Cough cough cough

I don't know why I am coughing. Maybe it was because I am allergic to Normandy deep down inside, or because it has been unusually rainy this summer, and I don't dress well. In any case, I find myself cancelling a rendez-vous this evening, and hunkering down with some soup, boudin noir, and good bread for the evening. Pinky can keep me company.

Just what I needed

That is exactly what I needed, a tranquil week-end in Normandy with a good book (Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi). I didn't want to go out at all, I was content to by my baguette from the bakery 50 feet away, and I just wanted to stay in bed. It has been a long time since I've passed such a peaceful weekend. I appreciate it, even if I did wind up catching a cough due to the wet cold of Normandy.

We went to the Chantecler restaurant owned by the couple Pinel, in Bourth, to celebrate our engagement with his parents. It was as charming as always, with a new server to muddle things up a bit. I had a caviar d'aubergines, with yellow and red peppers crowning the ensemble. It was cool, refreshing, exactly what I needed. Next, the caille au vinaigre de cérises was savory to the last bite, especially since it rested on a small toast laden with foie gras! The feuilleté de roquefort and salad was a bit heavy for my taste, but I love roquefort, so I will not complain much. My dessert was the house specialty-soufflé froid au calvados. It was exquisite, a fluffy sweet cloud laced with Calvados. I felt satisfied but not overwhelmed by the meal. I know I will be entering into a good family here.

I spoke with his parents alone about our engagement, and their principal concerns are about working in the States v. Europe. He is in a precarious situation, with the potential for huge success, if he comes to the US, but if he stays here, he is set for life. No worries. I understand their concerns, of course, and I think I am much more flexible than him in the long run. It just depends on what one is looking for. If he is going to be here for the rest of his life, though, there may just have to be long periods where I am just not going to be there. I can't stay in one place like he can. I don't have those same close ties with people dating back 20 or 30 years. I've never been like that.

In any case, I am rested, coughing, and hungry again. I also HIGHLY recommend that you read Persepolis.

Cars

I don't know why Americans don't drive more manual cars. They are more fun, and they use less fuel.

I am learning how to drive a manual car! My dad would be so proud of me if he knew. I have the best learning course in the world, the Norman countryside. There are no cars, only small roads that lace through small villages. I drove a bit yesterday, my first time in over a year. Last year, I first drove around those famous beaches of Normandy, and I stalled about every 10 seconds. Yesterday, I didn't stall at all! It was quite a personal accomplishment. I am preparing myself for achieving my dream of driving my own Ferrari on the Autobahn. I'm working on all of those aspects of it--car, driving, Germany.

Yesterday was a good start. I felt more synched with the car, I could feel when I needed to shift gears, and at what speed I needed to be. Girls don't usually care for this sort of thing, but why not??? You are forced to feel turns to know when to accelerate, or shift gears.

Airs pour Farinelli

Yesterday, my friend and I attended a concert at L'Eglise St. Julien le Pauvre. The music was sung by contre-tenor Duy-Thông Nguyen, and he was accompanied on the piano by M. Olivier Dauriat. I have long loved baroque music, and have been fascinated by the castrato for quite some time. However, this was my first time listening to music composed for castrato performed live by a contre-tenor.

The venue, the Eglise St. Julien, is the oldest church in Paris. The acoustics are echo-y, and are not the best I have heard, but that does not diminish the magic listening to a well-sung aria reverberate throughout the building. Prayer candles lent their soft glow to medieval icons hung on the walls. A large grill threw its flickering shadow on the stone walls. It felt like a sacred place, more than, for example, the much more famous Cathédrale de Notre Dame just across the river. This church was tucked away in a small pedestrian street, and demanded to be searched rather than seen.

The singer began in the back of the church, and slowly made his way to the front as he sang his first aria. Unfortunately, I recognized none of the songs and cannot give you their names! However, he sang Baroque pieces during the first half. His voice was not sufficiently warmed up to tackle the difficult runs and trills of the Baroque with 100% ease, but I could still feel my hairs standing on end listening to his voice. It was as I had imagined, the masculine power and endurance imbued into a delicate high tone. I was enraptured during the entire concert.

The second half of the concert was dedicated to the romantic era. I sensed that the singer prefered this type of music, and was better warmed-up, as his voice gained clarity and embraced the music easily. During one well-known piece, the Ave Maria by J.S. Bach, he drifted into the sides of the church so that all that remained to the audieance was his light voice filling the interior. It was truly wonderful. He was singing so well by the end that I did not want the concert to finish.

I went home on the metro that night with the voice of angels in my head.

Déchirée

Je me sens complètement déchirée entre tous les amours de ma vie--ma famille en Californie, et mes propres intérêts pour la France et l'Europe. Je ne sais pas lequel choisir. Si je choisis un, cela ne diminue pas mon amour pour l'autre, mais ils sont tellement éloignés que je ne peux pas les avoir simultanément. Je n'aime même pas la Californie, il n'est que l'endroit où se trouve ma famille. Pourtant, maintenant c'est le momen pour moi de choisir un travail, et je dois être à un endroit ou à l'autre. On ne peut pas être en Californie pour dîner à un restaurant vietnamien et à Paris pour se promener avec l'amour de sa vie dans la même journée.



Quelle voie dois-je choisir? Je dois postuler à des postes à partir de la semaine prochaine, et l'emplacement est un élément clef dans toutes mes décisions maintenant. Je veux passer du temps avec ma famille car on n'a pas eu l'occasion de partager notre vie depuis 6 ans maintenant, mais ma carrière commence, et je sais que je veux travailler à Paris au long terme.



Est-ce que je sacrifie un an ou deux pour être avec ma famille, surtout mon frère adolescent dont cette période je ne veux pas rater, mes grands-parents qui ne cessent pas de vieillir, et ma mère qui vient de découvrir son indépendance? Ou bien, dois-je suivre mes rêves tout de suite, sans penser aux autres, suivre mes désirs. J'ai l'impression d'avoir fait cela depuis longtemps maintenant. Je dois beaucoup à ma famille, bien sûr, et je veux garder notre relation proche, mais cela devient difficile lorsque je suis en France, à 9 heures de décalage.

Enfin, je parle de l'été prochain, pas un an complet. Je pourrais passer un été en Californie et ensuite passer à Paris sans me culpabiliser. Cela pourrait être difficile pour lui, pour nous, car nous avons des projets de couple à réaliser un jour. En même temps, ils me sont précieux en Californie.

Un été, cela ne me paraît pas trop long, pour la Californie. Et je suis toujours jeune.

La Table Corse

Despite my protestations, we wound up dining at a small restaurant called La Table Corse, located in a small street in the 5ème arrondissement of Paris. We had reserved a table for 19H45, but we were the first diners there.

The interior is very charming, and very warm. The walls are beige, ochre, and orange stone, and paintings of Corsica line the walls. The tables are covered in creamy tablecloths, and the menu is in fact a small blackboard carried to the table by the server.

We spent a good five minutes debating what to order because, quite frankly, we wanted all of it. Foie gras with pain aux figues for an entrée? Or millefeuille d'aubergine? Or better yet, some renowned Corse charcuterie? I settled on a velouté de châtaignes avec amandes effilées et chanterelles, while he chose the foie gras. The portions arrived, and his slice of foie gras could have been a meal in itself. My velouté had just enough flavor to bring out the châtaignes, and was topped with a dollop of cream. I was starving, and was ready for the next dish!

The main dishes were even more difficult to choose than the entrées. The specialty of the house was sanglier braisé, so he decided to take that. I didn't want the same dish, but I was torn between the foie de veau and the carré d'agneau. Eventually, the absence of meat in my diet led me to the carré d'agneau. It seemed more appetizing on paper, I have no idea if this is true. However, my carré d'agneau was excellent, and was accompanied by châtaignes, chanterelle mushrooms, a delicate purée de pomme de terre and haricots verts au citron. If I could, I would have finished it all, but I certainly tried. Personally, I preferred my agneau to his sanglier.

By the end, we were both extremely satiated, and decided to skip out on dessert at the restaurant before taking a walk to l'Île de la Cité and stopping for some Berthillon ice cream (a.k.a. the best ice cream in the world). I was in a rich mood, so I took mocha and black chocolate, while he chose raspberry and pear sorbet. I think he may have made the better choice, but only to economize on stomach space. I don't know how Berthillon manages to capture flavor so well, but I could have been drinking a cup of coffee, the flavor of the ice cream was impeccable. If you ever have the chance to have Berthillon ice cream, do not miss the fraise des bois sorbet. There is nothing like it. Berthillon has managed to put fraises des bois in frozen form, with the occasional morsel of a fraise des bois. Perfection.

We strolled home from there, and went quickly to bed, as the food coma was settling in. I am glad to have been able to enjoy such a fine meal! I rarely go to restaurants nowadays, but when it happens, and the restaurant is as excellent as last night's, the meal stays in my memory long after the last bite!

Or...

I like this one too, it is smaller, and more stable, it seems. It is also prettier than the Chinook, in my opinion : The Minstrel.

The waiting time for this one is much longer, probably at least one year as opposed to a couple of months, but it may be worth it. In the end, they are both pretty similar, but I am looking for one I could more easily take on a plane. Oh but I do like the luteback....decisions decisions decisions that I am not even going to make yet. I don't know.

The vielle à roue is such a firmly French instrument. I guess it is only natural that I would fall in love with it. I think i will give it a name when I get it. I was thinking Solange is nice, but then again, I have about two years before I will get one. My mind will probably change.

My next instrument

This is going to be my next instrument. I want a vielle à roue, I need it, it is calling to me day and night with its buzzing sound.

The model I am envisaging for the moment. It's basic, but reliable, and dear God do I want to play it : The Chinook.

Gennetines

Mud. And Music. Those were the themes of this last weekend. We left Paris at 5PM to arrive at the small village of Gennetines (pop. about 600) at 10PM. Then we needed to find a place to park amongst the winding country roads and cattle fields. Done, but it was about 2km away. Next came the tent. It was dark, and it had been raining, so he needed to find a flat, relatively dry spot. I don't know how he did it in the dark, but he set up the tent pretty quickly. It was a beautifully clear night, and I could hear the strains of European Folk music from 5 different groups melding as thousands of dancers twirled the night away from some distant field.

I saw two shooting stars that night, so I made two wishes, one for his happiness and one for mine.

After the folly of establishing our home for the weekend, the dancing could begin! I jumped right in, and dancing until 3am. This was the evening of the bourrée. I danced 2 memorable ones, and even a good polka. I never dance a good polka; I underestimate it too much. There were no good scottishes, though, except after the Sunday workshop. I learned a boatload of variations. If we end up dancing a scottish as our wedding dance, it is going to be amazing.

There were musicians everywhere, dancers everywhere. I am firmly resolved to begin playing the vielle à roue (hurdy gurdy) once I have the funds to buy one! They are extremely rare in the US, less so in France, but still difficult to find. And expensive. But man are they beautiful. Same goes for the accordion, but since I prefer the vielle, I will try for that one first.

We learned the dance I have been waiting 3 years to learn--the polska. It's a Swedish dance, quite slow and dignified, and always graceful if you do it correctly! It's rare to see it at balls, but it is quite breathtaking to see two dancers glide then begin to turn effortlessly on the dance floor. He made a good effort, it's a dance we will have to work on a bit more before perfecting it.

Mud. It was a veritable mud bath. The first evening, I stepped in puddles everywhere because it was dark and the puddles were black as everything else around. It was useless to take a shower because once I stepped out of the cold/lukewarm water, my sandaled feet needed to pick their way over muddy terrain to return to my tent or the festival. I just stopped caring. It felt good to have some earth between my toes anyway.

Food? Of course we ate!! Those were the best sandwiches ever! And even better, he had brought some corn on the cob to grill. Ah happiness.

Of course, with a total of 10 hours of driving and I don't know how many hours of dancing that weekend, we were both exhausted when we arrived home, no to mention dirty. That was one of the best showers of my life! And my large bowl of pasta covered in cheese was perfect. All of this was done with the drone of the vielle and the punctuated tones of the accordion choreographing my movements. I bought two CDs, "Repliques" by the excellent group DJAL and a CD from the group Frères de Sac because they had a polska. I actually prefer the one from Frères de Sac because their music is more traditional. DJAL plays a lot with different tonalities and phrases, but I think they've lost some melody compared to their other two CDs. Oh well. They are both wonderful additions to my collection.

I find that I prefer the music at the festivals more than the dancing. I am just itching to get my hands on a vielle, just wait. One day!!

In the meantime, I do need to get all this dirt from between my toes.

Ouvre-lui

That must have been what my heart was telling me from the moment I met him. It must, because that is exactly what I did, and I have never looked back. And now, one tumultuous and happy weekend later, we are engaged to be married. I don't know when exactly, but in time.

Because we are currently living 6,000 miles apart, we consider this engagement as a promise as well as a wish, a wish to share our daily lives. When it happens. I am not worried because we each have things to finish beforehand.

Saturday was simultaneousy exhausting and energizing. I sprang out of bed at 7am to dance in the park as usual, and came thundering back to blare music and serenade him in the light of the rising sun. Of course, he was a little miffed at not being able to sleep in, but he really didn't mind.

We set out in the morning to recoup the ring. In the meantime, we could see the July 14th parade along the Champs-Elysées. Or rather, we could see the military airplanes soar overhead. It was impressive to watch the lines of planes in formation, and the streaks of blue, white and red painted across the sky.

I wore my red dress to mark the day.

The evening began early; we dressed in our finest to be able to traipse around the gardens of Versailles at dusk. Dinner at le Valmont was spectacular. The decor was quaint and influenced by Louis 15 style furniture. The walls were painted a jovial yellow and the chairs were covered in blue and yellow damask. Service was prompt, but the waiter was clearly stressed.

I ordered a flan de foie gras accompanied by a salad with truffle oil for an entrée. My main dish was pavé de veau avec petits pois et crème truffée. He ordered lieu (pollock) couvert de graines de sésame avec une sauce orange, accompagné par céléri. I don't like celery, so that worked out well.

And finally, dessert. It was lovely. I ordered a symphonie de 5 desserts: glace pain d'épices, crème brûlée, soupe aux griottes, crème d'ananas et carré de chocolat noir. Delicious. I could not finish.

He ordered a parfait de chocolat avec crème chantilly.

We finished just in time for Versailles. The sun was setting as we arrived, and since Versailles is constructed in alignment with the sun (the sun rises directly in front of the palace, and sets directly behind it), the entire gardens were illuminated by the soft orange glow of the setting sun. The fountains closest to the palace were on. The palace was lovely as usual.

The evening consisted of a promenade throughout the gardens, each of which was illuminated and animated by either voices reciting Molière's plays, baroque music, electronic music, video, or some sort of combination of it all. The promenade began in the Salle de Bals, which began pouring water when we entered the grove. It was magnificant to see the water spilling over the stony terrasses, between enormous golden luminaries to the soft tone sof baroque guitar. It has been a dream of mine to see the Salle de Bals, and there I was, there when it was just beginning, at dusk.

We had about two hours to roam the gardens. Other tourists in the gardens looked at us and whispered amongst themselves that it was a wedding. I certainly felt splendid, in my long, sequined ao dai that stretched to the floor in one long sweep of satin. He looked brilliant in his dark brown striped suit, lightly striped white shirt and rich gold cufflinks that had previously belonged to his grandfather. They hadn't been worn in fifty years, but after a washing, turned out magnifique.

It was such a sensory experience: the sound of water rushing amongst the baroque statues. Running through the gardens to find the next great treasure, following the sounds of animation.

The evening finished on the Grande Perspective, under a spectacular fireworks display--spectacular for its sophistication, not for its size. These were well-conceived, choreographed fireworks. It was subtle.

Of course, I wasn't watching the fireworks the entire time because he took the ring from his pocket just then to offer it to me. So that was that. We were "officially" engaged on July 14, 2007 in the gardens of Versailles.

It is only the outward manifestation of what we have both felt for a long time.

Oh beauty.

Friday the 13th

One day more,
another day another destiny....

At last, the sun is shining in Paris. At last, he has reserved a restaurant for the day of our engagement. www.levalmont.com. It is a classic French restaurant, I have chosen my menu already! The one we were hoping for was long booked in advance. No worries, we'll look beautiful no matter what.

I am just a bit sad there is no one to photograph us all dressed up and glowing. That will have to wait for some party. But we will try to take pictures in the Parc Monceau, with my ao dai, before we leave for the Grandes Eaux Nocturnes at Versailles. I do wish my family could be here for the occasion.

Still miffed about the lack of photographer, but I am glad that he is coming tonight. And we are going to chat with my mother.

Tomorrow...we need to fetch the ring, visit with his sister, and I desperately need to dance early in the morning before all of this.

Happy

I am happy, happier than I have been in so long. Maybe happier than I have ever been. And him too. Ah, joy.

2 rings

Yesterday, we found our rings. Engagement ringS. I figure, it is best to show the commitment now, and he isn't the type who wears jewelry anyway. There is no point for any other wedding ring for him.

I haven't told anyone really. Just some people who don't really care, and my best friend. I think I am waiting to actually receive the rings and exchange them first.

In any case, it was wonderful to have the future father-in-law come along. He is adorable, and he thought of a lame excuse to come to Paris just to be with us. It was special for him and my fiancé because they have never discussed relationships before. In fact, Father-in-law lost his ring years ago only to find it this week because he remembered that, one year after his marriage, he placed his wedding ring in his wallet. That was over 30 years ago. Strange how memories work. He even offered it to us for my fiancé. We will still order our own ring, but I have the feeling my fiancé will be wearing his father's wedding band.

Future sister-in-law joined us as well because she works literally next door. It was good to share the moment with his family, especially since my own is so far away.

I like sharing things. I am just a little bummed out that things had to be so rushed. I was on my lunch break from work, and had to cross all of Paris to meet them. And lunch was actually a sandwich that my heart had bought for me to take back to the office. My mind was in such a whirlwind, and I think I was nervous that my inlaws were nearly all there. It was kind of an intimate moment, because it was to find some physical incarnation of our commitment, but it wasn't because of the spectators. I don't mind, of course. I am just rarely placed in the center.

In any case, it was a special day. I am so glad to be able to share it with my inlaws, and I am so lucky to love all of this family! Not just my fiancé. There are so many aspects of this relationship that share their roots in old stories and history; it seems like a natural progression of events. The diamond belonged to my fiancé's grandmother, and was specifically designated for my fiancé's engagement. We would probably never have met if it weren't for our shared Vietnamese heritage, and it provides for a richer experience. Our wedding, when that day arrives, will be a traditional Vietnamese one, at my parents' home.

But of course, there is something about this city of Paris, the city of light. Anything that occurs here assumes a rosy glow. It is a city of stories and romance, of candlelight and spectacle. I cannot say when or how we will exchange these two rings, but any ceremony will be personal. Just two of us. He seemed so happy after the whirlwind at the jeweler's, and that made me happy.

Happy.

Stories

I consider the art of weaving stories is the greatest one can possess. It is magical to watch as a person develops a story, its setting, its characters, its events, all before a captive audience. Hearing a well-presented story could be better than watching television, better than reading sometimes. You can discover new interpretations of old stories or characters. The story can carry you away into any world you wish.

And then there are the stories that are woven, not as a happy diversion from life, but to fill in the gaps that compose our daily routines. What is your significant other doing at this time? Why haven't you heard from him or her in 3 days? Then it is perfectly natural to fabricate the response--of course, he is seeing X, Y, Z mistress. After not seeing him for a year, it is too easy to fall into one of those stories woven by doubt, even if you know they are not true. I am just trying to tell myself that they are not true, they are not true. Because they aren't. I know that, but reason doesn't win every time.

Clothes, market, clothes

Well, I am officially finished with the sales in Paris, even if Paris isn't yet through. I have found my share of beautiful clothing and beautiful underclothing, and have spent the weekend parading my newfound embellishment much to the pleasure of my amused significant other. Of course, it doesn't actually mean anything, but making myself up, wrapping myself in swaths of soft, delicious fabric has its pleasures. The game is always on.

Sunday, I decided to explore a clothes market, near Arts et Métiers. What a sorry sight awaited me. This ws the anti-sales area. Only 3 vendors surveyed their racks of grandmotherly coats, polyester pants, and leather jackets. This was their daily market, and it was dying. The interior space was vast, and lines for tennis courts traced the floor under their feet. There was emptiness, so contrary to the market culture that France has long valued. I know there are other clothing markets elsewhere, but this one touched me. It was like seeing an elderly relative breathe her last.

Nothing to do with the food market near Nation. Because it was the marché guadeloupien, the air was filled with the scent of exotic spices, bright colors, new flavors, and foreign tongues. There was life, movement, and purpose. Perhaps change is a good thing, even if it is sometimes difficult to accept. Out with the old, in with the new. People don't want to go to Arts et Métiers for their clothing anymore, why bother when the Galéries Lafayettes are just a stone's throw away? And why do your grocery shopping in a stuffy, cramped supermarket, when the outdoor market offers more freshness than you could ever find in a box?