My First Guest Blog!

I've been known to make a faux gras, er, faux pas, or two (or three, or four)

One of the most interesting in a sea of Paris-oriented blogs is Paris (im)Perfect, written by a lovely and gifted expat named Sion Dayson. She's a fellow American with literary leanings who has called Paris home for a lot longer than I have, and she always crafts insightful, funny, heartfelt prose that anyone who has lived abroad (or even lived a creative life) can relate to. It was an honor, then, to be invited to post a guest entry for the Paris (im)Perfect "Faux Pas Fridays" series. I was kind of a clear candidate, what with my endless string of missteps just ripe for writing about, but I had a word count to consider so I narrowed it down to just a few.  If you dare, have a read here! The embarrassing foibles run the gamut from inappropriate stomach gurgling to blatant religious insensitivity. A veritable faux-pas feast!

Love and Loss in the City of Light

Fanny, just about to sneeze, with Bike #2 (a steal at €40 from the Porte de Montreuil marche aux puces) in the background 

Before I fell in love with cycling, I was deeply entrenched in a torrid, head-over-heels affair with smoking.

It was a cough-all-night, borderline-emphysema kind of habit, and I loved every stinky, finger-stained minute of it. But after my 500th sore throat and one last-straw lung infection, I traded in the tobacco and rolling papers for two wheels and a bike helmet (which came in handy when I made a dramatic face-first wipeout near Montmartre a couple of years ago).

In a life loaded with questionable decision-making moments, this was definitely one of my better moves. Fifteen years in a dysfunctional relationship is far too long, and even though the breakup was protracted and sad, the heartache was worth it.

Bikes for rent in the little town of Mahabalipuram, in south India, 2011.

My real motive for taking up cycling was to avoid having to take the bus (San Francisco's public transit system is notorious for its horribleness), but it's gradually morphed into something more than a mere form of alt transport. Today, I actually enjoy riding so much that I sometimes structure vacations around it, and generally try to incorporate biking into every last travel experience. 

Besides the obvious places like Amsterdam and Copenhagen, I've rented bicycles in China, Laos, Cambodia, and India. In Vietnam, I even used my two-dollar-a-day bike as a getaway vehicle after finding--and releasing--a basket full of dogs destined for I-don't-want-to-know where.

I found this fishing basket full of dogs on a sidestreet in Mui Ne, Vietnam in 2009 while riding my bike. After about two seconds of contemplation, I lifted the lid, whispered "go!" and watched them sprint for their lives. 

A couple of years ago, I was interviewed by Bike NoPa for a "Women who bike" feature, and I've also nudged my freewheelin' hobby into the professional realm, writing for Momentum magazine, aka the world's coolest bike rag. But more than anything, I just like pedaling around town, zooming over to Marche d'Aligre, or to meet friends at a restaurant (OK--a bar), or to shuttle the dog to the forest for a good, long walk. I love the ease of it all. It's quicker (and cheaper) than the Metro, and definitely more convenient than Velib'. Which is why I'm so bummed that I've now cycled through my third bike in less than three years.

Dubbed "Moneypenny" by her  last owner, I kept the name and gave her lots of love and attention over the last year or more that we've been together. 

My first bike was stolen (not uncommon here). Not cool. The second bike, a cute little red number I bought at the Porte de Montreuil flea market for €40, snapped in half (literally) after about six months of everyday use. My third and latest bike is/was a hand-me-down Peugeot with a step-through frame and missing headlight, but she was sturdy and reliable and I really loved her. Still do, even though she's damaged goods now. It's only a guess, but it looks as if one of those Parisian side-walk cleaning contraptions backed into it, since the frame is bent beyond repair and the back tire is practically folded in half. 

Today I walked over to BicyclAide, a non-profit bike shop/atelier in the neighboring banlieue of Clichy-la-Garenne, in the hopes of finding another cheap and functional set of wheels to get me through the rest of this Living Abroad in France experience. They were closed. Until they reopen, I'll be fantasizing about my bike-to-be; I'm thinking orange, with a pair of red panniers on the side, and a obnoxiously noisy bell. I'll plaster her with stickers and park her in a safe spot, free from the hazards of thievery and municipal street cleaners.

What does your bike look like? (And does that question feel kinky to you somehow?) What are your tricks for keeping your steed safe from harm and greedy fingers?

I wouldn't mind if my next bike looked a little something like this.

Dutch Treat

At the Albert Cuyp market in the De Pijp neighborhood 

Canalside dwellings give off a "Venice North" feel

Colorful street art

Bikes and an Art Nouveau cafe

Public art in the city center

For my birthday, I treated myself to a trip to Amsterdam. From Paris, it's a  bit more than a three-hour train ride, and if you plan it right, you can buy tickets for €35 each way. I hadn't been to Amsterdam since my very first trip to Europe, which was a long, long time ago. How long? Well, I traveled with a Walkman and a backpack full of Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins cassette tapes, if that gives you a clue. On that earlier trip, I stayed at a Christian youth hostel in the thick of the Red Light District (it was the cheapest in town), and subsisted primarily on cigarettes, bananas, and beer.

This time around, I did things a bit differently, staying in a really comfy, grown-up Airbnb row-house just south and east of the city center. The price of our dogs-allowed accommodations included two bicycles, and the place was ideally situated along a raised canal teeming with birds: Herons, gulls, ducks, and those funny black waterbirds with white beaks that make seal-like barking noise. Beside the canal was a paved bike trail and a busy walking path lined with poo-bag dispensers. (This being something only dog people can get excited about, I think.)

The dog-friendly backyard of our Airbnb digs

Our temporary neighborhood, in Technicolor

Our first cycling foray out into the city was an eye opener. So. Many. Bicycles. More than I had remembered from my previous visit, and way more than I'd seen in Copenhagen ("the cycling capital of Europe") on our trip there last April. There were more bikes in Amsterdam even than I'd seen on the streets of India, Vietnam, or China--in all my trips combined! Definitely more bicycles than cars, and it was wonderful. Old, young, dogs--entire families strapped into station-wagon-style bikes, some equipped with two or three kids' seats.

A bicycle built for ... three? Four?

And how about that Dutch architecture? Swwwooooonnn. Tall, majestic, centuries-old apartment buildings and bright, colorful new structures sitting contently right next to each other! That's just something you don't often see in Paris, where "old" reigns supreme and "new" takes a lot of getting used to. (As in, hundreds and hundreds of years.)

Classic Amsterdam Architecture

The spirit of Van Gogh was palpable on this full-moon-lit night

The Dutch have a reputation for being "open," and I saw this idea played out in interesting ways. Houses at street level often feature giant windows, across which you will not find thick curtains, nor shutters, nor blinds to hinder glimpses within. Occasionally you'll see this frosted cellophane-type stuff stuck to these expansive windows, which can obscure a direct view inside Dutch homes. But more often than not, you can simply gaze right in as you walk past, and observe the locals in their natural habitats doing what Dutch people do: Reading the paper, cooking dinner, watching TV. (And everyone's home looked like a advertisement torn from an IKEA catalog; very clean, modern, and accented with bright splashes of red, blue, or orange.)

A half-dozen times, I walked past an office where a meeting was in full swing. Again, enormous windows faced out onto the street, letting nosy people like me participate in a PowerPoint presentation or executives-only lecture, just a pane of glass separating us from the real action. Drinks and food seem to be standard-issue features of these business meetings, and communal tables were de rigueur.

Our Dutch-style transport in front of our Dutch dwelling

Spying on business meetings=a fun vacation pastime

Amsterdam is loaded with museums and picturesque pedestrian streets and those celebrated canals and infamous cafes, so there's never a dull moment to contend with. Having done a lot of the tourist stuff already, I was eager to break new ground, which we did by taking the ferry out to see The Eye (a cinema-centric museum and expo hall on a peninsula behind Centraal Station) and exploring less touristic neighborhoods like De Pijp and Frankendael. One of the highlights of our off-the-beaten-path exploration was our Thursday- night dining experience at De Peper,

The ceiling at De Peper

A cosy cubbyhole and more art at De Peper

De Peper, a non-profit organization headquarted inside a "legal squat " in south-west Amsterdam, operates a theater, art space, and vegan dining hall under one giant roof, I was eager to see what it was all about. What is a "legal squat" anyway? Who goes there? Why vegan? I'd hoped to learn the answers to some of my burning questions, but first we had to get our feet in the door.

You're supposed to call to make a dinner reservation within a very specific time-frame (4 and 6pm), but we didn't have access to a phone and decided to wing it, turning up shortly after opening (7pm) with the hope that they might be able to squeeze us in.

One of the communal tables at De Peper

The evening's menu

Tucked inside a university-campus type building next to a really cool vintage furniture shop, you enter through a bike-filled courtyard and into a hallway flanked by multiple doorways. The restaurant is just to the left, and inside, the vibe is very casual and warm, with music pumping from a sound-system and compelling contemporary art affixed to walls and ceilings.

A pale woman with a friendly face framed by jet-black hair busied away behind the bar, and walking in, I made a beeline for her and quickly expressed my desire to participate in the De Peper experience and apologized for not making a reservation. "No problem," she said. "We have a couple of extra spots tonight." She explained how De Peper works: You decide how much you want to pay--between €7 and €10--then take your starter (tonight: beet soup), find a place to sit, and wait for your name to be called for your main meal. Drinks--organic wine and beer, and non-alcoholic juices--cost extra (between €2 and €3), as does dessert (€1.50).

Looking around the spacious dining area, we opted to sit at a big communal table with six or seven seats. Another couple occupied one end, we took the other. At various tables--some were low, coffee-table style, others standard-issue dining tables--couples or small groups of friends sat talking and drinking, seemingly relaxed and happy to be there.

We slurped our borscht and sipped our tasty bottles of beer and glasses of wine, taking in the ambiance and eavesdropping on conversations. The couple next to us were from Texas. The women at the table behind us seeemed to be speaking in American accents, too. The place didn't have the punk-rock feel I was expecting from a place that had the words "legal squat" in its subhed. It just seemed like a casual coffee house you might find in San Francisco, London, or even Nevada City. I liked it, and my initially reticent dining companion admitted it was better than he thought it would be.

A flurry of activity erupted from the kitchen area, and names began to be called out. When we got our plates, we were intrigued by the mish-mash of components: Sushi, roasted potatoes, and an arugula-tomato salad. The sushi was delicious, and such an oddball combo: walnut, seitan, and black mushroom. How did I not know that walnuts made good sushi filler until now? The roasted potatoes were delicious, except for the few pieces that were rock-hard and nearly inedible. The salad was fresh and simple, with a light vinaigrette.

After asking our neighbors for their thoughts on dessert ("mmm ... I'd say skip it," came their honest reply), we lingered a bit longer before making the two-wheel trek back to our temporary digs on the other side of town.

Passing through a hallway bathed in fluorescent yellow light on our way out, I spied a pile of books on the floor and a sign taped to the wall saying "FREE! Help yourself!" I rifled through the stack and found a new hardbound vegan cookbook and a fun paperback that appeals to my inner wordsmith. As we stepped into the brisk autumn night, I realized I'd totally forgotten to slip into journalist mode and ask those questions that were sizzling at the tip of my tongue when I first arrived, but it didn't matter. It was a clear, crisp night brightened by the light of a full moon the size of the sun, and I was in Amsterdam.

The plat de resistance at De Peper

Toting the free reading material home in my sturdy bike basket

Raw-Raw-Raw!

Kale-as-table-decor. Always a good idea!

I was super excited to get the invite: A plant-based raw-food brunch at a roving "pop-up" restaurant at an undisclosed Paris location. Hip and vegan! In Paris! The entry price for this Sunday underground event? €35 euro per invitee. More than I'd usually spend on brunch (or "lunch," as I like to call it), but I'd just gotten paid and considered the mild splurge an early birthday present to myself and my date--a fellow Scorpio and raw-food fan.

Amelie lets me grill her while she preps the plates.

Having committed to a Halloween party the night before, I wasn't sure how knackered I'd be after a night of spooky festivities, so I didn't commit until the 11th hour: Sunday morning, to be precise. When I emailed asking if there was still availability, I was surprised by the prompt response saying there were two seats left for the 1pm seating. OK: We'll take them!

We found Amelie's place easily; it was a mere fifteen-minute walk from our front door, up the street that sidles along the old graffiti-plastered rail-road tracks and into the 18e arrondissement. In a mid-century apartment complex, up several flights of steps, we were ushered into a bright and airy living space with pleasant green views out the windows and clean, modern decor indoors.

Amelie, who lived and studied in Canada for several years, let me grill her about her raw experience while she prepped the plates for the brunch's six paying guests. She also put up with my ooh-ing and ah-ing over her high-tech dehydrator and other pretty, utilitarian cooking accoutrements.

The dining area was divided into two spaces: A small table for two on one side of the room, and a roomier table for four on the other. Both tables had been set with plates, utensils, and an intriguing melange of edible treats.

Raw granola, fruit compote, apple-rosemary apples, and dehydrated chocolate-and-nut bars!

One of several herbal infusions offered to guests.

We were the first guests to arrive; five minutes after our entry, two others turned up. We learned they were married, and that he was a photographer, and she an artist. They knew Amelie's husband Benoit--also a photographer--which is how they discovered the event. Neither were vegan nor raw, but they said they enjoyed trying new things. How very un-French of them!

Still life with ginger.

Note the fancy dehydrator between the ladies' heads!

Next through the door was Palma, whom I'd met before at a raw chocolate-making class over the summer. She's Italian and very bubbly. I love listening to her speak French with her heavy Napolitan accent. Right behind her was the final invitee, a tall, friendly, stylishly dressed woman who drove in from the suburbs to share the dining experience.

The lovely salt we didn't get to try.

While we mingled and chatted and enjoyed each other's new-found company, Amelie proposed that perhaps we join together the two tables so we could continue the convivial conversation while we dined. We did and it was a great idea.

This raspberry-tinted elixir was made with beets, berries, apples, and other  tasty fruits and veggies.

Palma contemplates her plat principal.

Raw granola with banana, nuts, and spelt. I  could have eaten a kilo of this stuff. It was served with home-made almond milk.

We were offered a variety of water-and-herb infusions to drink--lemon and thyme, lemon and sage--followed by a vivid pinky-red elixir served in a champagne glass. It looked healthier and more refreshing than any bubbly I've ever sipped.

None of us knew whether the stuff at the table, which had a dessert-y look about it, was meant to be eaten then or at the end of the meal, but all of our hands migrated to the little glasses of granola and even tinier glasses of home-made almond milk, and the miniature cups of dehydrated apples with rosemary. We made a collective, if silent, decision to leave the compote with the chocolatel-y looking thing on top for the end.

At last, the plat principal arrived; a savory layered confection with a hint of curry flavor and a soft, flax-seed crust. I loved the fresh flavor of the root-vegetable "noodles," the turnip greens, and the soft, dehydrated squash. It needed a bit of salt, but nothing more.

The piece de resistance.

When we'd devoured every last morsel on our plates, scraped our compote cups clean, sipped the remaining  drops of juice from our glasses, and dabbed the final crumbs from the chocolate confection and licked them off our fingers, we rose from the table ensemble to bid our farewells and head back out into the streets of Paris to enjoy the remaining hours of a sunny autumn Sunday.

Vivez Nature

I met another Aurelia at a veg event recently. She's a fellow vegan parisian who loves animals and cycling. (How many of us are there?!) Aurelia's day job is at an farmed animal-rights group, and on evenings and weekends, she sits on the board of the French vegetarian society, serving as their media liaison, among other things.

Last week we met at a little bar in Montmartre to talk shop, and Aurelia told me about an upcoming event in Paris called Vivez Nature. It's billed as a "Salon d'Agriculture Biologique" (organic agriculture expo) and sounded a lot like a smaller version of Expo West, a giant trade show I used to attend when I worked at VegNews. So, this past Sunday--a gloriously warm and sunny Indian summer day--I pedaled over to La Villette see how the French do this sort of thing.

It started off with an exciting bang: The first booth I laid eyes on was Sea Shepherd's. Cool! Next was an organization dedicated to educating the world about the environmental hazards of palm oil cultivation. I had a great conversation with a woman at that booth and came away thinking "I'll never eat Earth Balance again--for the gibbons!" It's depressing to think about how deforestation for selective crop growing effects primates and other animal (and plant) species throughout Borneo and the rest of Indonesia. Heartbreaking, but worth investigating.

After this somewhat interesting start, things slowed down to a boring crawl. The animal rights booths gave way to a bland series of essential oil vendors, soap stalls, and book booths selling hundreds of titles on various esoteric subjects, all seemingly written by the same author (?), among them "Urinotherapie." (I don't really even want to know what that is.)

Things became mildly interesting again when we got to the food aisle; here we found superfood chocolate, vegan cookies, natural wines, and organic breads made from non-GMO grains. Like every other event I've been to where free samples were being handed out, the masses descended upon the poor folks doing the distributing like famished zombies, spawning copy-cat behavior in everyone within grabbing distance.

I finally caught up with Aurelia at the Association Vegetarienne de France booth. She was mobbed, too. A wonderful sight to see is a mass of French people crowded around a booth offering information on veganism, animal rights, and environmental issues.

This isn't an event I'd pay to attend, but I'm glad I went, if only to have tasted this delicious palm oil-free, eggless noisette flour cookie made with vegan chocolate chips. Miam!