Wow! Paris really woke up this last few weeks! It continues to be so interesting how, if you’re paying attention, there is a very distinct vibe that drives this city and subtly changes people’s behavior from day to day.

For example, a few weeks ago at the beginning of the month, I stepped outside onto to our terrace to check the weather. Pretty warm, I thought, and put on light slacks and a tee to talk a walk to a friend’s house. As I got to the bottom step of my apartment, I practically ran into a woman who was dressed in her mid length buttoned up raincoat, boots and warm neck scarf tripled around her neck. She looked at me, I looked at her. “American!” I’m sure she thought. “It’s the first week of September; summer is over, fall is here; wardrobe change! (even though the day was bright and sunny)” I thought.

At our weekly foray to the farmer’s market, people seemed almost giddy with excitement to be back to the city; all the restaurants and everyone else are back in business. One of the things that struck me lately is how true it is when it is said that this city is essentially a grouping of 100 different neighborhoods, and what gives them their charm is the individual merchants who run the shops. And individuals need time off. I recently read that it is against the law for businesses to be open on Sunday, with certain dispensations given to businesses that cater to tourists or for emergencies. So, while the law is very loosely interpreted and enforced --- you get familiar with the times places are opened and closed and don’t just accept it, but create your schedule around it too. This of course includes when you see everyone in the world sitting down for a beer in an outdoor café in the afternoon, sitting down too to enjoy the scenery and people watching.

This certainly has to be the capital of people watching. Most of us from America are not used to being stared at by strangers --- you immediately assume someone is sizing you up. But here, “looking” is just what people do as they sit out at sidewalk cafes. I actually think it serves a huge positive function as a continual community feed about what’s happening in the city--- a continual visual on fashion, an ongoing auditory on what people are concerned about while listening to the buzz around them; a daily plug into what is happening in the neighborhood while interacting with always chatty waiters; hilarious entertainment how the idiotic tourists are behaving; noting the local homeless beggar has lived to see another day; and hearing what the neighborhood schizophrenic has on his mind. I’ve noticed whatever neighborhood we’re in, with perhaps the exception of the Champs Elysees which is tourist city, has the same caste of characters. I’m starting to believe that’s why, even if going “solo” here without a social network or even close friends; you never have to feel alone. You can read, you can contemplate, you can stare along with everyone else for as long as you want.

Since I’ve started to take daily walks to a beautiful park called Parc Monceau, I’ve noticed similar type of a community feed-in. This particular park has got it all; a sweet play area for little kids, especially for practicing on their adorable little scooters, some beautiful walking paths, lovely greenery and space galore for picnicking. In addition, there is a dirt track that goes around the perimeter of the park for runners and walkers, with park benches all along the way, as well as scattered throughout, including some stone ruins from who knows when, not to mention an ancient stone building where the toilettes are located! It’s such a beautiful slice of Paris life --- African nannies and young mommies with their infants, runners, kids from the school next door out for recess (no playgrounds in the city, much less play equipment, etc) --- the kids run around screaming like wild banshees pushing each other around until the teacher rings a bell and calls them back to class; and a majority of couples on the benches, all shapes, sizes, and ages with the woman sitting up with their men looking as if all they need in life is a lap to lay their weary heads while their woman strokes their hair. Parks here are always full of readers, writers, people taking their lunch break there in their professional clothing or just taking a break. I’ll often take a little picnic and hang out for the hour.

Displays of public affection and touching here are also really reflective of Paris. People don’t hug and continuously touch each other, but they do give the double cheek kiss to their men and women friends alike; they love to make out, especially on bridges and underneath trees, but I notice that stops as a public display at around the age 35; you sit really close in restaurants and subways, but you never touch; many of the bathrooms are unisex, so you hear what you hear in the stall next to you; you seldom see anyone on the streets in workout clothes (yoga classes you go the gym and everybody changes from their street clothes to gym clothes in front of each other --- you do the class then change again after you’re through);
the women zip around on bicycles and motorcycles with their high heels hooked over the back of the pedals and their tight skirts and blouses not showing a wrinkle. You can always tell whose at home here of the 2 million residents and who are the other 27 million tourists milling about!

We’re continuing to have some great restaurant experiences. Restaurant Le Procope founded in 1686, where we could have been sitting at the same table that the likes of Voltaire, Rousseau or even our friend Benjamin Franklin sat at. I hope their chicken was better than mine! A Gospel Concert at St. Germain des Pres, one of the oldest churches in Paris; listening to jazz at Le Café Laurent at the Hotel Aubusson, a place where in 1690 artists and novelists liked to meet for what was then a revolutionary new drink called l’Eau de Café (coffee water --- how many billions and billions of cups have been drunk since then --- talk about a great invention!); and one of the more interesting museums here --- the Postal Museum which was the precursor to France’s roadway and railway system, not to mention a revolutionary idea of the person sending the mail paying in advance, affordable to all. Recently we went to another exhibit recognizing the 150th year anniversary of the enlargement of Paris to its current boundaries. It began in 1840 with Baron Haussman creating a master architectural plan for the city which has since defined the infrastructure and structure that is what makes Paris. It’s absolutely extraordinary to see the power and insight that he possessed to literally rebuild a city that had existed for 2000 years, not just logistically but aesthetically, that continues to function unbelievably well today.

And we enjoyed Rosh Hashana services at Kehillat Gesher. Held in a rented facility on a busy street called rue Annociation, it reminded me of the beginning of Beth Haverim days, but this time the progressive service was in Hebrew, English and French. Rabbi Tom Cohen is a graduate of UCLA, University of Judaism and the Jewish Theological Seminary; the cantor Diane Rose was from the San Fernando Valley --- felt like home. Until of course, we stepped outside onto a typically busy street, where on either side were cafes, fruit vendors, cheese, bread, chocolate, wine and books, you name it! We totally enjoyed the morning and look forward to spending more time with the community.

After spending a wonderful week with Laura and Guy, filled with great walking tours, food, film and great weather (which is not something that you can take for granted here) Maury and I got back to our routine. Maury’s French conversation continues to improve daily as he combines an intimate school environment with private tutoring.

It’s especially fun to use it at the weekly Farmer’s Market near our apartment. It’s such an enjoyable time walking through the gauntlet of fresh picked produce, sampling the varietals of cheese, staring at the beef and fish displays, trying on a hat here and scarf there, bread made just for eating that day with no preservatives, filling up our rolling cart (the type that you only see elderly people using in the U.S. --- here everyone does because most people walk to do their errands) along the way. These types of Farmer’s Markets are all over Paris. It’s really changed our eating habits. You feel so fulfilled on so much less here.

Me being me, running nonstop, I got my fill of museums, cultural events and walking tours this last month. After the quiet of August, the city has now woken up again with the re-entry of everyone back from their summer vacations.

I’m now diving into trying to put in serious writing time, attending writing workshops and book readings. Particularly in the last few weeks, we have gotten a deeper look at the English speaking, mostly American community here. There are several, but certainly not a lot of access points for English speaking people to meet, many of whom are transient here, and others who have lived here for many years. So whether it be a social meetup event (www.meetup.com) where anyone and everyone is welcome, literary reading (at one of the few small English bookstores here), a speaker at the American Library or a get-together at an American Women’s organization or the American University in Paris, it’s already clear that it is the same faces attending these events. It’s interesting for Maury and I to be interacting with people, mostly singles, who in the evenings are skimming the surface here, independent and interested in the cultural side of Paris, with every evening something to do. I can really see how one can build a life here staying within the boundaries of that community.

One man we met commented on how it’s really nice to speak English at the end of the day, having interacted in French during it. To me it was obvious it wasn’t just the English/French difference, but how when we speak to a fellow American, there is also a sense of comfort and familiarity that we are speaking the same “language” culturally. Compared to here, we do interact more openly and transparently about our personal lives, especially in Southern CA and are a lot more trusting and embracing of people from other cultures, plus we are simply are more comfortable chatting with friends and others in our neighborhood, many of whom we may not know personally. It’s what builds our community. Here it is not necessarily so. Book after book I have read about the American experience in Paris, mentioned the difficulty of making French friends. I think this is because at its essence, Paris and France are a very homogeneous group that is simply not interested in getting to know others outside of it, in addition to Paris being a typically big urban city.

A friend of ours, who has a six year old child, recently moved into a new apartment, filled with young families and kids. One day she opened up the doors of her terrace and stepped outside with her six year old, and found herself face to face, across the courtyard, with another mom and their child around the same age. Our friend, from San Diego, gave an immediate wave and a hearty “Bonjour!” as did her son. She described to me the look of absolute shock that came over the face of the French mom, who stared at her for a few minutes and then turned on her heel, pulled her child in, and closed the door and curtains to her apartment. Of course, not all French are like that, but when you get too close to some, into their shell they go.

So when you take the French reticence and pair it with the typical highly literate English speaker, like most are here, not being able to communicate beyond a preschool/elementary school level, it presents a reality check on one’s expectations very quickly. It’s very clear that you are welcome to come and enjoy the beauty, the excitement of the street, the culture and the sounds, smells, tastes and the inspiration, but if you really want to “know” France, you need to learn the language and to be living here a very long time. That said, what makes it so interesting is that it is really easy to melt in here, once you don’t have either pressure or expectation of judging yourself by others --- in fact, it’s the perfect place to get into yourself and renew and re-energize.

So even though at moments it still feels really strange to be so disconnected from Agoura --- there is something about checking an empty mailbox every day that feels like such a metaphor for our life here --- at the same time, the feeling of complete freedom to create new avenues of thinking is really powerful.

That said, of course, we continue to have a lot of fun. We went to a Philosophy Café last week when the topic was happiness and everyone got a chance to speak, from professors to twenty somethings that had dropped in; it's evident there are a lot of French philosophy cafes around the city. I went to a book reading of an extraordinary young writer named Kamila Shamsie, a Pakistani Moslem, who at age 30, has just completed her 5th published novel; there’s an upcoming Festival America, which features international writers writing about America, a four day festival of lectures, concerts and films in a suburb outside Paris called Vicennes; the Opera Garnier and more. Like I said, there’s no place better culturally to endlessly skim the surface, than Paris.

Next week for Rosh Hashana, we will also be celebrating the holidays with the “Anglophone” (English speaking) Jewish community. There is one synagogue here, led by Rabbi Tom Cohen (originally from Oregon), so we’re looking forward to that.

I also went last Saturday to a service of the ULIF (Union Liberale Israelite de France --- Liberal Jewish Union of France) which was in an absolutely beautiful synagogue. Being my Dad’s 3rd yartzeit, I wanted to be there.

As I walked in I was stopped by security, and for about 20 minutes I felt I was at the airport undergoing a security check by El Al. I had with me a copy of my passport which I always carry --- otherwise I probably would not have been let in. Though I keep myself well appraised on anti-Semitic incidents here in Paris and France, this was first time I really came face to face, in the form of two trained security guards at the doors of the Temple, with the tension that the Jewish community lives with.

The Rabbi Michael Williams, originally from England, was busy slinging jokes from the bimah, and the three b’nai mitzvoth --- two young men and one young woman --- read from the Torah and gave speeches to beaming parents. It was really lovely. When the Bat Mitzvah started to cry during her speech, so did I, I was so touched. O.K., I said to myself, now I feel like I’m at home!

One really nice custom they have is the passing around of the piece of material that wraps the Torah scrolls. Rather than a type of belt, this was a long, rectangular piece of beautiful material. During the Torah service, it was partially rolled up with a piece left hanging, and then passed around to the women in the synagogue. Pressing the rolled piece to their forehead, with the hanging piece covering their face, they said a personal prayer and handed it around to others. It was then wrapped around the Torah before being placed back into the ark.

It was such a beautiful day, that I decided to stroll home down Avenue Victor Hugo, a beautiful tree-lined street filled with interesting shops. I was about 20 minutes into my walk when I realized I was going in the opposite direction than I needed to. Normally I would have been irritated with myself for not paying attention. Here, I simply crossed the street and went in the opposite direction, window shopping along the way, stopping for a coffee in a lovely café with tables set out on the sidewalk, served to me with grace by a handsome young French man. Me, the Jewish-American-Israeli Earth Mother from Agoura! It’s quiet moments like that, that I think I’ll always remember.



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