Connect and Commit

"It takes a major sustained effort to stay fully connected as you age, no matter your gender. The stakes are enormous. And it all comes back to biology, the biology of connection and love."
 - says Harry from Younger Next Year for Women, page 294.

Yes I am still plugging through this doctor recommended book, that I took on several months after our return from Paris last year. The idea was for this book to help me physically (perhaps exercise and get into shape), improve my not so spectacular carb rich regime (baguette anyone?), and get serious about my health. With our recent return visit to Paris, our first since moving back to Canada, it is only a propos to cover Harry's Rule #7 now: Connect and Commit.

Returning to Paris only nine months after we left was for one main reason: to connect, to reconnect, to maintain the relationships we made with family and friends while living in Paris last year. With all our little cousins and second cousins aged 8-years-old and younger, I knew that if we waited several years before returning, the bonds we had formed with them would have been lost. They would not even remember us.

And yes, we went back to Paris so soon because, well, we kind of like, or rather, love Paris, if you have not noticed!

Strong family bonds with our Parisian family has always been a top priority and we were anxious to see our always welcoming French family.

Nathalie peeling kilos of tomatoes with cousin Patrick.

The girls were also looking forward to meeting up with the good friends and their families, that they made at school last year. My version of this was lunches and drinks with my former writing 

group. Just spending a few hours with them was motivating. Fabulous to hear words of encouragement from our mentor and instructor Christine, who called me a rock star, hence giving me a swift coup de pied in the derrière to get writing more. After constant communication over the last nine months with all these wonderful friends, it was superb to spend time with them and maintain the connections we have.

Calins avec l'adorable Marie! 

LouLou! 

Une belle journée a Villiers avec les Cabritas. 

Nos grand-mères d'adoption à Paris; Lucie et Mireille.

There are connections we have with Paris, we will never lose, they are simply part of Paris. Our love of the arts, always available at your doorstep in Paris, new exhibits to discover, older permanent exhibits that you see in a new light, the magic of the art scene is never ending. This time included the fabulous Robert Doisneau exhibit at l'Hotel de Ville entitled "Doisneau, Paris les Halles." Already a Doisneau fan myself, the girls discovered this photographer who had the talent to inject brilliance into every day life. To see some of the wonderful photos take a look at this link (don't mind the talking.) http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xogab3_expo-doisneau-a-l-hotel-de-ville-des-halles-d-hier-aux-halles-de-demain_news

Doisneau's market flower girl.

"Honey I'm on my way home with dinner!"

This was followed by a visit to Pompidou Centre, to discover the fabulous contemporary art her walls hold, modern sculptures and a current special Matisse exhibit introducing the three of us to his magic.

And of course, in Paris the connection to food is undeniable. When I told the girls several months ago that we were heading back to Paris for a visit, one of the first things that excited them was tasting some of their favourite French foods. High on their lists: carambars, choquettes, baguettes from their favourite bakery, macaroons, escargots, foie gras - all foods mostly available in Calgary as well, but that seem to taste better when enjoyed in the city of light.  You cannot spend time in Paris and not be drawn in by the food, the excellent wine, the delicacies, the sublime tastes and the exquisiteness of the nourishment.

Enjoying an evening class of wine on a lovely Parisian terrasse.

Nathalie trying to get at her escargots! 

Definitely a weakness and no need to mention the unbinding connection!

What I should have been eating regularly in Paris! 

Even when in Paris I still follow my favourite anglophone foodie Paris blog by David Lebovitz, Living the Sweet Life in Paris. And when not in Paris, his postings make me want to be with him, eating steak frites accompanied by a hearty glass of red wine. Check out his blog at http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2012/05/aux-tonneaux-des-halles-paris-bistro-restaurant/ 

Yes, it gives me blog envy. And yes, I seem to have veered off topic here - which easily happens when food is being discussed! 

Walking the streets of our Paris neighbourhood I understood that this is my city too. I felt a definite connection to the streets, the local businesses including the gentleman manning the counter at our corner store (or l'alimentation générale as Gabrielle always calls it), the brothers tending the counter at our favourite boulangerie on Boulevard Exelmans, the old farmer selling delicious Goldrush apples at the marche and even the gendarmes (police) out in full riot gear on Federal Election night - ok well maybe not quite the gendarmes!  Nathalie took off on the metro by herself, to friend's homes, feeling comfortable making solo trips on public transportation. This is what Parisians do, and so when in Paris...

Just another day on the metro. 

Although we are Canadians, we have a definite feeling of belonging when in Paris. We feel connected to the language and the culture and have a longing to stay connected with our French heritage. I love this quote from travel writer Julian More: "getting to know a foreign country is like sex: the younger you start, the longer you continue." Although France is not a foreign country to us, my relationship and connection with her started indeed very young, as it has for my girls. And will continue for many years to come. It is important and part of us. But as Harry says, you have to make a sustained effort to maintain this connection. We are making the effort.  And if this means that we have to make yearly trips to France, we are certainly happy to make the sacrifice and do this as well! 

Recovery Tested!

Has 9 months home from Paris been long enough for a full recovery? Gabrielle is back to speaking to me in English 95% of the time, yet Nathalie still talks about going to university in Paris. And I still do occasionally dream of fresh warm baguettes and shopping at the splendid Avenue de Versailles Sunday morning market for our weekly wares.

I have to admit that I still do follow my favorite Paris blogs, perhaps for a little tease and inspiration. David Lebovitz is definitely always good for some food porn and unique delicious places to investigate.
http://www.davidlebovitz.com/

and http://www.paris.fr/ makes me feel like I am still there.

And when I need a quick Parisian fix (not necessarily a good thing) Ce Que Disent les Parisens, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUKTxrLf5b4, is always entertaining!

Now comes the real recovery test: 18 days back in Paris. Paris has always been like a drug for me; I get drawn in, I am addicted and I never have complete control when in her grasp. I have never been able to do anything with moderation in Paris, only to excess. My Paris is an indulgent one. At my doctor's suggestion, I have been trying to live by Harry's Rules in Younger Next Year for Women since our return to Calgary. Will I take these rules with me? Will I consume moderately? Will my semi-regular exercise routine continue? Will I actually want to come home again?

I know visits to our favourite neighbourhood boulangeries will be frequent. And Paris being Paris, wine will be consumed and perhaps even a thin slice of cheese to savour along with the wine. And sleep could possibly be lacking. I will keep Harry's Rules close at hand, although glued to my forehead or tattooed on my forearm is probably a better idea.

We are just thrilled to be returning to solidify the family connections we formed last year and to visit with the good Parisian friends we all made.
Being half French, Paris has always been part of me and is ever present in my veins. So yes, our recovery is as close to complete as it will ever be. But really, one can never fully recover from Paris and Paris is always with me - I just need a less permissive Paris from now on.

6 Days a Week for the Rest of your Life!?

6 Days a week? Vraiment? Really? I am glad I did not start reading Younger Next Year before I went to Paris. Harry's first rule in this book is Exercise 6 days a week for the rest of your life. Actually 3 out of his 7 rules concern exercising.

Rule #2 is "Do Serious aerobic exercise four days a week for the rest of your life."

Rule #3 is "Do serious strength training, with weights, two days week for the rest of your life."

2 days I can handle, it is the other 4 that make things a little tricky. Who has time for anything else, like life!?

If anything is going to help my recovery from a year of gluttony, 6 times a week might do it.

There were certainly many things I did 6 times a week in Paris, but exercise was certainly not one of these.

The French exercise, kind of... but the "work out" at the gym that we see in Canada has never been as popular in France. I was keen when I arrived and actually did check out the local Club Med gym on rue Chanez. But after seeing ladies in leg warmers and a ballet bar in the work out room, I realized that this was not for me. I could foresee an injury from simply trying to get my foot up to the bar! But seriously, going a gym called Club Med to exercise? When I think of Club Med it is more for relaxing by the pool with a cold drink.

"You'll be walking everywhere, so you won't need to worry about working out and exercise," said my friend Lise.


I wish this was the case. But I discovered that walking around Paris in fashionable shoes, is not exercise. The end result is just blisters, sore calves and feet. And unfortunately, for me, plantar fasciitis. Walking, although done daily, was not going to be my exercise. And since it is not considered proper to wear running shoes in Paris, other than Converse All Stars, my Mizuno running shoes enjoyed a year sabbatical.




To save my feet, I thought I would try bike riding. Bikes are everywhere in Paris and their rent a bike system, the Velib, has stations set up all over the city. Although the cars move quickly in Paris, Ingrid on her Velib, did not. Riding a bike in Paris traffic is certainly defensive driving. Impatient crazy French drivers behind the wheel of their minute cars is more a source of stress than a form of exercise. I did work up a sweat but this was more from trying to not get knocked off my bike. Other days I tried riding on the sidewalk, to the disapproval of pedestrians. I then took to riding in the Bois de Boulogne nearby, which was fine on weekends, girls in tow, also on bikes. But the Bois is less frequented during the week, so staying away from the wooded pathways during the week was a good idea. Many other physical activities take place in the Bois de Boulogne besides bike riding!

Swimming, there was my answer. The French love to swim and there are public pools in many neighbourhoods. The girls and I did sign up for weekly swimming at la piscine d'Auteuil. The atmosphere did take some getting used to; uni-sex change rooms, 2 putrid smelling bathrooms for sixty kids and twelve adult swimmers, adult male swim instructors with Germanic like beer bellies wearing small red speedos hidden somewhere under those protruding pots and rather small bikinis on some of the women attempting to swim lengths. Going to the pool reminded me of attempting to ride a Velib in traffic, frenetic -people rushing all over the place, fighting for changing cabins, parents and swim instructors bellowing and children crying. Yet once we got used to these cultural differences at the pool, which we found rather entertaining, we did manage to exercise. But twelve adults in 2 lanes did become more like swimming an obstacle course, especially with the swimmers who liked to swim side by side, head out of the water, at a rather slow pace, chatting as they swam back and forth, essentially blocking the lane. I rationalized that my weekly forty lengths were good for at least 1 pain au chocolat. Unfortunately I do know where the other daily goodies ended up; I can still feel and see them!


My dream would have been to play le hand in Paris, yes Team Handball. But with my high level handball days a few years behind me I had to contend with dragging the girls to watch le hand professional, Issy Paris Women's Handball team and Paris Handball (the men's pro team.) Attending the French National Championships at le stade de Bercy with mon amie Jacqueline was inspiring. We had to hold each other back from jumping over the bleachers, rushing down to the court, grabbing a ball and taking some shots. Now that would have been entertaining, but not in a good way.

But in the end I rationalized that I was not in Paris to exercise but I am certainly paying for it and am trying desperately to make up for it ever since. I certainly quite easily got into the habit of eating a baguette 6 times a week but exercise, ahh non! And every time I walked up the 5 flights of stairs to our apartment for some reason this seemed to deserve yet another good glass of wine. Not sure where the exercising disappeared to. When in France, live like the French, which included not working out. And after all I was in the country where petanque (boules) - the French version of lawn bowling, is a top sport. Maybe this was an option for me, if only I was an old smoking Frenchman.


And now when in Canada, live like Canadians, which for some of my friends does include exercising 6 times a week. 6 times a week is exceptional for me, 5 is an excellent week, and anything underneath that is merely acceptable. Luckily my waistline is telling me that I am moving in the right direction. I'm glad to report that the dust is slowly falling off my running shoes. As long as fast daily puppy walks with our very French bumbling Brittany Spaniel Cloozo count, I'm in. Alors, on y va!?

Harry's Rules & Ingrid's Crap!

Younger Next Year has 7 Rules, Harry's Rules. Although not rule #1 for Harry, I have to point out the one that immediately jumps out at me, Rule #5 - Quit Eating Crap! Many would think that you cannot eat crap in Paris; believe me, you can, it is just better, tastier crap from bakeries and crap full of butter and cream. Macaroons instead of cookies, pain au chocolat instead of bagels, the list goes on. And it is difficult to walk two blocks in Paris without coming across a boulangerie (with good crap for sale of course.) Perhaps I should call it gourmet crap, French crap, Parisian crap or je ne sais quoi crap but the bottom line is that it is all delicious, tasty, fat laden crap. And since it is far tastier than north American crap, you just want to eat more (at least I do!)



In Calgary I have to stay away from chocolate and popcorn. In Paris I have to stay away from...oh so much more!

Let's start with the bakeries. Baguette tradition, batard, flute, pain cereale, ficelle, these are all different kinds of baguettes; different flour, different seeds, different size, and of course different taste - but all very good indeed.

The Tai girls became addicted to les baguettes traditions. And we quickly learned where the best traditions were made in our neighbourhood.

Bakery #1 for us was Le Grillon d'Auteuil, 65 rue d'Auteuil, 16eme.
You can often tell how good a boulangerie is by the size of the line up out front. There was always a line up at our #1 bakery. The unofficial Tai rule was that if the tradition was still warm, we would buy at least two as one would be devoured before we could walk the three blocks home. We would be easy to follow as our Hansel & Gretel trail of crumbs easily gave away our path home.




Bakery #2, le Gouverneur, 109 Blvd Exelmans, 16eme.
Besides having excellent tradition, le Gouverneur had amazing cakes, homemade ice cream and as we discovered in January, unsurpassable galette des rois. This was melt in your mouth, flavourful, almond paste surrounded by an amazing flaky pastry. Apparently Parisians come from across the city in search of this galette des rois. How unfortunate that we lived three blocks away!

I will not get into how tasty the macaroons were at these two bakeries. I could describe their taste, texture, decadence and smoothness for paragraphs. I can still taste them now, yes especially the chocolate and coffee flavoured ones. The famous maison LaDuree in Paris, who invented the macaroon as we know it today, has nothing on our two favourite boulangeries!



This brings me back to, crap - our favourite Parisian crap. I know Parisians would be aghast with me calling their sacred baguettes and baked goods crap but these are really, Ingrid's crap.

Rule #5 - or rather, Rule #1 for Ingrid, whether in Paris, or Calgary or anywhere else, quit eating crap!

Yes this crap...









not this crap!

Younger Next Year?

“You should read this book,” Dr. D said again.

Ok, there he goes again, mentioning that book! Self Help books and I, not a successful mix. But this was the second time he had brought this up. Maybe Dr. D really was serious? What was the name of it again? Younger Next Year For Women. Doesn’t sound bad, but I knew my history with self help books; when I did occasionally buy them, with the best of intentions, I rarely made it past the first chapter. Why would this be any different?

I stood in Chapters reading the back of the book –a pink book, for women, the color already was turning me off. How typical – pink for women!



“It’s got all the tools that women need to achieve longer, sexier and more passionate lives.” Ok, sounds good.

“Smart women don’t grow older, they grow younger.” Wow, that sounded even better. Younger!? What did I have to do to get this youth, be sexier and more passionate. Maybe I would get past the first chapter of this book. But was I really in that bad a shape? Had things really gone that far downhill for me? Was I really that unhealthy? I had just returned from Paris, come on, Paris! One can only return from the City of Lights on a high and feeling fabulous, not tired, out of shape and portly.

Time to take stock. A year in Paris; it had been a drastic lifestyle change for me. For a year I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised
- was sleep deprived –did not want to miss out on anything Paris had to offer.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
It did not sound all that bad, actually it had all been pretty darn excellent.
But I was in my mid 40’s. Maybe not the best time to be living this indulgent, carefree, sloth like way of life.

At the age of 26 I had also lived in Paris for a year. It was a student year, studying for my Masters and it was a very good year indeed. Funny, lifestyle wise it had been a similar year as I:
- ate what I wanted
- drank at will
- barely exercised, although I did actually belong to a gym at Place Beaubourg, Espace Vit’Halles, following around uncoordinated hairy skinny Frenchmen in neon spandex who were trying to lead aerobic classes (it was the 90’s after all, neon and spandex.)
- was sleep deprived - did not want to miss out on any student parties.
- yes, packed on a few pounds in the process.
- and yes, the occasional studying was involved.
But my doctor had not looked at me with disapproval upon my return, suggesting twice that I read a book about being younger next year. What was different?




Almost 20 years was the difference!

I realized that recovery would take slightly longer as a 45 year old, versus recovery as a 26 year old. Maybe it was time to really listen to Dr. D.

Younger Next Year For Women it was going to be.

I walked to the cashier, my girlie pink self help book in hand.


Not sure where the 20 years have gone, but yes, apparently they do make a difference!



Next Post: Bread in Paris. Yes, part of the problem!

Re-entry Morning

5.30am, July 2011: Three jet lagged Tai girls walking around their big Calgary house, trying to figure out where everything is and where all this space came from. Going from a 550 sq ft Parisian apartment to a 4000 sq ft house certainly is a shock. Slightly stunned they decide, now that it is light out, to hit the local pathways on their mountain bikes. Magnificent. This is not velib riding, negotiating their way amongst the cars, pedestrians and dog pooh on the streets of Paris. This is dirt, tree roots, long grass, hills, speed, and maybe even the occasional coyote. And we are back to being safe and Canadian, our cycling helmets tightly strapped to our noggins. Is this change good, or bad? I can't decide. I miss the noise, the hustle and bustle.

"This is glorious maman. You can't mountain bike like this in Paris," happily yells out 8-year-old Gabrielle.

She is right, this is glorious and the perfect start to our re-entry into our Canadian lives. Sometimes the perspective of a child is needed.

I succumbed to your powers ma chère Paris!

     Ahh...Paris, you are my favorite city of all. Oui je t'aime. You shine brightly above all others, with your amazing history, architecture, fabulous museums, culture, music, world class shopping, the je ne sais pas of the Parians and of course, your bewitching food.

     A year with you and this food have left me spent, beaten, as I surrendered to your wicked powers as you lured me with your evil....calories!

     Leaving you was not easy but leaving your splendid nourishment was definitely the best move for my ever growing girth and tightening clothes. The recovery now starts. This recovery has not only been emotional and psychological but physical as I try to shed the obvious evidence you have left on my corpulent frame. It did not take long for your vicious regimen to attack me, but I know it will take longer for me to find my previous shape and health. Who dared say "French Women Do Not Get Fat!?" This half French woman certainly made an unconscious valiant attempt to disprove this!