Pluta Parentals

People said it couldn't be done. Rumor has it that a great aunt declared, "Henry won't go to France, even if his daughter is there." Even we were a bit skeptical, and we knew they loved their first trip here in May. But against all odds, the Pluta's returned to France and loved it! We headed out of Paris this time and met in Toulouse for a 10 day trip in the Southwest and in Provence.

We explored one perfectly charming little village (Cordes-sur-Ciel), and even saw some local art. Be sure to notice the Tour de France hat of Dad's that proves his newfound affinity for France and mom's very French scarf, which made her a near local.

There was an ongoing quest for the perfect Christmas Card photo. Here is one attempt in Carcassonne--in addition to being a possible Pluta Family Background, this walled town is also where Robin Hood was filmed and it is approximately 1,000 years old.

Sometimes I was overwhelmed by the pre-Christmas spirit, what can I say?

We also went to see the world's highest bridge. This was Josh's idea and it made Dad happy. Mom and I were game since the boys were so happy, but we did think, "We're driving how far to see what?" I, however, did manage to conquor my bridge phobia for the first time. Maybe Josh's bridge impersonations helped.

We also saw a lot of Roman ruins. This is where gladiators fought for centuries in the city of Nimes. Is it just me or do we look photoshopped in?

We also listened to a LOT of audio guides. Here, Dad is modeling his hat along with Audioguide #512 which explains the history of Nimes gladiators and still ongoing bullfighting tradition.

This is the second bridge-like thing of the trip. This is actually an ancient aquaduct. The boys went there solo. Mom and I were having tea and shopping while the boys were looking at ancient plumbing and nearly-as-ancient graffiti on the aquaduct.

Dad even rode the bus! Henry Pluta on public transportation in France!!??!! Did anyone else notice a rip in the time/space continuum?

We didn't have a lifesize cut out of David to include in this family photo, but somehow the Harley is close enough. Having David with us would have made the trip complete, but I suspect France wouldn't let in that many Plutas at once.

This was perhaps my favorite day of a truly wonderful trip. We ended our time in the city of Avignon at a Christmas market. Lights, tasty treats, mild weather, music and the chance to laugh with Mom, Dad and Josh...it was pretty special. And, I really and truly think that cotton candy should be a party of every Christmas festival! Mom had a waffle with whipped cream that she enjoyed so much that I don't think I'll never forget how happy she seemed as she ate it!

We stopped for one last beverage before heading back to Paris in this cute little cafe. It felt like we were in a French kitchen from the 1930's. We then returned back to Paris for a last whirl around town.

We said goodbye to my parents on a chilly morning and as I waved goodbye, I realized that our hosting duties in Paris were officially over. Since April, we've had the joy of sharing this amazing city with 35 people, which surely should earn us at least an honorable mention in next year's Nobel Peace Prize discussion. It was really a blast though and I couldn't really imagine this adventure without the stories and antics that each visitor brought.

For those of you who came, thank you truly for making our adventure so fantastic. For those of you who couldn't make it, know that we thought of you often and probably toasted you with a glass of French wine.

It isn't very often that you can truly count life in moments, rather than deadlines, but this year was filled with them.

Back to counting my blessings before Christmas,

sPg

Yankee Go Home

When I got home from doing errands and found this truck in front of our apartment building, I started to wonder if France was trying to send us a message.

It wasn't just on our street, or on our block. It was literally right in front of our apartment. The lit-up window over the sign is our living room window. Here's a picture of Sara, Evita-like, or perhaps Mayor McCheese-like, greeting her subjects from our living room window.

And here's the view out the window, looking down.

I suppose we can only hope that this same time next year, there's a foie gras or a stinky cheese billboard outside our DC window...

Josh

Appy Sanksgiving

As you all likely know, on the fourth Thursday in November, the French don't celebrate Thanksgiving like we Americans do.

Instead, they celebrate Thanksgiving on December 16.

No, I suppose they don't. I guess I really am just that late in posting news and pictures from our excellent Paris Thanksgiving dinner. OK, so with apologies, think of it as the leftovers that wouldn't go away, here's the play-by-play of our Paris Thanksgiving.

First, if you go to a French butcher shop in late fall, here's what you are most likely to find:

The rabbits and the hares still look pretty good here, and they do for a couple of days. But then, if they don't sell by day two or three, there's usually a plastic bag around their head, held on by a rubber band, so that any...escaping liquids...are contained. By the way, the sign in the picture says "Game has arrived: Roosters, pheasants, "green necks" (the green-headed ducks you see in the park), partridges, does, boars, hares, rabbits..."

But, lo and behold, for the first time in the four years I've lived here since 1992, you could see an unusual sign this November at a butcher shop on our street:

It says "Remember to order your Thanksgiving turkey." Within days, in the butcher's case,

we saw this:So, interestingly, it looks like Thanksgiving has made an appearance on the French scene. I don't think they're celebrating it, but I think they realize there are enough Americans in Paris to make it worth recognizing. I also think they find the holiday intriguing--the one day all year that Americans live vaguely like French people do every day of the year: no work and good food!

Of course, French people continue to live like French people, which means that Thanksgiving occurred in the middle of the longest French transit strike of the past few years. This complicated life, since our plan was to celebrate Thanksgiving with Iris (my French host mother from my 1992-1993 junior year abroad), and she lives in Boulogne, just outside of Paris, and probably a 1.5 to 2 hour walk from our house. Since Sara had a work meeting that day, I was in charge of getting all of our food contributions (the turkey, wine, stuffing fixings, and three desserts) over to Iris'.

I hoped to get one of the 10% of metros and busses running that day, or to catch a cab, but since I wasn't sure either of these would really be possible, I had to prepare as if I would be walking the whole way, avec Thanksgiving literally in my hands. For that reason, I had our 16-pound turkey in a wheelie suitcase.

I also packed our classy and tasty new house wine in the bag.

Then I was ready to set out for Iris' house.

Fortunately, though, I was finally able to get through to a cab company on the phone, so I made the trip in a taxi.

Everything worked out great in the end. Sara and Iris, two of my favorite cooks in the world, collaborated to put together one of the best Thanksgiving dinners ever. Here they are relaxing between bouts of cooking. Iris had a stroke a couple of years ago, and prior to living in Paris, Sara and I never expected to be living here, so it's honestly a blessing that this year they've gotten to know each other, swap cooking tips, and share meals in Iris' warm and perfect home.

After hours of hard work, including Iris' genius idea of mummifying the turkey in raw bacon before cooking it, the bird was ready for its star turn.

We sat down to dinner with a motley crew: Iris, Sara, our visiting friend Matt Carty, myself, Sara's French teacher Elodie, her boyfriend David, and two of Iris' American artist friends. There were a couple of last-minute cancellations (less resourceful people who couldn't overcome the transit strike's stumbling blocks...), so there was an even greater bounty of food than we'd planned.

After a lovely Thanksgiving, it was time to head home, but again thanks (but no thanks!) to the transit strike, that was easier said than done. Sara, Matt, and I planned on sharing a cab with Elodie and David, but the special cab we called (most French cabs can't take five people) went to Iris' address not in Boulogne but in Paris, and was then too pissed to come out to get us. We then had to call two separate cabs, which are obviously a scarce commodity during strikes. So, we ended up standing downstairs far longer than we expected.

And, of course, after a bit too much turkey, wine, and waiting, antics ensued.


All in all, it was a very French, and a very American, Thanksgiving.

And since we'll be in Corsica for Christmas (we were in southern France for most of Hanukkah), we didn't get a tree, so instead, we decided to decorate a Holiday Lamp.

With that image, we wish you all Happy Holidays.

Josh

Tiny Cars

Here is another in the promised "favorite things" series. This one is short and sweet, since Sara's parents are here and we're on the road. It's so short and sweet, I'll express it in haiku: France has tiny cars We mock them big time, but they Aren't at war for oil.

Guilty Pleasures

I really couldn’t help myself. I was hoping that no one would spot me leaving. I contemplated telling Josh in person, rather than in our normal email check-ins.

I really tried to just walk away. I did what I could to stave off the desire—I walked around the block. I tried to distract myself with necessary errands at the phone store. I even resorted to making sure I could avoid leaving a trail by paying in cash. I counted each cent and thought, “I mean, this is ok to do once or twice.”

I entered the store uncertainly, tugging at my hat to cover my eyes a bit. I kept my iPod on, so I could claim distraction enough to avoid talking to anyone. I even had the nerve to stare at the others who were gathered with a condescending look of “I can’t believe you’ve let it come to this—surely we should be anywhere else but here.”

In the end, however, my spirit resisted, but the flesh was weak. I took the plunge. I enjoyed every last second of it and quickly discarded every last shred of evidence. I did think for a moment, “no one has to know but me.”

But I can’t hide it. Maybe its not even a real problem. Maybe its my right. And maybe all there is to say is: Damn, that McDonald’s Cheeseburger was good.

sPg

Strike Out

Make no mistake about it: I am ready for the transportation strike to end, but, in the interest of making lemons into lemonade, or grapes into wine as the case may be, the strike and its related stress has allowed me a better glimpse at French solidarity.

If you haven’t heard, since last Wednesday, the French transportation workers are on strike over a feud with the government over retirement reforms. The right to strike is held dearly here, so the workers are challenging the government’s position by cutting service on most trains and busses. The public, it seems, is squarely in the middle of a debate over the retirement benefits of 500,000 workers.

There was a strike about a month ago, which was a pain and lasted for about two days. This one looks to be longer and we’ve actually had to deal with it for a few days, so I feel like my perspective is a bit different this time around.

On Thursday, I had a meeting that simply had to take place—strike or no strike. So, like the others who were involved in the meeting, we figured out how to make it work. Most of us walked, which we found basically fine. It was a sunny, if a bit chilly, day and I left plenty of time. I even found myself at some points happy to be joining the masses making due in the face of inconvenience and, at the very least, I claimed my legitimate right to complain about the situation—which made me feel very French. Sadly, it took the one woman who had no choice but to use some transportation (she lived unwalkably far away) nearly four hours to arrive.

The one thing I don’t understand though is why the workers chose this particular method of striking. It seems instead of a work stoppage, they also had the option of just not charging anyone for transportation, which courts have decided is a legal strike method. Then, you could cost the government money and not make the public angry. I know the issues are complicated and retirement is sacred, but I seriously question their strategy.

I also think my goodwill and lemonade making skills are starting to run short, especially as the temperatures have dropped. Josh just said there was an Anti-Strike March today—if only I could get there I would join in and all this from someone who actually believes in unions. Nearly my entire family is part of a union and even my dad said, “In the States, they would have been forced back to work and a cooling off time or intensive mediation would have taken place.”

In truth, for us, this is mostly an inconvenience. So far, we’ve had to miss the ballet (they were on strike fighting to maintain a benefits package dating back to the 1600’s—no joke), an artist fair (even when the metro is running it takes an hour to get to this neighborhood and we weren’t going to walk there), dinner with Josh’s host father he stayed with in 1989 (who lives too far away to walk) and we ended up just walking everywhere else. Nothing absolutely important, but still slightly irritating. We’re hoping that our Thanksgiving dinner at Iris’ isn’t cancelled or, more comically, that I don’t have to haul a whole turkey on my back to Iris’. We also have a friend arriving on Wednesday without any clear way for him to get from the airport to the city, but we’ll figure all of that out. But mostly, I resent feeling like I am being taken hostage over someone else’s fight.

So, we’ll see when this ends. No immediate end is in sight and even when it’s officially over, it will take several days for things to be back to normal. Several French people have said, “Well, you are certainly having a chance to experience a unique piece of France.” I have to say, I prefer cheese and wine to this piece of culture any day.

sPg

PS: These photos are of a recent strike-related protest, a protest earlier this year, and "better days" our friends and family had with the transit system in strike-free times.