August 2009

Ganesh Festiva

Ganesh Festiva

Sorry to my two readers for the scrappy posts in the last few days. Ive been packing and moving. I’ve left the place I was house sitting in Bagnolet and am now in fab Pigalle in transit to Ireland. Oh God I hope I am only there for a month. Apparently its rainy and gray and grim! I will write about this Paris session round up more fully later. In the meantime enjoy a picture from the Ganesh Indian Festival which took place yesterday. You’d think an Indian festival, replete with Hindu Gods and half naked sufis would be incongerous on a Parisian Boulavard but it all seemed surprisingly right!

Jardin des Tuileries

Jardin des Tuileries

I was going to meet some friends last night in a part of the 19th that I’m not too familier with. As I walked along the road I heard the most intense shouting and yelling. With my crap French I couldn’t make out what the man was screaming about but what ever it was it seemed to reduce the woman to wailing sobs.

Now apparently it’s a crime here not to help out in event in of an emergancy but I have to admit my first impulse was (a)to wonder why the heck my mates had chosen such a dodgy location for and (b) to contemplate getting the hell out of there pronto. Heh this site isn’t NOT called for nothing.

However I ploughed on. And came upon the source of the shouting. Brightly dressed masked actors throwing themselves into a Moliere play in the Parc du Belleville, over looking THE best view of Paris.

It’s even more impressive then that from the Sacre Couer as there’s better view of the Eiffel Tower ‘scinitillating’. Isn’t that a wonderful word? It’s when all its thousands of lights sparkle and..well scintillate. What’s more you can watch the show from a bar with a glass of wine in your hand.

That’s just one of the reasons I am going to miss Paris when I go home. One just seems to happen upon the most unexpected magic moments . Another wonderful evening, also involving the scintillating Eiffel tower, was at a meet up picnic at the Champ du Mars, the green park by the famous monument. As the lights began to play, individuals ran around the many many picnicing groups urging them to their feet to sing Bon Anniversaire to their friend.

The sound of thousands of people singing happy birthday to a stranger brought tears to my eyes so the actual birthday boy must have had a breakdown!

Then tomorrow I am heading to a festival for Ganesh, the Indian Elephant God. My mother tells me he is the God of prosperity so I am going to bring bags of baguettes and pastries as bribes. But again I imagine it’ll be a day to remember.

However at least I am going home to see Aislinn and Tom my new little nephew, so maybe Cork will have magic moments in store also.

Oh boy I am in the midst of packing to go back to Ireland and oh my god am I now suffering for my vanity. I vowed not to buy any more clothes when I came here but it’s impossible not to….at least if you are needy and revel in attention like certain bloggers not too far from this computer.

In the first couple of weeks I went through a spate of buying cute new dresses. I have to admit I love the attention I get when I wear them. I’m Irish, it’s a novelty, cut me some slack. I’m not used to men glancing away from their drinks to appreciate women. No wonder French women walk with that certain something in their step. They know they are being looked at and admired and it’s a good feeling. In Ireland we’ve learnt to stomp forward with a rather determined gait in order to shoulder our way to the bar to get in our rounds.

The vintage shops have been my other downfall. There is any amount of quirky shops around the Marais and Pigalle where you can pick up a dress for less then a tenner. However I am curious to see how many of my purchases hold up back in Ireland. I wonder to what extent I am being seduced by the actual garment or by the whole notion and atmosphere of ‘vintage shopping in Paris.’ For the duration of that walk from the rail I hope Charlotte Gainsbourg isnt operating any heavy machinery becuase I am personally channelling her spirit!

I do suspect context helps. I wonder if Chloe Sevigney would look as cool in her vintage finds if she wasn’t surrounded by glossy editorial, brainwashing us into admiring her.

My pal Clare does carry off the vintage look with aplomb but then she is a tall slim English rose. I am tall, soft and by God, had there been any potatoes to dig out of the ground during the Irish famine, I would have been the ‘grand hardy peasant’ type to do it. And until I manage to uncover a secret stash of 50’s burlesque costume, Vintage doesn’t favour the fuller bust.

I’ve a sneaking suspicion the ‘super cool’ (my new euro-trash word) 70’s shirt bought at the Marche des Puces at Montrieul might look less ‘Last Tango in Paris’ and slightly more ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I dare to wear it back home. IF I ever wear it at all!

And please send huge welcomes and best wishes to my new baby nephew, born this morning at 7.05, weighing a healthy 8lb 10oz.

Named for his two grandads, welcome to the world Baby Tom!

Could any one reading send out a warm wishes and welcomes to my friend Emer’s new baby girl who was born last night at 22.13 weighing 6lb 2oz.

Welcome to the world Aislinn May!

The extremely cool neighbours are back from their holidays. Evidently actually saying thank you to someone for feeding your pet and watering your plants for three weeks is not quite the done thing here in France. Instead he just collected the keys and confirmed the cat was not lying stiffened at the end of the wheely bin while she simply fingered the slightly dry eucalyptus with a disdainful expression.

I wonder who long it will be before their utterly charming 7 year old daughter Nadine assumes the French hauteur. It will be a shame for she genuinely is a little charmer. She occasionally strolls in for a chat which, other then ordering my baguette, is the only French language conversation I am compelled to have. Not only does she teach me the occasional word but yesterday she taught me how to make wine!

The house I am borrowing has a thick canopy of grape vines. I don’t care that they are only half ripe, free home grown grapes are too romantic to resist so I insist on eating them anyway. However Nadine was very bemused that I should be consuming produce before it properly ripens in September. With utter seriousness she proceeded to tell me not only how to make the wine but also how when bottled one was to leave it rest for four years! Admittedly because of my crap French I can’t vouch for the accuracy of her recipe, she could have been adding grated dog for all I know. However I defy you to find any Irish seven year old who could even bluff or hazard a guess. Jamie Oliver would have wet himself!

Anyway I was far more interested to learn that ultra chic and snooty Maman apparently drinks “beaucoup beaucoup du vin”. Ah, out of the mouth of babes!

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