Halloween in Paris

World Cup Woes & Bicycle Foes

The city is swarming with international rugby fans, and lucky for me, the players as well.
Running in Champ De Mars is never dull at the moment, seeing a scrumful of rugby boys running in big groups is more than inspiration to keep me going.

Despite England’s performance in the tournament so far, the atmosphere is electric everywhere in Paris, without any unsightly, drunken scenes as the rugby crowds behave accordingly. Everyone wears their patriotism on their shirts, and there is no animosity, (apart from the poor English bloke walking through a crowd of hundreds of Scots at the Champ de Mars who roared blasphemies at him). So far it has been the Scots who have made the most noise, taking over the Champ de Mars for a few days, it was swimming in kilts, beer, and bare bottoms (I’m not complaining!)

As usual, Paris has done things in style and have suspended a huge rugby ball in the middle of the Eiffel Tower, lighting it up green and gold at night throughout the tournament. They also have large outdoor screens up in front of Trocadero and Hotel De Ville for mass viewing. It felt quite unreal to be watching England play in such an atmosphere, with the late afternoon sun setting on Hotel De Ville the picture was still amazing as people lolled about on the fake grass beneath the screen. The police, as always, were in control, with high security and directing people and traffic, and numerous Gendarmerie vans on standby. A year ago I would have criticised them and accused them of being control freaks, but now I realise what they do makes sense, they don’t want it to get out of hand, and you can be sure you won’t see any drunk English louts singing ‘Sweet Low Sweet Chariot’ whilst stumbling along Place d’Hotel DeVille, for if they did they’d be quickly silenced. Most Brits we passed by nodded in patriotic showmanship, the funniest being a tubby Anglophone with his roses proudly on display above his impressive gut, teamed with a French beret…..now that is class!

The city of Paris has introduced a new, inexpensive, biking system - the 'velib'. Several thousand very good quality bikes are stationed all over Paris, 300 meters apart, with over 300 km of bike lanes created especially for those brave enough to use them. After finally working out how to use a 'velib', I set off with a friend along the Seine on a splendid late summer’s morning. To be riding a bike around Paris felt so liberating, and not quite as terrifying as I thought. Because so many people are doing it, it makes it more accessible somehow, easier to slip into the crowd of nervous yet gleeful cyclists weaving their way around the city, much to the chagrin of taxi and bus drivers.

As I'm getting used to all the bus/taxi/bike lanes whilst dodging the traffic of pedestrians, motorcycles, cars, and other cyclists, it all seems to be going very smoothly, no crashes or injuries…until the junction at Pont Neuf. Just after this things get a bit tricky, and we end up on the wide pavement adjacent to the bus lane, which was very narrow and full of buses, a mere gap stop til we could get on the road again. However, in unforgiving Paris, you are not allowed to make even the smallest mistake or deviate from the norm, and a vendeur (man selling books along the Seine) decides to inform me of my crime of briefly riding on ‘le trottoir’ by grabbing me as I ride slowly by so I nearly fall. Unbelievably aggressive, he shouts at me in French for 'rouling' on the sidewalk. Aggressively French back I tell him ‘Ne touché pas!’ and it infuriates him (unbeknownst to me it was a form of the language used only for the lowest of the low). Enraged, he comes after me. I hop on my bike and try to escape and he kicks me as I wobble away, shouting very English profanities over my shoulder, bien sur!

Lesson learned – wear heels next time so I can kick him back.

Holidaying with the French & Beach Rugby

I’m taking great comfort in seeing that not all French are the pristine, classy, well turned out people that the Parisians portray themselves to be. In a self catering resort in the south of France, there are all walks of French life, and in this type of place you don’t find as much chic and sophistication as you would in Paris. They are on holiday, after all, with the first rule being to bare as much flesh as possible. This is understandable when living in a ‘mobilhom’, what constitutes basically a large microwave oven. I have no idea which parts of France these French people are from, but there is evidence that class distinction also exists in this country, we all have our versions of chav, thank goodness.

There are still, however, some things that remain exclusively French across the spectrum of classes. Their vanity for example. Only here would you see grandmothers shouting at their grandchildren to ‘jouer!’ at the poolside, swatting them away like flies, whilst they proceed to sunbathe topless, unashamed of the scars on their breasts from implants done quite some time ago. When they’re completely grey and saggy there has to be a point where those things just don’t matter, but not for the French. It matters very much for as long as they are on ‘display’.

Interaction with children seems the same countrywide. Very little basically, with the odd slap for minor misdemeanours, I even heard one mother call her little girl ‘Vache!’ by the pool whilst giving her a smack. They are far too busy browning their boobs and smoking fags in the sun to play with their kids or swim in the pool, no wonder all the little Frenchies stamp on our sandcastles, they’re pissed off their parents didn’t help them make any!

And here we are, a week later, still making sandcastles but this time on the Paris Plage, the man made beach by the Seine. One of many great free events Paris puts on, and this year complete with Beach Rugby in honor of the World Cup tournament this year. In front of Hotel DeVille, Tom and the kids had a go whilst I watched the men’s Beach Volleyball on the next patch, oh la la.

Saving grace – the French are late risers therefore there is no rush to reserve your sunbed on the beach or by the pool (as with the Germans). Just get there before lunch and leave before tea when the hordes of French teenagers arrive, most with their prepubescent breasts on display.
Not so saving grace – We missed the finish of Tour de France on Champs Elysee because some plonker from Channel 4 invited us to a restaurant where they were filming Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. They were filming as we arrived and upon first sight of our noisy and loud children we were promptly told they were fully booked. I saw Gordon from nose to torso through the small kitchen window, but a bloody waste of time.

Scuba Diving Under The Eiffel Tower

The Ellis Family have been taken to new heights on the fitness front. There have been so many events, tournaments, and trials in this city that all our heads are spinning from the constant buzz of everything, never mind being physically exhausted just keeping up with life over here!
· From riding to diving, our son is getting quite the experience en France! The Champ de Mars is always buzzing with some event or other, on top of the thousands of tourists, it’s a busy place!! This past weekend there was a huge pool set up under the tower and they were offering free trial lessons scuba diving to anyone. Sam was very keen so in he went, although a bit disappointed he didn’t see any manta rays or tropical fish he did see a crocodile and it has spurred on his love for the marine world even more.
· Afterwards we crossed the bridge to check out the Paris Rugby Experience at Trocadero. They had touch rugby tournaments in front of a huge screen showing live rugby, so sitting on the stone steps of Palais de Chaillot Tom watched a professional game on the screen and a real game in front of him with an Eiffel Tower view….not bad. The view was fine for me was well, lots of muscley legs, tight pink rugby tops, and a few six packs………..heaven.
· One side of the Champ de Mars is now being topped up with tonnes of sand for…………you guessed it, professional beach volleyball tournaments!!! Now, will that get you over here to visit me my darling sister Gail???? Apparently they do it every summer, so start saving for your plane ticket. Guess where I’m going to be parked everyday after school….oh la la. And yes there’ll be lots of eye candy for the boys as well, shame Tom’s stuck in an office across town.

Crazy May

May is a crazy month in Paris. With over 5 bank holidays scattered throughout, not much is accomplished at school or work. With the crowning of the new president of France, Nicholas Sarkozy, Paris has been buzzing with political fever and excitement mixed with a little bit of unrest. Admittedly, I was very naive of the politics in France, but it’s hard to escape living in Paris as everyone seems to be talking about it. A few weeks ago as I was sipping my usual café crème on Rue Cler, an older gentleman walked by and stopped to say ‘Bonjour Madame’ and shake my hand. Very friendly, I thought. Then another gentleman walks by a few minutes later, again shakes my hand and charmingly says, ‘Bonjour Madame’. No idea who these men were I thought I must be prime prey for older gents seeking mistresses that day. Then I noticed many photographers and press people about and asked the ladies next to me who he was,. ‘Bayrou, third in line for presidency!!’ they replied. Oh la la, even old politicians are sexy and tres charming in France, let’s hope Sarkozy is also, though there remains to be many undecided about him.

The Cannes Film Festival is currently on and there is a fab exhibit in Le Bon Marche of black and white photographs from the previous years. Set in a mock up theatre, there is a large photo of the winner from each year atop a red velvet cinema chair. It is the 60th anniversary of Cannes this year so I’m sure it’s a cracker. Sadly, we are unable to join the celebs down south as we are not heading there until mid-July. Prochaine annee peut-etre?

We are also preparing for Sam’s first school trip away from home. The first week of June Sam will be at Pony Camp for 5 days (4 nights!!) The French encourage independence from a very young age, and we were very wary of it at first. But after a school meeting and numerous chats with other parents, we’ve given Sam the choice and he wants to go. He has to look after his own special pony for a week, water, walk, brush and feed it, plus numerous other activities in what looks like a fantastic camp. My greatest fear is my little boy coming back all grown up, or wanting a pony as a pet instead of a dog. It’s time to loosen the apron strings and let him go, his little sister will be in mourning for his absence.

Alors, our French adventures continue and we are definitely enjoying it more. The French live and breathe the Pleasure Principle more than any other nation, and we are getting a bit too used to it!

Gnomes at the Louvre

Taking a midnight stroll through the Louvre is truly spectacular. Everything in Paris should be seen during the day and at night, both perspectives offer so much in different ways, and there is something even more romantic about the city at night (if that’s possible). However, it’s not just romantic for us dreamy eyed married lovers walking amongst the maze of hedges leading on to the Tuilieries, it’s also the playground for gay garden gnomes apparently, who seemed to be popping out of the bushes at every turn as we walked by, no doubt excited about the loud British male voices they were hearing. UK’s version of Hampstead Heath, the gardens facing the pyramid at night are full of ‘cottagers’ looking for ‘lurve’ at the Louvre. We dared our male companions to go in but they only provided a wee bit of mincing for their Louvre lovers who obviously missed out on a quality bit of English Roast beef (with a condom to avoid mad cow disease bien sur).

Lovin' The Loire

The pleasant chirps of birds singing, soft wind blowing through the leaves, the gentle whirr of the pool’s motor with the odd, distant grunt of a tractor nearby…….We have traded the constant din of car horns honking, blaring ambulance sirens, and foreign French chatter for the blissful quiet of the Loire countryside. How much more you appreciate the simple things in life when you’re surrounded by chaos most of the time. Staying in a freshly decorated small farmhouse near Descartes (where the famous philosopher lived), we have adopted the local Labrador Tiggy, are picking fresh strawberries every morning from the garden, and are poolside every glimpse of sunshine we get (which sadly, is not often). A much needed escape from city life, we are visiting chateaux and drinking copious amounts of local wine to get us through the week, such a trial! Although the children are more excited about the dog than the castles, they are also enjoying having a house with a garden and a pool, even if they don’t get to swim in it.

Another castle visit to Chateau Chenonceau, the most famous of the Loire Valley. A ‘floating castle’, it is built as a bridge over the water, with beautiful gardens on either side. One can only imagine the types of parties that went on here. Built in the 16th century much of its original décor remains, and it is decadence beyond extravagant. The French King Henri II owned the chateau and gave it to his mistress. When he was killed his widow ordered the mistress to give it back to her, though she very graciously offered her another chateau down the road, how very diplomatic of her! Could you ever imagine Posh offering Madame Loos Beckinghim Palace following Becks demise after doing too many lines in LA.???