByjUYwLJxSLralqA48SdV-sN3s7ePGX_qo6NQeeqjshyQnQoUKC9o_Ndy7fr0hqxYqDF88c4hjhRUEOEJmWn5hQ/s1600/bouquiniste002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf378nS4sh6OCX6a8p3xlkbS9Flh4-GadZwLddHOE8_RnW9TLByjUYwLJxSLralqA48SdV-sN3s7ePGX_qo6NQeeqjshyQnQoUKC9o_Ndy7fr0hqxYqDF88c4hjhRUEOEJmWn5hQ/s1600/bouquiniste002.jpg" height="320" width="273" /></a></div>
<br />
How cool is that? (Marianne, of course, is the symbol of <i>la République</i>. In the U.S. we have Uncle Sam, who is unfortunately kind of fixed in a goatee and hat. Marianne <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marianne">is always evolving</a>. One beauty after another.)Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-46115145042429644892015-01-13T19:18:00.000-05:002015-01-13T19:18:32.576-05:00Stealing ParisToday I received a notice from a reader that someone was using a photo from my blog, which had been doctored and captioned, for a hateful and racist post on a Facebook page.<br />
<br />
Steam poured out my ears. As if this week hasn't been awful enough for everyone who loves Paris and France.<br />
<br />
It is bad enough when people use photos or other artistic creations without attribution or permission.<br />
<br />
Alas, sadly we bloggers get accustomed to that sheer theft for our finer works of art or prose. It shouldn't happen, but it does, and we try to remedy the situation as best we can. (I've been writing this blog for 8 years <b>without remuneration</b>, just for the love of sharing my bit of France. I cringe to think of the number of people who have used images or text from this blog without asking.)<br />
<br />
Just ask me, and usually -- USUALLY -- I will give permission.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, Facebook was responsive to my report of copyright abuse today. And for the pages which had shared it.<br />
<br />
Here's what I wrote to my friends. I rarely swear, so you have to understand my outrage:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".js.1:3:1:$comment10152941098160240_10152941318275240:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;"><span data-reactid=".js.1:3:1:$comment10152941098160240_10152941318275240:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$0:0">There are lots of photos of Paris, I know. But dammit, *I* spent the money to be there for that moment, to take my kids to Paris for New Years, to rent the apartment on that street, to take the time and effort to get up early to take the photo, to pos</span></span><span data-reactid=".js.1:3:1:$comment10152941098160240_10152941318275240:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;"><span data-reactid=".js.1:3:1:$comment10152941098160240_10152941318275240:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".js.1:3:1:$comment10152941098160240_10152941318275240:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$0:0">t in on my blog. All for free, to share the love of Paris on my blog. And some idiot A-hole thinks he can just appropriate it to promote some anti-Islamic crap? That's the outrage.</span></span></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
Here is my <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2011/01/new-years-day-paris.html">original blog post,</a> dated January 1, 2011. <br />
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The New Year's photo from that post. I love Paris! I love so many friends in Paris, of all different races and nationalities.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UrosrCBLX8yVTIaUEb4Q0KBo-rMhGBzNmhKogVWH-SsBIL_GH1gMR-0ElA3S8OimY15iwMXueW4pykbCNHM_vv8L0m6g7Z3TwSpWdn2Vxb1AGexKGz2toM0fAkDjjK5icJKmMg/s1600/France+2010-11+196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UrosrCBLX8yVTIaUEb4Q0KBo-rMhGBzNmhKogVWH-SsBIL_GH1gMR-0ElA3S8OimY15iwMXueW4pykbCNHM_vv8L0m6g7Z3TwSpWdn2Vxb1AGexKGz2toM0fAkDjjK5icJKmMg/s1600/France+2010-11+196.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
And -- gahhhh --here is the doctored photo that some despicable thieves used to promote their own hateful agenda this week.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2a47JU6YpXihyphenhyphenF4E2D8RRXLPEOEFCn5I4dpzjJxxNYKNsFGZBfRv0RoOUSt8i7O8Asq7vmJz5EyIfoIoO_WXxDgG1LHW2YXxe1m-ZbKZuAwZmrRIrka3gjrLoyp_ke-OzfckSA/s1600/hateful+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2a47JU6YpXihyphenhyphenF4E2D8RRXLPEOEFCn5I4dpzjJxxNYKNsFGZBfRv0RoOUSt8i7O8Asq7vmJz5EyIfoIoO_WXxDgG1LHW2YXxe1m-ZbKZuAwZmrRIrka3gjrLoyp_ke-OzfckSA/s1600/hateful+image.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Whatever can be done to knock down these messages is not soon enough. Not only did they steal a photo of beloved Paris, but they contorted it and turned it into a message of hatred. Thankfully, Facebook has been prompt in stopping these pages.<br />
<br />
Let's get rid of these thugs' photos!<br />
<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-65196414945012843442014-12-31T17:13:00.001-05:002014-12-31T17:23:42.082-05:00Heureuse Année!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMV16Tna8e-6366PmgG6vtuC_OQxSJ-Aw0j7gVdrPrde6j5vn-Bz5uhQx9NLYSHjewtN18jo0m3aorM8pmeXUC8d4Yle0CEhQVexzboTs1nDoCRKA6A6kQm5tKVB_QdwNcog5FA/s1600/heureuse+annee001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMV16Tna8e-6366PmgG6vtuC_OQxSJ-Aw0j7gVdrPrde6j5vn-Bz5uhQx9NLYSHjewtN18jo0m3aorM8pmeXUC8d4Yle0CEhQVexzboTs1nDoCRKA6A6kQm5tKVB_QdwNcog5FA/s1600/heureuse+annee001.jpg" height="400" width="247" /></a></div>
A lovely, if somewhat dark, 1928 <i>carte de voeux</i> that I found at the Marché aux timbres in Paris.<br />
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<i>Bonne année</i> cards haven't always been images of popping champagne corks, fireworks, and glittery Eiffel Towers, I guess. This one is just serene.<br />
<br />
And on the flip side, a sweet and somewhat traditional message returning good wishes for the year.<br />
<br />
I think that in France one normally doesn't wish Happy New Year until after the stroke of midnight. After that, you can wish Bonne Année for the entire month of January. I like that.<br />
<br />
Anyway, here is the message side.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUrLFvkl-PuYiZhCA5V3Bnf597czx2ZltwWOdnm5unBWblc_dkBIkugjjnAk_11j9-0x25RHA3tGv99kNkjujYM4c6kuRQVdFfohtYV6RZxU3zv8NwRNbCAkQRf8UYae9YET81Q/s1600/heureuse+annee002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUrLFvkl-PuYiZhCA5V3Bnf597czx2ZltwWOdnm5unBWblc_dkBIkugjjnAk_11j9-0x25RHA3tGv99kNkjujYM4c6kuRQVdFfohtYV6RZxU3zv8NwRNbCAkQRf8UYae9YET81Q/s1600/heureuse+annee002.jpg" height="400" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It reads:<br />
<br />
"<i>Ma chère Renée,</i><br />
<i>Je vous remercie bien vivement de vos souhaits qui m'ont fait le plus grand plaisir.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Je vous envoie, ainsi qu'à ma cousine, mes meilleurs voeux pour cette nouvelle année et vous prie de croire à l'assurance de mes sentiments très affectueux. Je vous embrasse de tout coeur."</i><br />
<br />
Loosely translated:<br />
<br />
My dear Renée,<br />
Thank you so much for your good wishes, which made me so happy.<br />
<br />
I send to you, and to my cousin, my best wishes for this new year, and beg you to believe in the assurance of my very affectionate sentiments. I send kisses with all my heart."<br />
<br />
(I just love the French sign-off on letters, don't you? So flowery and elegant.)<br />
<br />
And so, <i>mes amis</i>, I beg you to believe in the assurance of my warmest wishes for a happy and healthy 2015.<br />
<br />
Bonne année to all!!Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-67664278568835290302014-12-30T18:15:00.000-05:002014-12-30T18:18:23.510-05:00Suggestions for Celebrating New Year's in France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhwo0klG0gQ2Lnzw-tDFVGlnBRFjpHyRM-IPegSGxd9V3Qm2Tcbb8a71iWblmEiirceJzpQxOYUxU_WdRVnabuXRmgPX_2-jD6h1NUnqhbLS5bzc48luQvF7fnyrcHOIokbbuOA/s1600/suggestions+pour+le+reveillon007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhwo0klG0gQ2Lnzw-tDFVGlnBRFjpHyRM-IPegSGxd9V3Qm2Tcbb8a71iWblmEiirceJzpQxOYUxU_WdRVnabuXRmgPX_2-jD6h1NUnqhbLS5bzc48luQvF7fnyrcHOIokbbuOA/s1600/suggestions+pour+le+reveillon007.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
How to celebrate New Year's in France? <br />
<br />
Here are mouth-watering and intriguing suggestions ...from 60 years ago. The 1954 December issue of <i>Plaisir de France</i> had the following delightful column, "Suggestions Pour le Réveillon." Scroll down for the translation by yours truly.<br />
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<i>Le réveillon</i>, by the way, is the late-evening festive meal that is traditional for both Christmas Eve and New Year's eve.<br />
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Suggestions for New Year’s Eve in France – 60 years ago<br />
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"Ah, the perennial question – a ritual, really: where and how will we spend New Year’s Eve? Out at a cabaret or at home?<br />
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A cabaret? The tradition is on the decline, if it’s not vanishing, and a number of grand restaurants do not even have a special menu for the evening any more. They simply prolong the dinner. There are nevertheless some notable exceptions. In Paris, on rue Royale or avenue de l’Opera, you can celebrate New Year’s eve in some grand establishments for 3500 or 4000 francs, plus champagne at 2000 to 2800 francs per bottle. And, livened by jazz, among the couples of dancers and underneath the little multicolor balls strung from table to table, you might enjoy a menu such as<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Oysters</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Consommé</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Truffled hen</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Foie gras with porto gelée</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Salade Lorette</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Bombe glacée</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Buche de Noel</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Fruit platter</i></span></div>
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Those who like to travel might head south in their cars and, seeking out the picturesque, can head to Provence – to Mousade, L’Isle sur la Sorgue, Sains-Gilles or Saint-Michel-de-Frigolet, listen to midnight mass and attend the benediction of the lamb, presented at the Offertory on a little beribboned cart pulled by a ram, with the shepherds and shepherdesses in old-fashioned attire and head dress. The réveillon dinner will be provençal, of course, with green and black olives, anchovies, scallops, snails, maybe some aioli, sautéed chicken a la provençale or wild thrush, which you will dip the leg of in a glass of Chateauneuf-du-pape. Of course, the 13 desserts – almonds, figs, raisins, hazelnuts, brown and white nougats, <i>pommes de paradis</i>, jams, <i>fougasses</i>, etc., will complete the festivities. To top it off, wines might include a white Chante-alouette and the lovely muscat de Beaume-de-Venise which will make the girls lively and cause them to dance.<br />
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Or perhaps we are somewhat tired of the conformist menu and we aspire to something else. Oysters, so enjoyable, and especially <i>belons</i> with their musky flavor, are a nice substitute. By why not a <i>gratinée</i> or one of these wonderful <i>pâtés de campagne en croûte</i>, for which the lady of the household surely has a secret recipe? Or perhaps a trout or Arctic char, glazed in a gelée but which has been perfectly prepared in an exquisite court-bouillon, which could replace the langouste or the lobster? Roast goose or turkey? Too common! A pheasant, preferably a hen, which is more tender and delectable, roasted wild thrush, a nice leg of goat served more than pink - almost red - will win you lots of accolades. With the leg of goat, madame, absolutely no gooseberry or red currant jam! Even avoid chestnut purée, and instead serve a lovely purée of mushrooms which will give the soul of the forest to your meal.<br />
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There are more simple menus: onion soup, white or black <i>boudin</i>, a nicely arranged platter of gourmet cold cuts, where the pork filet is alternated on the platter with poulet en gelée. Or even small escargots, andouillette grilled with apples, or a galantine of poultry.<br />
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For you lovebirds – young or old – there exists yet another réveillon: the one spent at home, radio on softly in the background, a log on the fire (because there are still fireplaces, even in Paris!)<br />
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But perhaps you like adventure or the unexpected? If so, a few days before the réveillon, go to the tourism agency of the Boulevards, and sign up for the “réveillon surprise,” for 4000 francs per person. On the evening of the réveillon (Christmas or New Year’s), at 9:00 pm, you board blue or brown buses which will take you on the most amazing tour. Your bus will leave Paris by one of the Portes and then enter via another Porte; then your driver will seem to decide to head to one of the nearby towns; then en route he will veer onto another road and take you someplace completely different. Delighted and dizzily turned around, you will ask yourselves where on earth he might be taking you.<br />
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Last year, the buses stopped, at about 10 p.m., some in Robinson, others in Moulin-Orgeval or in the forest of Fontainebleau, others elsewhere. And en route the happy travelers enjoyed a menu which was undoubtedly very classic, but spiced with fun: dancing the farandole, crazy running from one level to the next, and other unexpected festivities. And the wine was included in the price - so no surprise on that score.<br />
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What shall we drink, though, during meals either rich or simple? Unless in our travels we find a province which is unquestionably spoiled by Bacchus, whose wine crus we simply can’t pass up, I admit that my favorites, for the reveillon of Christmas or New Year’s, is:<br />
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champagne.</div>
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The name itself is magical, and without a doubt the most effervescent word in the French language. The word itself bursts forth like the cork from a champagne bottle.<br />
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However, madame, make sure that you swirl your champagne with one of these little winged twizzle sticks which a maître d’ will place in front of you with a flourish. This “brassage” lends to the wine a foamy verve, this bubbling (let’s not speak of carbonation) which Dom Perignon spent so much effort to perfect. Before Dom Perignon, as sometimes was the case in Anjou, champagne gently bubbled like this so pleasantly. But rarely do we let it keep this lovely characteristic. Respect it, madame, with Dom Perignon -- and with good taste.<br />
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One final bit of advice – and perhaps the most useful: never replace champagne by a mere sparkling wine, because as the Prince of Gastronomes, Curnonsky, once said “One does not champagne-ize champagne.”<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Paul-Emile Cadilhac</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>of the Academie des Gastronomes.</i></span>Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-73992629877205067312014-08-16T19:16:00.000-04:002014-08-16T19:16:35.121-04:00Looks like ParisI'm a huge fan of the blue doors in Paris. <br />
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Some days, when I was living in Paris, when I didn't quite know what to do with myself, I would just wander the streets for hours snapping photo upon photo of variations on blue doors. I posted them <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008/06/10-blue-doors.html">here</a>. And <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2009/01/10-more-blue-doors.html">here</a>.<br />
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And now, looking back, I wonder if that need to see the same image repeated in various forms was in fact a comforting, <i>Le-Petit-Prince</i> kind of activity. As in, the Little Prince who one day watched 43 sunsets.<br />
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“One day,' you said, 'I watched the sunset forty-three times!'<br /><br />And a little later you added:<br />'You know, when one is that sad, one can get to love the sunset.'<br /><br />'Were you that sad, then, on the day of the forty-three sunsets?'<br /><br />But the prince made no answer.”</h1>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1020792.Antoine_de_Saint_Exup_ry" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Antoine de Saint-Exupéry</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2180358" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The Little Prince</a></i></blockquote>
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I never really thought about it at the time. I just looked at more blue doors.<br />
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But yesterday I was jostling down the street and -- ta-dah! -- found a fabulous set of blue doors, complete with the Parisian enameled street number sign above. The door handle in the middle of the door. The whole enchilada. So French!<br />
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Except that one quick look gives away the telltale sign ("Driveway NO Parking") that we are not in Paris, but in fact in Manhattan's Upper East Side. <br />
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Maybe I should offer the owners a little round sign with "Défense de stationner - jour et nuit" sign?<br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-657458279311084832014-08-02T22:19:00.000-04:002014-08-02T22:23:11.045-04:00Lessons from Mrs. Goodfellow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was in college, I spent summers waitressing in a perfect, perfectly charming historic inn in Maine.<br />
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One of the delights was to be assigned to a table of summer "residents" -- guests who came to stay at the hotel for a month or so, who had been coming to the inn for decades. One of these was Mrs. Goodfellow.<br />
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True to her name, she was a delight to be around. Just taking her order for breakfast or dinner was a lesson in grace, old-school courtesy, and a pinch of old-girl mischief. A spry octagenarian, she was my lifetime role model.<br />
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Her birthday was August 3, and somehow, I always remembered it. The dining room in those days was low-key and tables were covered in ancient white damask, and the atmosphere was genteel and calm, with the most beautiful view of Somes Sound and Acadia National Park. Men in jacket and tie, ladies in dresses. Mrs. Goodfellow shared her table with another widow and a spinster, all from Philadelphia. They were a jolly trio. If you could look forward to serving breakfast (and I did) it was for those three ladies.<br />
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On my morning walk to work, I strolled past all the most beautiful Maine wildflowers. So, for Mrs. Goodfellow's 83rd birthday, I picked her a bunch of lupine and Queen Anne's lace, black-eyed susans, added to a mass of of fragrant phlox and roses from our family's garden. I arranged them artfully in a vase and set it at her place before she arrived for breakfast.<br />
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She exclaimed over the thoughtful gesture even more than was necessary, her luminous blue eyes shining, lighting up my day. <br />
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Sometimes being the giver of a gift is happier than being the on the receiving end. That's certainly how I felt giving that simple bouquet to Mrs. Goodfellow.<br />
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The next week, after the flowers had faded, she returned the vase to me. With a box of chocolates inside. "Mother always said to repay a kindness with a kindness."<br />
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That was lesson #1. A life lesson, and I have never forgotten it.<br />
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A few weeks later, I was about to depart Maine for France to begin my junior year abroad. At tea time on the porch, as we sat chatting, Mrs. Goodfellow quietly slipped an envelope into my waitress pocket. Patting my arm, she said, with a twinkle in her eyes, "Mother always said, 'When travelling abroad, take twice the funds and half the clothes that you think you'll need.'"<br />
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The wisest travel advice ever.<br />
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Thank you again, Mrs. Goodfellow. And Happy Birthday.Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-15244902514862811942014-04-03T10:03:00.001-04:002014-04-03T10:04:32.673-04:00High-flying Sunday on the Seine<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMWcflOrIEWwI0ApfUkd5fd6P7xF21spJ-amG1pu8D6sMW2OWeM3gpjmPTOtkEjDUGduShLXiNkfZRV2BgVrOj-Ap7Y4JIz6xzeIxfCQhvrwT7ZFiXcKR0yG8z33DDDhz8RI99g/s1600/Funambule-Denis-JOSSELIN-122+Photo+Caroline+HENNEL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMWcflOrIEWwI0ApfUkd5fd6P7xF21spJ-amG1pu8D6sMW2OWeM3gpjmPTOtkEjDUGduShLXiNkfZRV2BgVrOj-Ap7Y4JIz6xzeIxfCQhvrwT7ZFiXcKR0yG8z33DDDhz8RI99g/s1600/Funambule-Denis-JOSSELIN-122+Photo+Caroline+HENNEL.jpg" height="362" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denis Josselin photo © Caroline HENNEL</td></tr>
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If you are in Paris this Sunday, April 6, do yourself a favor and hightail it over to the 12e arrondissement to the Quai de la Rapée to see acclaimed tightrope-walker Denis Josselin cross the Seine 100 feet up in the air. "Between the Seine and the Sky" is how he describes it.<br />
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In what promises to be a spellbinding and entertaining event, M. Josselin will make the <i>traversée</i> at exactly 3:30 p.m, going from Port de la Rapée to the Port d'Austerlitz, near the Pont Charles de Gaulle. You'll want to get there early. And definitely not late! The 575-foot trek will take about 20-30 minutes -- plenty of time for photo ops and <i>frissons.</i><br />
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Tight-rope walking (<i>le funambulisme</i>) has a great tradition in France -- and Denis Josselin has been part of that tradition: the last time the Seine was crossed by a funambulist, 10 years ago, it was M. Josselin himself. Trained in mime, dance and circus arts, he first "stumbled" into the profession of tightrope walking in 1988 and hasn't looked back.<br />
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There is a whole afternoon of activities on the banks of the Seine this Sunday, all designed to get you to see this incredible highwire performance, and much of it FREE.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bateauxparisiens.com/english.html">Bateaux Parisiens</a> and <a href="http://www.batobus.com/english/index.htm">Batobus</a> are offering <b>free</b> 25- minute rides between the Musée d'Orsay and the Jardin des Plantes. First departure from Musée d'Orsay at 1:30 p.m., last departure from Jardin des Plantes at 6 p.m., every 45 minutes.<br />
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The cabaret boat <i>Mistinguett</i> will stay docked at the quai (Port d'Austerlitz) but will offer <b>free</b> can-can demonstrations, and you can visit the interior for a look-see. Beverages will be offered.<br />
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<a href="http://www.marina-de-paris.com/en/">Marina de Paris</a> is offering four <b>free</b> boat rides, between Quai de Bercy and Quai d'Austerlitz, leaving Bercy at 2 p.m. and 3 p.m. and returning from Austerlitz at 4:15 and 5:00.<br />
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<a href="http://www.vedettesdeparis.fr/?langue=en">Vedettes de Paris</a> has limited space for a <b>free</b> one-hour Seine ride from their dock at Suffren (near the Eiffel Tower) to the Quai d'Austerlitz, leaving at 2 p.m., arriving in time to see the tightrope event, and returning to Suffren at 5 p.m. Includes a selfie contest and <b>free</b> cotton candy.<br />
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<a href="http://www.seineavenue.com/index-gb.html">Seine Avenue</a> (which has smaller elegant ChrisCraft-style boats in gleaming mahogany that will make you feel like you are a wealthy yachtsman!) is offering <b>free</b> mini-trips on board.<br />
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Let's see -- tightrope walking, <i>barbe à papa</i>, can-can, peniches, cruises on the Seine on a Sunday afternoon. How Parisian is that? Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-49132531617189664212014-03-20T17:41:00.001-04:002014-03-20T18:19:29.607-04:00Boulevard Clichy, 1950s<br />
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This painting of Paris, entitled “Boulevard Clichy, Paris,” hung in our house all of my childhood. To me, it <i>was</i> Paris – everything that Paris could and should be. The café –its servers and clients – the gendarme, the sailor, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Advertising_column">Morris column</a> (<i>Colonne Morris</i>) advertising the next Maurice Chevalier show, the flaneurs, the street signs. My parents acquired it, I think, during a trip through Europe in 1959 or 1960. Hmm. Is it real or mythologized Paris of that era? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gendarme</td></tr>
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But it was always a bit in the background; that is, I never really studied it too closely, but rather soaked up its total Parisian-ness. Did this influence my Francophilia? No doubt. But mostly I remember wondering, at a tender age, why the words “Café- Billard-Chocolat” were backwards. And the epiphany: because we’re looking at the back side of the awning. Brilliant young moi.<br />
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When I moved to my first apartment after college, my father gave me this painting to hang in the living room. It was an instant inspiration. I loved the frame, which is a distinctly French style that I can only liken to a mansard roof perhaps seen in some Madeline books?): the edges curve up toward the center. I loved the bustling street life of Paris. The Modiste, the Cinema, the Société Générale, everything.<br />
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By the time I moved to Paris for three years, I had carefully placed the painting in storage. It wasn't until after my return that I studied it anew. Wow. Some revelations.<br />
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1. First, it really is a kind of “Where’s Waldo?” (<i><a href="http://www.grund.fr/collection/6-ou-est-charlie">Ou est Charlie?</a></i>) of Paris café/street life in the late 1950s. So many details to discover.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1oFnZxv1Esn-VhLcZJPzlSN1MtBFh86zU0erixPP7JhV0bcyDxAUDCh64vAQR0IlCK-jSDLyX9OLez5Zspl3MvhIxc4cO3uLHZYI0pPuVW60Zg-xPJein0hw8Yn5eglAnemlBQ/s1600/sailor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1oFnZxv1Esn-VhLcZJPzlSN1MtBFh86zU0erixPP7JhV0bcyDxAUDCh64vAQR0IlCK-jSDLyX9OLez5Zspl3MvhIxc4cO3uLHZYI0pPuVW60Zg-xPJein0hw8Yn5eglAnemlBQ/s1600/sailor.jpg" height="320" width="167" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French sailor with red pompom hat</td></tr>
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2. Second, the artist got a number of details wrong. I count at least three, and that’s without spending too much time on it. Can you spot them? (I don’t include sloppy painting details -- such as the man’s umbrella impaling that poor woman -- in this tally.) It makes me wonder if it was painted <i>en plein air</i> or from memory. Zoom in and check them out and tel me what you think.<br />
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3. I have figured out (I think) that this was painted from under the canopy at the famous <a href="http://www.wepler.com/">Wepler</a>. It certainly had a café and billiards at the time. Any thoughts?<br />
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4. The <i>cocher</i> (coachman) and horse were about to become extinct. The last horse-drawn carriage in Paris (from the original <i>fiacres</i>) was in 1965. There have been some attempts at tourist-y revivals since then.<br />
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5. The man in sunglasses reading a newspaper entitled <i>La Bourse Parisienne </i>may have indeed been reading about the stock market, but there was no such newspaper, so maybe he was using that as a cover? On the other hand, the guy hawking<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Rire"> <i>Le Rire</i></a> is valid; it was a satirical journal published in Paris through the late 1950s.<br />
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But some things never change. I love this lady feeding her dog at the table.<br />
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I think I might make this the new banner for Polly-Vous Francais? Just because. What do you think?Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-53479073041768882862014-02-25T21:15:00.000-05:002014-03-20T18:40:27.967-04:00Valérie Trierweiler’s Brother Recounts the Break-Up with François Hollande<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 22.5pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22.5pt;">[Vanity Fair France</span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22.5pt;"> has a great article about the Hollande-Trierweiler split, explained by a family member, which hasn't been published in the anglophone press. Since I am a professional translator, I whipped up a verbatim translation (and sent it to </i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22.5pt;">Vanity Fair France</span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22.5pt;">, gratis, but didn't hear back from them. The orginal is <a href="http://www.vanityfair.fr/actualites/france/articles/hollande-les-proches-de-trierweiler-parlent-vanity-fair/13139">here</a>. So here you have it.]</i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>“What François Hollande did was brutal; it goes beyond mere betrayal,” he says in the Spanish edition of Vanity Fair, revealing new details about the break-up less than a month after the official announcement of the Hollande-Trierweiler split.</b></span></span></i><b><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The oldest brother of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> Trierweiler, William Massonneau, has discussed the break-up of his sister and French President François Hollande, for the first time, in the February 20 issue of the </span></span><a href="http://www.revistavanityfair.es/articulos/valerie-trierweiler-ajuste-de-cuentas/18489"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Spanish edition of <i>Vanity Fair</i></span></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">. The monthly’s cover story, The <i>Secrets of the </i></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> Affair</span></span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, cites as sources a number of those close to the President’s former companion. “What François Hollande did was brutal; it goes beyond mere betrayal,” says Massonneau.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">William Massonneau, a 50-year-old computer engineer, continues: “The relationship between my sister and François Hollande was altered by political events. They weren’t </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> and François. They were the President and the First Lady.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On January 25, François Hollande announced to Agence France Presse that he was ending his eight-year relationship with </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> Trierweiler. </span></span><a href="http://www.vanityfair.fr/actualites/le-monde-de-VF/articles/en-direct/2090"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Two weeks before, the magazine <i>Closer</i> had broken a story about the relationship between Hollande and actress Julie Gayet.</span></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Massonneau</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> gives a harsh assessment of François Hollande’s behavior towards his sister. “I have never behaved in such a way, and hope I would never do so,” he confides to <i>Vanity Fair</i>. “Hollande is a man with a lot of empathy. But his capacity to lead parallel lives is unbelievable. His powers of seduction are immense.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hollande « pleasant and congenial »<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The article published by the Spanish magazine recounts the last few weeks of their life as a couple, including spending Christmas Eve with </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> Trierweiler’s family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We had dinner at my house. My mother, my brothers, some nephews, Valerie and François. We are a large and close-knit family,” he explains. “The unemployment statistics were about to be published, and the news wasn’t good. Hollande knew that it would affect his image, which was already very weak. Despite all that, he was pleasant and congenial with everyone.”</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Admission to hospital on advice of the Élysée</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The article in Spanish <i>Vanity Fair</i> also supplies some new details about Trierweiler’s hospitalization following the break-up. Relying on a source who claims to be a close friend of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;">’s, the magazine explains that her admission to the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris was “advised by the doctor of the Élysée.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">According to this anonymous source, “</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie<span style="color: #333333;"> Trierweiler was sedated for 48 hours… When she woke up, she thought she had been asleep for a few hours, whereas it was actually almost two days. She was under the effect of the tranquilizers. She was feeling nauseated and had difficulty remembering what had just happened to her. Her two cell phones had been taken away and no one could contact her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie Trierweiler’s brother said he too visited her in the hospital, despite doctors’ orders. “I realized that she could hardly put two words together. She needed to get out of there as soon as possible to start to take charge of her life. » <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Willing to forgive the infidelity.”</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The two Spanish journalists who wrote the story explain that they obtained the information during a secret meeting in Paris with a close male friend of Valérie Trierweiler’s. Hollande visited Trierweiler only once in the hospital, said the friend, and that the doctors wanted the visit to be brief, a maximum of six minutes, but that it lasted more than half an hour.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">« Valérie was willing to forgive the infidelity, that’s certain. But Hollande didn’t refer to the affair a single time. He asked only about her health. It was then that she fully understood that their eight-year relationship was over,” explains the anonymous friend, who says he was present at the </span><a href="http://www.vanityfair.fr/actualites/france/articles/10-choses-lanterne-trierweiler-hollande/2149"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">pavillon de la Lanterne</span></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> the day that François Hollande issued his statement to the press.</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tense exchange of text messages</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Spanish edition of <i>Vanity Fair</i> also published an exchange of text messages between Valérie Trierweiler and François Hollande, giving the timing of January 25, a few hours prior to AFP’s 6:50 p.m. publication of the official press statement by Hollande.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">François Hollande: “We should send a joint press statement.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valérie Trierweiler: “Out of the question. It’s your responsibility. You are the one who got into this mess and it’s up to you to set it straight. I won’t sign any press statement.”</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A 3 million euro settlement?</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Frédéric Gerschel, a journalist for <i>Le Parisien</i> and another a close friend of Valérie Trierweiler’s, also spoke with <i>Vanity Fair</i> Spain. “François was prepared to listen to her and reassure her. He knew that he needed to compensate her somehow for their eight years together.” A contractual agreement in effect stipulates that the President give her financial support until the end of his term in office that would allow her to continue to live in apartment in the 15<sup>th</sup> arrondissement of Paris, which they rented together up to the time of the break-up, as well as a monthly allowance to pay for the education of her three children (the total was rumored to be close to 3 million euros, for which <i>Vanity Fair</i> did not cite the sources.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hollande is sad”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The article also quotes Julien Dray, regional counselor for the Île-de-France and a close friend of François Hollande’s. “For the President, it was very difficult to leave someone whom he had loved. Hollande is sad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 22.5pt;">In the </span><a href="http://www.leparisien.fr/laparisienne/actu-people/personnalites/valerie-trierweiler-je-n-aimais-pas-les-ors-de-l-elysee-29-01-2014-3539823.php" style="line-height: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">January 31<sup>st</sup> <i>Parisien Magazine</i></span></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 22.5pt;"> Valérie Trierweiler was quoted as saying that she “hasn’t ruled out writing a book” after the break-up with Hollande.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 22.5pt;">Her brother does not deny that possibility. “Until now, all the First Ladies who had been cheated on just accepted the situation. They never spoke out… It is not normal that women remain silent.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And, the magazine writes, based on confidential information from a friend of Valérie Trierweiler’s, that she warned Hollande “I’ll destroy you just as you have destroyed me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jérémie Maire, Laure Cometti et Philippe Mathon<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Translated from the French by Polly Lyman</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-25432938982184413972014-02-14T13:00:00.001-05:002014-02-14T13:00:43.534-05:0010 Little French Words to know for Valentine's DayAh, the language of love. It's just so... fundamental!<br />
So I bring you some of the basics, in French.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqpDCdeKArrVr6TtOgTijSGocNYUAfRmHkmzDmOYEeSyPx_YJD_Q-1VJ5XibVI6iq4MyXI5DZmwuE5_U60QugZ6tHY2T44HIS_o70UdF-Zrd2U9YQhEigl85BfEL9TWy6xaNMQ/s1600/aimer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqpDCdeKArrVr6TtOgTijSGocNYUAfRmHkmzDmOYEeSyPx_YJD_Q-1VJ5XibVI6iq4MyXI5DZmwuE5_U60QugZ6tHY2T44HIS_o70UdF-Zrd2U9YQhEigl85BfEL9TWy6xaNMQ/s1600/aimer.jpg" height="147" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A is for aimer</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuipuxb0AdFzCTeKrG2AsxTwS8mhRBiHcbiaANqe5qlYPZyU1eQ4xOC5kV0Wc6yW67Z1pF8PUIcF4REcTi1T4ZVmWKLp5-w_hReaX4xo4nYAOAdCmhZvtOUkwDTHwEKvGgzmhwg/s1600/affection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuipuxb0AdFzCTeKrG2AsxTwS8mhRBiHcbiaANqe5qlYPZyU1eQ4xOC5kV0Wc6yW67Z1pF8PUIcF4REcTi1T4ZVmWKLp5-w_hReaX4xo4nYAOAdCmhZvtOUkwDTHwEKvGgzmhwg/s1600/affection.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A is also for affection and affectueux or affectueuse</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWYX8E4hVahWKcEgEp7WkWXe9jr7YsoEc7U5iYjh1yCPxFKF3LaueaQWERazIarFjSGgjnpdsbGQ4qyFv95Fx3LarA8coUjtKcVR3jyvvI2glcpj4-RFj-27MxD3gxAhnFC6paA/s1600/baiser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWYX8E4hVahWKcEgEp7WkWXe9jr7YsoEc7U5iYjh1yCPxFKF3LaueaQWERazIarFjSGgjnpdsbGQ4qyFv95Fx3LarA8coUjtKcVR3jyvvI2glcpj4-RFj-27MxD3gxAhnFC6paA/s1600/baiser.jpg" height="100" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B is for baiser. The noun, people!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHbjdQL-qzl9dsMo0VVVVPIcFx-yx_oGP3F8kBzeZ2rJJ8YcqEOfPt8zt0OHZuLAbhjv6jxdQFPfk6A48CSp8aT3wI3l6uZvJN_gg7ykddwC-UxC2VjKeyMKo7XA-RQcbwkvTXQ/s1600/cheri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHbjdQL-qzl9dsMo0VVVVPIcFx-yx_oGP3F8kBzeZ2rJJ8YcqEOfPt8zt0OHZuLAbhjv6jxdQFPfk6A48CSp8aT3wI3l6uZvJN_gg7ykddwC-UxC2VjKeyMKo7XA-RQcbwkvTXQ/s1600/cheri.jpg" height="101" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C is for chéri or chérie <span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16.1200008392334px; text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqOZO_qtrfEm2XFB1C5r3_aaRvpKkapJkLsysMtwAwMjKo5L22Qh4e93JDmHoWE3utcuHf-jRzz8syGDYBU9ibDimOrpKFrLB0gOzkC9E7e20pMNpgOPOAsu2He_7UugfGfCoXQ/s1600/cher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqOZO_qtrfEm2XFB1C5r3_aaRvpKkapJkLsysMtwAwMjKo5L22Qh4e93JDmHoWE3utcuHf-jRzz8syGDYBU9ibDimOrpKFrLB0gOzkC9E7e20pMNpgOPOAsu2He_7UugfGfCoXQ/s1600/cher.jpg" height="163" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C is also for cher.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfb36EXf3t9P7nOEKYktPKrrOrLzOrXjU24WTAAs6ARuN3w4AsAB768rqymjrkNMZpGpLTsB3G2lZD1PZqVycs9wmJfwDHVCHVDRUI6WvWYeVcVeegHL746P53R1sx9-dIwxTcag/s1600/embrasser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfb36EXf3t9P7nOEKYktPKrrOrLzOrXjU24WTAAs6ARuN3w4AsAB768rqymjrkNMZpGpLTsB3G2lZD1PZqVycs9wmJfwDHVCHVDRUI6WvWYeVcVeegHL746P53R1sx9-dIwxTcag/s1600/embrasser.jpg" height="180" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">E is for embrasser</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiXqMzfBwRdGclQhmZMSItI6zWO-iYdj7u9kWzFdSYEwe4nPhsxfiNtA7MA-D6v8PcP4Kj4qHmwHXW7_txNuF0U3wC5KA51Ae8-DWcJrppdLAifhlVryWqBItq_Js7Ew8w9UQLQ/s1600/fevrier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiXqMzfBwRdGclQhmZMSItI6zWO-iYdj7u9kWzFdSYEwe4nPhsxfiNtA7MA-D6v8PcP4Kj4qHmwHXW7_txNuF0U3wC5KA51Ae8-DWcJrppdLAifhlVryWqBItq_Js7Ew8w9UQLQ/s1600/fevrier.jpg" height="85" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F is for fevrier</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCf5S0HYWVW48cXykiZd1LXpuvvOPHCoyqWlV2cNn6vRsCPmAnE0NxGayIoO4O77JfAdM893rElszFuiJeU4TN2y4Hg7i0R6Tzd8X4nBbh-Nj5E3m3H_Xo51GzNq-EorcMxD1BFA/s1600/fleur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCf5S0HYWVW48cXykiZd1LXpuvvOPHCoyqWlV2cNn6vRsCPmAnE0NxGayIoO4O77JfAdM893rElszFuiJeU4TN2y4Hg7i0R6Tzd8X4nBbh-Nj5E3m3H_Xo51GzNq-EorcMxD1BFA/s1600/fleur.jpg" height="400" width="362" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F is also for fleur. Love the French names!</td></tr>
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And what is Valentine's Day if not <i>toi et moi?</i><br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: xx-small;">Illustrations from <i>Mon Premier Larousse en couleurs</i>, 1953</span><br />
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Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-71187561368877825472013-12-15T04:53:00.001-05:002013-12-15T04:53:21.964-05:00Season's Greetings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTFhsS1dI-oUVdzLGhw7nG1QRi7QnssMD7kCoOdSfB9RQuYbOmCMOaOYgXh4OAnenrg0NboSIc-3LJVO9Xt6xhPxOIj1POoycJ9jwXC_b0NeIKo4dp31bzIHuV4T808M7H5jDFg/s1600/EPSON001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTFhsS1dI-oUVdzLGhw7nG1QRi7QnssMD7kCoOdSfB9RQuYbOmCMOaOYgXh4OAnenrg0NboSIc-3LJVO9Xt6xhPxOIj1POoycJ9jwXC_b0NeIKo4dp31bzIHuV4T808M7H5jDFg/s400/EPSON001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from a postcard I bought</td></tr>
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<i>Souhaits de Bonheur. </i>Happy wishes of the season. Which is of course, what I wish to all of you.<br />
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But take a look at this image. Is it me, or do I depict an existential lack of happiness in the assembled crowd? What a bunch of sad-sacks! Not exactly resounding with happy wishes.<br />
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So, what do you think about the underlying message here? <br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-24723940626314420322013-12-11T15:00:00.000-05:002013-12-11T15:00:10.648-05:00This dog takes the phrase "leche-vitrine" to a new level<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's the holidays! Time for some shopping, or at least a little window-shopping, <i>n'est-ce pas</i>?<br />
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This Manhattan pooch must have some French blood, as he demonstrates, literally, <i>comment</i> <i>faire du lèche-vitrine.</i>Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-54377531656513166392013-11-19T21:16:00.000-05:002013-11-19T21:16:00.868-05:00Le Crocodile in ParisParis <i>vitrines </i>(store windows) never fail to delight and inspire.<br />
More often than not, they make me stop in my tracks. And snap photos if my camera is handy.<br />
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A few weeks ago I spotted this one, featuring crocodile or alligator leather goods, complete with deceased mascot.<br />
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Wow. <i>Would such a window display ever exist in the US?</i>, I wondered.<br />
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I was so awestruck I was at a loss for a caption for this photo.<br />
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But it clearly needs one, so I welcome your suggestions.<br />
<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-11321931124734234912013-10-31T20:11:00.000-04:002014-03-20T18:41:38.637-04:00How do you say "Boo!" in French?Like this:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pasteur statue, place de Breteuil. </td></tr>
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-91524299325386001362013-10-17T00:01:00.000-04:002013-10-17T00:01:03.214-04:00Bonjour BlackSeen on the streets of New York. Is black the new black?<br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-71219071055157328692013-08-29T20:53:00.003-04:002013-08-29T21:06:14.679-04:00That first magical summer in France, 40 years ago?Forty years.<br />
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Forty years ago today, I boarded an Air France flight at Orly to return from France to the U.S. It had been a magical summer. My first time ever in France. A life-changer.<br />
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That June I had graduated from high school and had gone on a three-week whirlwind tour of Romania with my school glee club. In anticipation of the flight's stopover in Paris, earlier that spring I had begged my parents to see if they knew anyone in France with whom I might spend some or all of the summer.<br />
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Hooray! As it turned out, there was a family. Friends of friends had lived in Paris working for Time-Life; eight years before, in 1965 when they were leaving Paris, they had brought along a lovely young Parisian, Marie-Noelle, to Connecticut as an <i>au pair</i> so that their children could keep up their French.<br />
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Fast forward to 1973: Marie-Noelle was now in her late 20s, in Paris, married with a baby of her own. Her extended family (grandmother, parents, and sisters and their families) spent the summer on Ile de Ré. They would be delighted to have me as an <i>au pair</i> for the summer.<br />
<br />
Back then, a <i>fille au pair </i>was not hired help, not a euphemism for a nanny. <i>Au pair</i> meant on a par. (In fact, I was never paid a cent. <i>In retrospect, I should have paid them</i>.) From the beginning I was treated as a younger sister or cousin, completely part of the family, who earned my keep by lending a hand with the children and household duties, mostly with the assistance of Mamita, the grandmother. <br />
<br />
For eight weeks I was immersed, submerged in French family vacation life. Upon my arrival, they asked if I would rather speak in English or French. "<i><b>En francais!</b></i>" I blurted rather vehemently. Oh-so-politely, not another word of English was spoken to me all summer. (Except most evenings when Marie-Noelle's husband Jacques would re-re-fill my wineglass at dinner, joking, "Just a leeeetle drop, Pollee?")<br />
<br />
It was a summer of transformation. Twelve years of classroom French, filled with Moliere and Sartre and verb conjugations, rapidly transformed into must-use everyday French. Who the heck knew what a <i>biberon</i> was? <i>Une couche</i>? I thought <i>une couche</i> was a layer. Baby bottle and diaper. Got it. But in short order the learning curve became so fast I didn't have time to translate: I just had to figure it out. <br />
<br />
Example: I knew the word for floor was <i>le plancher</i>. But when someone said "<i>Tu peux mettre cela par terre</i>," I had to do some quick mental leaps to figure out that it meant "Put that down (on the ground)." Finally the mental leaps were arriving at such locomotive speed that I put away my mental French-English dictionary and just went with it. And French food and cooking lingo deserve their own chapter...<br />
<br />
I had to keep up daily with spoken French on all levels: toddler and pre-school age; vivacious sophisticated Parisian 20-somethings with their large entourage, with full-on colloquialisms, at dinner or dancing at island nightclubs or sailing; kind and worldly grandparents whose English far surpassed my faltering French; and the clear-speaking but cryptic Loma, the ancient, tiny, widowed great-grandmother swaddled in black. To me, it seemed Loma parsed out wisdom in 19th-century French haiku.<br />
<br />
But it was far more than just a language-learning experience. For 8 weeks, every minute, every hour was an awakening. <i>This life is what I was meant to know</i>, I thought. <i>This is where I belong</i>. French beach picnics -- feasts, not just sandwiches! -- boat outings, everyday summer dinners, daily shopping, meal preparation, everything about French lifestyle was both eye-opening and instantly <i>right. </i>The pace of life and the focus. I found my true sense of self.<br />
<i><br />
</i> I was eighteen.<br />
<br />
Reality check: 1973: no cell phones, no internet, no TV on the summer island; and a long-distance call was prohibitively expensive, ergo was for emergencies only. Thus my only communication with American family and friends for eight weeks was via postcard or aerogramme. Bless my mother, who saved all my letters home. By mid-summer my English syntax was down the drain, and the vocab was slipping: "We go every day to the <i>plage</i> with the children," I wrote. I wasn't putting on airs, I was losing myself in French and France.<br />
<br />
And that is how I really learned French. I lost my American self in the French world. <br />
<br />
I think I never fully returned.<br />
<br />
Oh, I <i>physically</i> returned to America on that Air France flight 40 years ago. I had flown from La Rochelle airport to Le Bourget (I think). I know I took a connecting bus to Orly. Gilles, my handsome summer-unrequited-crush who had spent many July and August weekends as a guest with the family, was waiting for my bus as it pulled in to the bus lane at Orly (he worked for Air France, as had his uncle, Antoine de St. Exupery). Belmondo-esque, he stood at the entrance, one leg perched on the barrier, leaning and smoking a Gauloise. My heart fluttered.<br />
<br />
I attempted to haul my embarrassing, oversized, orange, too-American Tourister suitcase from the luggage compartment of the coach.<br />
<br />
"<i>Laches</i>," he asserted gently, grabbing the handle. <br />
<br />
<i>Lâche</i> raced through my brain, seeking quick processing. <i>Lâche, poltron, couard, peureux </i>went the brain scan in a nanosecond<i> </i>from senior-year Advanced French language class when we had to memorize synonyms. <i>Why was he calling me a coward? </i>My heart pounded.<br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>"Laches," </i>chided Gilles, tugging more firmly. I finally released the handle to him (which was what he was in fact saying: "Let go"), banking on the body language, still unsure why I was a coward. <i>Did he think I was grasping so tightly because I was embarrassed at the weight of my suitcase?</i><br />
<br />
He bought me an Orangina, got me checked in with his svelte, perfectly perfumed young French colleagues at the desk, and finagled as much VIP treatment as a junior Air France worker could finagle. After some final chit-chat, address exchanges and "Oh yes, we'll keep in touch" banalities, he accompanied me to the gate. A total gentleman, truly and genuinely so.<br />
<br />
It didn't register -- actually at that point, I couldn't really fathom what it meant -- that I was leaving France and returning to the States. A seven-hour flight was not enough time to adjust, linguistically, emotionally, or culturally.<br />
<br />
I had become a different person. I was still Polly, but who was <i>she</i>?<br />
<br />
Three days later I was sitting in a freshman "French class" in college in Connecticut: nothing French about it, at all, really.<br />
<br />
Lost.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
related posts:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2007/07/mamita.html">Mamita</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2007/07/unlocking-french-r.html">Unlocking</a><br />
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</div>
<a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2007/07/unlocking-french-r.html"> the French R</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008/08/la-plage.html">A la plage</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-53184165603122684002013-08-05T21:33:00.000-04:002013-08-05T21:33:38.364-04:00Fermeture Annuelle: photosWe all know by now, don't we, that Paris more or less shuts down in August. Some of us <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2006/08/august-in-paris.html">revel in the peacefulness of a quiet Paris</a>. Others are challenged by the many, many boutique and local-shopkeeper closings. Still others are away at vacation retreats and don't notice the difference.<br />
<br />
But it is a rite of summer. It is Paris.<br />
<br />
A few years ago I commissioned some enterprising photographers to capture the signs posted in Paris shop windows announcing their summer closings. Even the convents post a "Fermeture Annuelle sign! <br />
<br />
Here are a few of those signs. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Gentle reminder: all copyright Polly-Vous Francais) </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<br />
Bonnes vacances!<br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-71763873986850789122013-07-09T23:53:00.000-04:002013-07-10T00:23:53.674-04:00Les Liaisons Dangereuses, signed Malkovich Wow.<br />
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Tonight was opening night of <i><a href="http://www.lincolncenterfestival.org/current-season/les-liaisons-dangereuses">Les Liaisons Dangereuses</a></i>, directed by John Malkovich, part of the Lincoln Center Festival.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0RPvryYuS761ydEduUG2ka10v1Gn_VMpfeJNKYWaB6GkUWqCTyIMi5q0O1lop89tP8-i5wZjmJFw1yR2spXIVmvZHZwYrswo9O90m6E8BEnMbpSsptS0CtNfC3iNLwfvd-InKw/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0RPvryYuS761ydEduUG2ka10v1Gn_VMpfeJNKYWaB6GkUWqCTyIMi5q0O1lop89tP8-i5wZjmJFw1yR2spXIVmvZHZwYrswo9O90m6E8BEnMbpSsptS0CtNfC3iNLwfvd-InKw/s320/photo+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actors warming up on stage before the play begins</td></tr>
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Wow.<br />
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I was all wound up in anticipation of this production, for many reasons. I had studied the epistolary novel by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos as a French major in college, and later actually <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-my-party.html">acted in a community theater production</a> of Christopher Hampton's play wherein I played (ulp) the Marquise de Merteuil (aka Glenn Close). <br />
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None of my past experiences -- reading for literature, watching the film, acting in the play -- prepared me for this <i>tour de force</i>. This is <i>Liaisons Dangereuses</i> as it was meant to be experienced.<br />
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Wow.<br />
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It was totally brilliant, which is a relief when expectations and ticket prices run high. <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In the Director's Notes in the Playbill, John Malkovich says: <b>"<i>Les Liaisons Dangereuses</i> is a story for the ages. It is here restored to its original language, and I think today's theatergoers will readily grasp it, even if they don't speak French. It is clear and clean and mean and fast. It hurts as life invariably does. It is snotty and decadent and sexy. It is infantile, tragic, and amusing."</b></blockquote>
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It is indeed all of the above. The play is highly charged and erotic, and had many in the audience squirming in their seats. (Some oldsters left at intermission.) It is witty and superbly staged. The acting is superlative (with the exception of a vaguely disappointing Mme de Rosemonde, who was just okay).<br />
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Highly recommended!<br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-24160579233960502312013-06-30T14:55:00.000-04:002013-06-30T14:55:06.308-04:00Post Cards from Paris: a Thought and a Kiss<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoALl_mO8pC2i-nmK-Qbufs04xDUm4DTogRhQ4IY14XueF9jKOHUu1zZFcWWxAJtgpaa8QIDM1y5AKJPZFBOzJbZMCd4rmGQCUWbifJhLiUfbGf3mgTHn-q71oq3ykqpl9tEYbVQ/s1600/carte+postale007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoALl_mO8pC2i-nmK-Qbufs04xDUm4DTogRhQ4IY14XueF9jKOHUu1zZFcWWxAJtgpaa8QIDM1y5AKJPZFBOzJbZMCd4rmGQCUWbifJhLiUfbGf3mgTHn-q71oq3ykqpl9tEYbVQ/s320/carte+postale007.jpg" width="203" /></a>Vintage post cards of Paris (or anywhere, for that matter) are delightful, and are easy and unique souvenirs to bring home.<br />
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This is a sweet one -- <i>Une pensée de Paris</i>, a play on words since <i>pensée</i> means both pansy and thought. Say it with flowers: Thinking of you from Paris. With the requisite monuments, of course.<br />
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The correspondence on the reverse side of this post card was tame, a perfunctory "Tous mes remerciements, Joanne." The card was addressed to Monsieur et Madame Giraud, 40 rue de la Station, Ermont, which is just north of Paris. I did a little research: here is <a href="http://autrefois.ermont.free.fr/Centre%20ville/ruestation/ruestation%2017.jpg">rue de la Station at about that time.</a> Probably late 1800s.<br />
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It's innocent enough, tiptoeing into someone else's thank-you note.<br />
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<b>It is another matter entirely </b>to stumble upon an ancient post card containing a woman's bold and feverish declaration of love, which, I fear, may be unrequited. Reading a love letter meant for private eyes feels intrusive ... and yet it causes insatiable curiosity.<br />
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<i>Un Baiser</i> -- A Kiss. The photo may be the woman herself. (To me it looks like a studio portrait turned into a <i>carte postale</i>.) What do you think?<br />
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The reverse: no address. I'm not sure how the post card was delivered, because it was stamped and metered on the photo side. It was written probably about 1903. <br />
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The message? I got so sad reading this. (Translation at the bottom.) The age old story.<br />
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<i>Bien cher et tendre,</i><br />
<i>L’accueil que vous ferez à ma lettre me cause une inquiétude pénible. J’ai longtemps combattu avant de vous faire l’aveu de ma tendresse. J’ai vingt fois déchiré des lettres commencées enfin mon chéri mon cœur la emporte sur toutes mes craintes. C’est sans doute avoir de l’audace de vous faire un semblable aveu mais il est sincère et je n’exagère pas ma situation, si je vous dis que lorsque je vous ai vue[sic] la première fois j’ai senti un transport qui m’était inconnu. Je ne vous propose pas mon chéri de partager une affection passagère qui n’a rien de sincère ni de durable. Je désire m’unir a vous par les liens du mariage et tous mes vœux sont que.. liens nous unissent a jamais. J’espère que vous daignez répondre à mes sentiments. J’attends votre décision, je l’attends avec impatience et […] quelle ne soit pas désespérant. Je vous en supplie soyez sincère et franc n’ayez aucun détour, car voilà déjà de longs jours que je vous connais, vous avez du remarquer tout le bonheur que j’éprouve lorsque je suis près de vous. Je vous aime de toutes les forces de mon âme. O vous si charmant et si doux, auriez- vous la cruauté de repousser l’amour le plus vrai et le plus sincère. Si vous ne pouvez pas me donner des sentiments aussi affectueux que ceux que je me sens pour vous, laissez-moi au moins l’espérance un mot de grâce sinon, chéri dites-moi que je puis vous chérir et vous aimer. Veuillez agréer cher bien aime avec mon profond respect l’assurance de mon amitié et de mon dévouement. Votre amie qui vous aime. 28.16</i><br />
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<i><br />
</i> Quickly translated:<br />
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"My tender darling,<br />
Thinking about your potential reaction to this letter causes me painful worry. I have been so anguished about expressing my feelings to you. I have begun and then torn up letters to you twenty times, because, dear heart, therein lie my fears. It is certainly bold to make such a pronouncement to you, but it is sincere and I am not exaggerating my current situation if I tell you that when I saw you the first time I felt transported in a way I'd never felt before. I am not asking you to share with me a fleeting affection, which is neither sincere nor long-lasting. I want to be united with you by the bonds of marriage and my only wishes are that we be united forever. I hope that you will return the feelings. I await your decision, I wait for it with impatience and [hope] that it will not be disappointing. I beg of you, be sincere and honest, don't beat around the bush, because I have already known you for so many long days, and surely you must have noticed the joy that I experience when I am near you. I love you with all the force of my soul. O you so charming and so kind, would you be so cruel as to reject a love so sincere and so real? If you cannot love me in the same way that I love you, please give me at least a kind word, dear one please tell me that at least I can love you and cherish you.<br />
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Please accept dear one with my profound respect the assurance of my friendship and my devotion. Your friend who loves you."<br />
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Parting thoughts:<br />
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1. What do you think the response was, if any?<br />
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2. I am amazed that even love letters are closed with "<i>Veuillez agreer....l'assurance de</i> etc etc." That formula is really, really ingrained in the culture!<br />
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3. Was 28.16 a code name?<br />
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<br />Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-24453962763626783622013-06-29T12:30:00.000-04:002013-06-29T12:30:42.560-04:00A lorgnette from ParisMy most chic acquisition during my Paris visit was a lorgnette.<br />
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Wandering the stalls of the Marche aux Puces at Vanves, I was enthralled at all the offerings but tiring of needing to take my reading glasses out of my purse every time I wanted to inspect an item. (I still refuse to put them on a chain around my neck. <i>I just can't.</i>)<br />
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And then lo and behold, just what I didn't know I was looking for: this vintage lorgnette! 10 euros is my kind of price.<br />
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I hadn't really ever seen anyone use a lorgnette in real life. Perhaps in the comedy archives of my youth: Marx Brothers' movies, or Saturday morning cartoons?<br />
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Surely I could create a new fashion statement for Boomers like me who have had it with peering through the glasses perched on the mid-bridge of the nose.<br />
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Besides, the totally cool part: this lorgnette is compact. It folds. I spent the rest of the morning inspecting <i>objets </i>through my new specs.<br />
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I suppose putting this on a pretty chain or lanyard wouldn't kill me.<br />
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Related post: <a href="http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2007/10/men-seldom-make-passes.html">Men Seldom Make Passes</a>. I guess I do have a thing for folding eyeglasses.Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28165993.post-20812494879142403192013-06-14T21:46:00.001-04:002013-06-14T21:46:45.780-04:00A few iconic views of Paris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Most of this recent visit to Paris, I just wasn't interested in taking photos. It seemed too clicheed, too... I don't know what to call it. Everybody and their brother are taking photos of everything there is to see in Paris. What could I document that wasn't already documented by a hundred thousand instagrams, Facebook photos, and more?<br />
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So I revisited Paris mostly with my eyes, ears, and heart. I absorbed Paris in my pores. Wow, did it feel good.<br />
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My cautionary tale:<br />
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<i>The summer I was 19 I returned to France to revisit the wonderful friends I had made the previous summer, which had been my first and tremendously pivotal experience in France. That subsequent summer, I borrowed my mother's Zeiss Ikon 36 mm camera and took 6 rolls of film, to document all of the magic that I had lived the year before. Returning home, I had the film processed -- only to discover that the camera's shutter had stuck after the second frame, and I had zero pictures. <b>Zero.</b></i><br />
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On that awful day, I vowed never to live a moment through the lens of a camera... NEVER. I understood that the moment lived is far more important than the documentation of it ... to me. <br />
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How could I have envisioned 2013, when not a moment goes undocumented and immediately shared with friends? Sometimes I want to just chuck the camera (and everyone else's) and then some times I'm so grateful for those fleeting moments captured by camera. It's a toss-up.<br />
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That said, I did take a few photos of recurring sights of Paris that I simply had to document for posterity. All from the vicinity of my rental apartment on the Esplanade des Invalides. When you walk out the door and this is what you see every day, you simply have to take a quick snapshot, eventually. Too breathtaking!<br />
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Polly-Vous Francaishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12667479743723002691noreply@blogger.com2