Feb 2, Paris
Americans who travel abroad for the first time are often shocked that…many foreign people still speak in foreign language.–Dave Barry
Today was Pancake Day in Paris. David uncovered this little jewel in French class today. And while he enjoyed his first day of school, the best news was that there is another American in his class that speaks less French than he does. He keeps referring to her as Poor Anna. Happily, Pancake Day led to a discussion about Groundhog Day (occurring on the same day, what are the odds?). The Husband is having a dialogue about what a groundhog is (Teacher: “We do not have these in Paris”).
Meantime, Poor Anna doesn’t even know her numbers.
We did trek to the Bataclan this afternoon. It is small and feels a bit Asian but it is otherwise unremarkable, save some crazy bastards shot up a bunch of innocents there a few months ago. Across the street there were the expected amassing of flowers and photos, children’s notes and French flags. Unbelievable still.
Because when we are sad–and also when we are happy- we like to drink margaritas, we hopped aboard the metro to head to our favorite Mexican restaurant. With the poignancy of the Bataclan freshly on my mind, I couldn’t help but notice: There aren’t many white people in Paris. Today’s Parisians are not your Louis XIV small chinned, pasty, bug-eyed, plump people showcased in your European history books. They are, in fact, Asian, African, and Middle-Eastern people. So many cultures converging in this ancient city–now seems a good time for someone to figure out how we are all going to live in peace. Pancake people need to get along with the Groundhog people. It should be this simple.
We did indulge in “une litre” of margaritas, which was basically the largest vessel the woman could carry.
We decided to walk home and, lo and behold, we ended up at a Picard store. “What’s that”, you ask? Only the most decadent, mouth-watering, frozen foods awesomeness in all the kingdom. Sadly, sickeningly, this particular Picard did not have chocolate chip cookies. So I asked the girl who asked the guy, and they shrugged at me. She says with insolence [Cue Inspector Clouseau accent], “Chocolate, I know. Chip, I do not know”.
Well, this is unacceptable. One of us Poor Annas is going to have to learn to speak chocolate chip in two languages.