I thought it would be an injustice to myself and to you if I didn’t sit down, sip an espresso in a Paris café’ and write a few lines. And guess what? It’s my BIRTHDAY!! I’ve definitely calmed my jets regarding the Frenchness of it all and I’m finding myself fitting in quite well on the streets of Paris. First off, I’m happy with the weather, it’s hot as every 24th day of July should be. Equally important, I’m happy with my outfit. And this, dear friends is important in Paris. I could sit for hours watching the clothing walk down the streets, taking notes (and photos) of the fabulousness of it all. What both Greg and I have noticed most is that everyone looks different. The corporate cut-me-out paper-doll “look” does not exist in this fine city known for its artistic expression in the fashion world.

The first thing Greg said when we got off the train was, “Every time I come to Paris I can’t help but think how superior it is to London.” It’s that French “haught” blood of his. I don’t think it can be helped.



I’ve been spoken to four times exactly in French by French people, two French men. (oooh la la.) I think it’s the hat. This is a place where it is necessary to look presentable. I remember from reading “Almost French”, my bible to understanding my French family, a particular scene that I rather enjoyed. An Australian woman threw on a sweatshirt and sweats to go to the bakery to pick up the bread for her dinner party, and when she returned her fiancé went crazy about her leaving the house looking like that. His whole point was that it wasn’t very nice for the baker. And that’s it. Paris is aesthetically beautiful and everyone should do their part to keep it that way! It’s all about the way you put yourself together that matters. I’m so pleased I made the effort that last night in Chiang Mai to get jewelry made to match my outfits because it matters here. (the only thing that could be better is that I could have royal blue shoes, but……after all, I’m traveling with two kids in tow, and comfort on the ‘ole tootsies is a must).

I’m in much better spirits because yesterday Helene’ Greg’s tall, slender, very French cousin whom we’re staying with and who really doesn’t talk to me, told me that her friend saw us in the park and wants to buy HOPE clothing. FINALLY some attention after a week! I was getting depressed but what I should have done is re-read my “Almost French” book and realized the culture a bit more. I also got myself into the kitchen and made some fresh pesto and guacamole for everyone to try. Helene wanted the guacamole recipe—-uh, avocados, salt & pepper. And bit of fresh cilantro if you can get your hands on it!!! And don’t forget that ½ a tomato so the avocado doesn’t turn brown. It’s a good thing the French appreciate the simplicity of flavors. So like I say I’m getting my head around the French way a bit more and finding myself more comfortable.

However I will say that they are still obsessed with the food thing but now I can afford to laugh at it. Today as we pulled into the Paris station, two men who were strangers were having a very loud conversation about where to eat for lunch. By the time the train stopped there were six strangers engaged in this conversation and all I could understand was Dijon. I asked Greg if they were comparing mustards at different restaurants but he said no, they were talking about a restaurant called Dijon. Good thing too, because I was getting a bit worried.

Speaking of food obsession we had a delightful salad for lunch and I treated myself to a glass of red wine. It seemed to be the thing to do since French people take two hours for lunch and everything closes. (not in Paris though, thank Goodness!) All the seats at the café’s face the street. It’s very cool.

We wandered into a church called “the little Notre Dame.” I enjoyed it very much. It was beautiful with so many gorgeous paintings. I am so disappointed though because I don’t know any of the stories that go with the paintings which is pretty pathetic since I was raised Catholic, went to church every Sunday, and catechism once a week additionally. Why did they make it so BORING? Of course St. James church in Petaluma has got to be the most uninspiring place of worship of all times. Anyhow this little Notre Dame was magical in spirit. A recent artist painted this massive painting of the face of spirit and there was this poem to accompany it that Greg translated for me. My favorite line is, “Un visage semble se plaire d’etre different pour chacun qui le regarde comme l’esprit.” (The face seems to be happy being different for each of the people who look at it, just like the spirit).

It pays not to speak to much French when you’re looking for dinner. The familiar words stick out, yearning to be read by Americans like me. I spotted FONDUE. Soooo, Fondue it was with a chocolate mousse to wash it down for my birthday dinner. Yummy. Because of the Fondue find, we missed our train back and had to kill two more hours before another train was due. Lucky for us, because the evening was beautiful and everyone brought picnics to the park so we sat and joined. Then a fat guard starting blowing a whistle like someone was drowning or something. He was clearing the park out which turned out to be okay because everyone just moved their brie and wine to the side of the canal to continue the festivities.

One last thing we did was track down a contact from the London Bubble Children’s clothing trade show. I was considering carrying her line on the website but I realized after having my own production that I am a real stickler on quality. Well, my own production and the fact that I’m American. We’ve got standards, you know. Poor Greg just looked at the finishing and gave me the “Americans are not going to put up with this” look. And he’s right. We’re not. Just like the French are not going to put up with sweats and a sweatshirt on the streets of Paris.

Cheers & Ciao for Now—Gina