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Archive for the ‘Paris’ Category

It’s February.  I haven’t made New Year’s resolutions but I can say that I finally kept one of my resolutions. Last year I enjoyed life. I kept my resolution to cook more, entertain more, and worry less. I hosted dinner parties. I cooked… a lot of lamb dinners. And I worried less.

2011 was a year of healing and growth.  It was also a year of joy. I traveled to Armenia and reconnected with relatives. I hadn’t seen my family in almost 10 years and I got to know my family members as an adult.  I fell in love with my family and discovered how lucky I am to have them in my life, even if they’re about 10,000 kilometers away. Yep. I’m still on the metric system. After 21 years in US, I still think the metric system is superior… and simpler. So I’ll stick with it. Remnants of a communist past (which gave me much better foundation in math and science than the system in the US).

2011 also brought a new chapter in my career. I started a job that I really, truly love. Not just like. Or tolerate. But love. I’m happy. Which makes all the other areas of my life so much better.

And here’s my 2011 in pictures. I can only imagine what 2012 has to offer. Cheers! (more…)

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Woke up Tuesday morning hungry and disoriented, quickly realizing that I’m not in my bed. I’m in a small bed at a Comfort Inn in the middle of Paris. Stomach was growling after 10 hrs of sleep so I made my way to Bistro 77, same place as the night before. Isabelle had said that they serve breakfast so there I was.

I had my first real breakfast in Paris. A nice big baguette, which came to my table with butter spread across, followed by ham and cheese omelet. So simple and yet so good. I just love that in Paris, butter is not on the side. It’s spread across the bread, where it’s supposed to be. Pure heaven. While I was having my breakfast, Isabelle asked one of the patrons if he spoke English. Turns out that the guy was a Lebanese lawyer in Paris, spoke English, and even a few words in Armenian. When he found out that I was in town by myself, he ever-so-kindly offered to be my lover and tour guide for a week. I nicely turned him down. Mr. Short Fatty didn’t stand a chance.

After the ridiculously good breakfast decided to take a walk. Didn’t know where I was going but somehow ended up right in front of the Pantheon, a burial place for the very famous French but only those that have made important cultural contributions to France (and the world). The likes of Jacques Rousseau, Voltaire, Victor Hugo, and my favorite… Alexander Dumas. Seeing Dumas was emotional since he’s one of my favorites and I’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo in three different languages, several times.

 

The final resting place of Alexander Dumas

Alexander Dumas, The Pantheon, Paris

 

 

The Pantheon, Latin Quarter, Paris

The Pantheon, Latin Quarter, Paris

 

Kept walking aimlessly, still lost, and found myself standing in front of the Notre Dame.

 

Notre Dame, Paris (front view)

Notre Dame de Paris

 

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Arrived in Paris on Monday, with two huge pieces of overpacked luggage and zero sense of direction. There’s nothing like arriving in a foreign city, by yourself, and not knowing which way to go. So, after circling around the longest possible way from the Luxembourg Metro station, I found my way to the hotel. It was 8 a.m. or so and check-in wasn’t until 3pm, so I dropped off my stuff at the hotel and went walking around the city.

First stop was La Boulangerie, the bakery across the street from the hotel. I quickly discovered that my limited French vocabulary expanded exponentially whenever I was in a food establishment. Baguette, croissant or quiche sil vou plais. If they asked a question, I said “oui.” Then I would say “merci” and “au revoir” which made it seem like I spoke French.

With some food in the system, nowhere to go, and no sense of direction, I decided to take a walk and see where I’d end up. There’s no better place to get lost than Paris. There is not an ugly street in city and there’s a boulangerie/patisserie on every block.

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Five more days and I’m headed to Paris for the week of Thanksgiving. A real vacation after a really long time. One that involves leaving the continent and a foreign language which I don’t speak. The last time I had a real vacation was a little over a year ago when I spent a few days in DC hanging out with Matt Henry and saying au revoir to the Bush Administration. So other than a few long weekends here and there, and a Fawntastic wedding weekend in Chicago, I haven’t had much vacation since September 2008.

Haven’t thought about what I’m going to do or what I’m going to see. All I think about is eating my way through Paris. Crepes. Baguettes. Lots and lots of cheese. And lots and lots of dishes with foie gras. If I see the words “foie gras” on the menu and I don’t recognize any other words in the menu, that’s what I’ll have.

So after a year of no rest, I get to take a break from it all. No deadlines. No alarm clocks. No driving in traffic in LA. No email. And no TV.

Just a week by myself, in Paris, in the company of French food and wine and maybe some French men on the side.

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