For the second year in a row, I had to go to work on Thanksgiving when all of America was cooking turkey and baking pies with friends and family. So I settled for the next best thing with a burger and root beer from Schwartz's Deli with a few Americans from my division at the OECD. Good times. The real party kicked off this weekend with our 2nd (now annual) Thanksgiving dinner at Chez Burns-Hogge on Sunday. We had 14 people over this year, which is only manageable in a Parisian kitchen if it's potluck style - we cook the bird and the basics, and everyone else brings a dish or two. Most of our guests aren't Americans, so it's an added bonus that some are getting to have Thanksgiving dinner for the first time :) And as Michael perfectly captioned the picture below:
2nd annual Parisian Thanksgiving! 14 adults, 1 baby, 8 nationalities, a small vineyard's worth of wine, and leftovers for weeks. Missing family and friends back home, but thankful for great friends here in Paris.
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As life slowly moves forward in Paris after the attacks of November 13, today was a national day of mourning in France. All around the city, people were encouraged to fly flags on buildings and shops in a rare display of tricolor pride.
Displaying the national flag is not something you see in France like it is in the US, so it was all the more symbolic to see the French flag waiving in the breeze. My first trip to Vietnam ended up being a ridiculously short one. After a direct flight from Paris to Hanoi (thank god), I passed through customs around 6am and headed straight to a team breakfast in the old quarter of the city, then to a conference to give a presentation, and onto meetings all afternoon. In theory, it was a great plan, but in practice I didn't sleep at all on the airplane going over so I was absolutely, painfully, exhausted by the end of the day. But the best part of the trip was getting to catch up with my friend Christine for dinner, who lives in DC but just so happened to be in Hanoi for a few days on vacation! After an awesome meal at the Green Tangerine, I took a cab back to the airport, back through customs at 10pm, showered in the lounge (also thank god), and slept like the dead for almost ten hours straight on the plane.
I have no idea how to begin writing about what happened in Paris on Friday. It was an evening just like any other. And by 9pm, the stress of the week was starting to melt away into the excitement of the weekend to come. We were enjoying a lovely evening out with one of our good friends at a Thai restaurant in our neighborhood, laughing over good food and decent wine. About the time that we got dessert, our friend received a text message from her colleague asking if she was ok. Thinking it was a mistaken text, she wrote back and said "of course", and asked whether or not the friend had sent the message to the wrong person. She had not; but had seen the news that people had been shot and there were explosions around the city. And that is how we found out that Paris was once again under attack. People just like us across the river were murdered while they ate, drank, laughed, cheered, danced, sang. They felt safe, and were living peaceful lives on a beautiful Friday evening with their friends and loved ones. They had plans for the weekend, and dreams for the future, just like us. And I still cannot believe what happened. How could 130 of those who went out on Friday night never go home again? How can 350 others have been wounded, many of whom are still in the hospital? Parisians are in shock, and the worse part about all of this - above the senseless loss of life - is the deep sense of personal attack on every day life in Paris for people just like me, Michael, our friends, our colleagues, our neighbors. Today, Michael and I walked from our apartment across the river to the site where four of the attacks took place, which is about 3.5 miles from our home. The sun was shining, and it was an otherwise beautiful mid-November day. There did seem to be fewer people out and about in some places. But many had gathered at the restaurants and cafes which were attacked on Friday to pay respects and leave flowers, candles, prayers, momentos, tears. Although there were many people gathered at each of the locations, an eerie silence permeated the streets. In fact, it was shockingly quiet. What is there really to say... Here are a number of photos that we took this afternoon; Michael's photos are mixed in below with mine. Some are not easy to see, so I am making the thumbnails small and warning you in advance if you're not quite up for the images. I feel in some way like I don't have a right to feel sad about all of this - Michael and I are alive and healthy, and none of our friends were directly affected. It is the survivors, the wounded, the families of those who died, who have the right to grieve for what happened.
But the rest of me knows that is not true. We are all affected by what happened in Paris this weekend, and I can't help but feel traumatized and shocked by proximity. It is hard to digest when this kind of thing happens so close to home. Again. This is our anniversary weekend. We had planned to go to a Christmas Market at the American Church, and a local flea market on Rue Cler on Saturday, and had booked a mini-getaway to Disneyland Paris today and tomorrow for our actual anniversary. All of those events were cancelled due to ongoing security threats, and the current state of emergency that prohibits crowds from gathering until at least Thursday. And we are the lucky ones. We woke up this morning and made pancakes, and then walked around Paris on an extraordinarily beautiful Sunday afternoon. And tomorrow, I will wake up and tell my husband that I love him; and that I am grateful for every second that I have known him; and that I am so lucky to have spent the past two years as his wife. Tomorrow I will be grateful. Last weekend, Michael and I hopped the English Channel to visit my friend Jo, her husband Alex, and their gorgeous daughter Charlotte for a long weekend at their home outside of London. Not only was it great to catch up with friends, it was absolutely wonderful to be in an English-speaking country again! We took a day trip to Cambridge on Saturday, and lucked out with blue skies and warm weather, which is never expected and always appreciated in late October in the UK. I took a number photos around Cambridge if you'd like a mini tour of the town, but here a few to whet your appetite: Our visit to Cambridge also brought Michael his first real fish & chips experience in the UK, and satisfied my craving for afternoon tea and scones. British food win for the team. On Sunday, the weather during the day held in our favor and we headed to Woburn Abbey - a bit like Downton Abbey, but on much smaller scale, and no sign of Carson or Mrs. Hughes. But this Abbey did have a resident potter who, I will admit, got a bit of my business. We were scheduled to fly back to Paris on Sunday evening, but our good fortune with the weather during the day turned on us, and we found ourselves at Luton airport amid severe fog. Our 2 hour delayed flight turned into a 3 hour delayed flight, and then into a cancelled "you're on your own suckers" flight - thanks, easyJet.
Thanks to Jo, we were rescued and rebooked on a flight the following morning. Unfortunately, it was still foggy the next day, which delayed the flight again but we eventually made it back to Paris, and straight to work for me in jeans and an apology on behalf of the fickle British weather gods. Guest Author: Justin Richardson
---------------- Why did I turn the wrong way? Why didn't we bring the rolling bag? Why am I not eating yet? Where are we go…OW! Writhing. Shame. Annoyance. Continued writhing. Oh, look. The ER is right there. What's the French word for "convenient"? And with that, I got up and hobbled my way towards the ER. The curb that felled me was part of the driveway to the ER so the "salle des urgences" was merely feet (pun intended) from me. I should note that this was not only my first time going to an ER in France, it was my first time going to an ER ever as far as I know. I had no idea what to expect. Once in the ER lobby, I found a chair and used it for its intended purpose. There was a mother and her son also in the lobby. The kid was probably nine. I'll find out more about their situation later, but for now, Angela is trying to see if anyone speaks English. Not so much, it turns out. But we manage to convey the problem. I attempt to hobble to the desk area, but the non-English speaking nurse puts her hand up and says, "Stop!" She rushes to get met a wheelchair. Angela sits across the room and fills out a simple form that is unexpectedly in English. A nurse comes to wheel me back. It is approximately 10 til 6. Our train back to Paris leaves in 40 minutes. |
AuthorBecause why not get married and move to Paris to really kick off your thirties? Archives
December 2016
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