forever a student

I just finished an intense course at La Sorbonne. It was exactly what I needed, (and feared), to get back into the groove of speaking French. And simply, to provide a routine to my days. My life as of late is the dream of many, my Italian included. Early morning walks from the right bank to the left, gazing at a tranquil Seine, studying in a cafe in the Latin Quarter overlooked by the Pantheon (dream ends here), hours of phonetics classes making vocal sounds I did not know were possible, and many more hours of irregular verb conjugations combined with the seemingly infinite grammatical nuances of the French language. I learned ALOT. In a very short amount of time. I was focused. I studied. I made it a point to understand and after 4 long weeks of nearly 6 hours of French studies a day, I feel slightly more overwhelmed and much more fluent. It was all well worth it (though there were indeed moments of protest). And yes, all the rumors are true, La Sorbonne WILL make a good student out of you! I must add that this experience reigned supreme over my months at the Alliance Française. Perhaps I needed the discipline. Or perhaps this time I was ready to learn. 

As a reward for my diligence, or simply because we are both in need of a holiday, tomorrow we are flying to Corsica. This time to explore the North. Once again, to be lost in the magical Île de Beauté.

art on the canal

I’ve been feeling a bit homesick lately, missing the cultural activities of NYC and most of all my creative-minded accomplices to indulge in them with. Not that Paris lacks in art, music or film festivals, particularly in the summertime. I simply need to dig a little deeper to find them, and often that means translating. (In other words: intimidating)

When I found out that NYC friend and photographer Casey Kelbaugh, was bringing his Slideluck Potshow event to Paris as part of his European tour, I was thrilled! It has taken him four years to present to a French audience (we won’t get into those details) but finally he made it happen. Slideluck Potshow is a non-profit organization dedicated to building and strengthening the community through art and food. Hence the mixing of Slideshow and Potluck. Casey is one example of  a creative visionary who planted a seed (in his hometown of Seattle to be precise) by gathering friends and artists together in his backyard, and has in the last 10 years watched it blossom and grow throughout the USA and Europe. Much due to it’s success in NYC in the last 6 years. 

I felt at home within this atmosphere of familiarity with a French twist, as did over 400 others. A night of meeting and mingling with artists and art aficionados, eating a mix of foods as is the SLPS theme, and watching a carefully curated slideshow presentation of 40 chosen photographers, organized around a theme, each show accompanied by it’s own soundtrack. Well done! 

To add to the appeal, the event could not have been better located than on Canal Saint-Martin. Le Comptoir Général in the 10th arrondissement, is now my new favorite venue for all things creative. 

This all leads me to question, are the grounds of NYC more fertile than those in Paris? Can creative visionaries find a home here too? To be continued…

the sounds of summer

The summer sun has finally reached Paris. It took a while, with chilly temperatures until just last week. To celebrate the summer solstice on June 21st, Paris holds an annual event in which music fills the air. This musical celebration began in Paris 28 years ago and now takes place around the world.

I first experienced the sounds of Fête de la Musique last year on a visit to Paris, just before jetting off to the Isle of Skye for work. It remains one of favorite nights, as every corner of Paris is filled with song from 7pm until early morning. Classical orchestras, jazz bands, rock musicians, or simply a man standing on the street performing his best rendition of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’. Quite a number of characters, as well as large scale talent find their way into this festival of music and it’s a sensation to weave in and out of the streets with tunes of one performer melting into the next. Personally, I love the ‘organized chaos’ of it all and wish it lasted longer than one night.

In the midst of the melodies as we caroused the right bank, we stopped for dinner at a little bistro, and much to my delight the jazz band featured a tap dancer, tapping to many old American favorites.

One of the most impressive and certainly most passionate performers we heard was Buika, a Spanish singer who filled the air with a unique mix of flamenco and jazz. The jardin du Palais-Royal was the perfect setting for such a diva.

As we biked from the vicinity of the Louvre, too impatient to wait two hours on line to hear the Orchestra de Paris, and much more eager to wander in the direction our ears chose to take us, we biked back to the Marais. Here was quite a scene! The streets were filled with dancing and drinking…and yes, a lot of singing. Though not sure who was part of the line-up. Trying to avoid the madness, we took a few narrower paths and came upon a small crowd of people at the door of the Bibliotheque Historique. Like three small birds, these women’s operatic voices filled the air. We were instantly mesmerized. The perfect notes upon which to end the night.

My mom once said, the greatest talent is the gift of song. Maybe in my next life.

like father like daughter

I no longer celebrate the life of my father on what is known as ‘Father’s Day’, I celebrate my father every day. A man equally strong and sensitive, private and personable. Coincidentally his initials spell DAD. He is with me in my daily musings. We observe the world with a shared vision. He celebrates my triumphs and consoles me in moments of sadness. Whenever I feel confused or uncertain of my path, I turn to him, this wise and knowing man who uniquely understands me. I am his daughter after all.

My father is omnipresent, yet I miss him dearly. It’s been almost 20 years since he passed away and I feel grateful for every day I spent with him, in the living. As the years without him now outnumber those with him.

It’s my father that filled me with the desire to write, to feel, to love. (My mother too has always been an advocate of following the heart, and for her I am constantly and forever grateful.) Exploring and understanding the world was also passed on from father to daughter.

It is through my father’s constant presence in my life that I always feel safe. I too, am convinced that it’s through my father’s silent guidance that I met my Italian, someone I know he would have been proud to call a friend. One glance at my father’s impressive collection of books ranging from French philosophers to American classics, and my Italian was certain they would have spent many a late night immersed in conversation. I have no doubt.

Today, as I do often, I reflect on the man I am proud to call my father. 

the dreams of a seven year old

On a recent trip to Monterosso I felt like a movie star. Not because of my Jackie O sunglasses or the many tourists photos I am (accidentally) appearing in, but because of a little seven year old girl named Emma. It turns out that Emma, the beautiful product of  an ‘American girl on holiday meets local Italian boy’ love story that originated on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, is completely enamored with Paris. Why? Simply because it’s Paris. (On that note, who isn’t?) I understood her very well, and she could feel it. If I correctly recall, that’s about the age when my love affair with Paris first began. 

When I encountered this little Emma, already quite a cultured and curious, not to mention naturally bilingual girl, she was star-struck. I was met with a grin from ear to ear. After all, she was in the presence of a real live walking and talking girl, (quite a bit taller and older than she, minor details) who lives in the city of her dreams. In her young and impressionable mind I was a movie star. Okay, perhaps I’m exaggerating just a little, but I felt flattered to indulge this little girls fantasy. 

We spoke about Paris with sparkles in our eyes, while I dreamt of youth and she dreamt of adulthood. Both of our fantasies grew more colorful and with the gap of a generation, we understood one another perfectly in the unspoken language of the dreamer.

Emma and her mother are planning a trip to Paris soon, where surely we will rendezvous. Emma in fact, already she has her outfit picked out. (I hope she’s keeping track of the Parisian trends, I don’t want her to experience a fashion faux pas!)

I left Emma with a knowing smile, and these few words, “Be mindful of what you wish for, it may very well come true.” She smiled back.

What did you wish for at seven years old?

castle hopping

Living in Paris makes it difficult to travel almost anywhere and feel entranced by the ambiance. Unless you are visiting a city centered around a hilltop castle, where the air takes on a whole other ‘palatial’ feel. Ah yes, Edinburgh! I had been once before, during those days as a student in London in which I remember very little other than how enchanted I had been by the grandness of it all. 

It was at the Edinburgh Castle that I reunited with a few of my oldest and dearest friends, atop the volcanic Castle Rock where our castle hopping adventure began. 

Many glasses of whisky and plates of haggies, nips and tatties later, our adventures continued in Stirling. The scene was set for a grand wedding (this being the reason we all arrived to Scotland in the first place). This medieval town, the former “Gateway to the Highlands”, sits below a fortress and an old-town, timeless in it’s own right. 

Prior to Brandy’s ‘crowning’, several Scottish Kings and Queens have been crowned at Stirling Castle, including Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1543. Don’t we all wish to be crowned Queen, at least for a day?

The royal wedding party, or part of it anyway. Paris, London, Istanbul and NYC unite!

Now back to normal life in Paris.

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