EXPERIENCE la Vie Franรงaise
Art of LOVE in PARIS PARIS Angels Romance in the 17th CENTURY
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Bringing Paris Bienvenue
Straight to your Inbox Highlights of red in the streets warm up this month from the gray Parisian winter. So to carry on our self love this month we have brought you an array of amour in writing and photos! Take a walk through the streets of Paris as Rosemary Flannery highlights the best Cupid statues all across the city. Dive into a real love story expressed through the creation of art with our resident art expert, Carolyn Smith. Don’t forget to have your daily coffee buzz with Amanda Bestor-Siegal as she takes us inside her recent best café finds. Born and raised Parisian Edith takes us back in history with her article on romance and seduction in 17th century France.
February has arrived and without trying to be too cliché we have dedicated this issue to the Romance of Paris! When I originally started the magazine I didn’t just want to share the romance of Paris in only a loving couple sort of way, but more so the love of a magical city. From the intrigue of the sparkling lights, to the inspiration of women starting their dream lives to the hideaways and art that we here at Romantic Paris fall in love with daily. Romance can be represented in so many different ways and we try to embody that in every issue sharing our love for Paris with you abroad! That doesn’t mean that we aren’t still enjoying the local shops full of colorful roses and the chocolates that look as good as they taste.
Local artist, Olena shows off some of her fabulous love themed paintings. Laura Pahulje teaches us how to love and express ourselves in our non native tongue. Julia Willard of Falling Off Bicycles graces our pages with her beautiful Parisian photography full of passion and vibrant reds. And of course, as always, Madame London continues her love escapades during this flirtatious month. And don’t forget to study your French this month with our new addition to each issue - The French Lesson, where Elizabeth and friends teach us key phrases for your next visit to the city of light. Michelle of The Closet Guru teaches us self love through what we wear and defining our style by revamping our closet. And lastly be inspired with local Parisian Jerome Treize hypnotic Seine photography. Bises
Krystal
Editor in Chief 4 Romantic Paris Magazine
Founder/Editor in Chief Krystal Kenney Editor Mimi Bleu Editorial Assistant Tina Repoff Art Direction Sophie Gerard Graphics Designer Marcelle Bernard Editing/Proofing Alison Andy Publisher
The content of this issue is the exclusive property of Romantic Paris Magazine. All rights of reproduction, even partial, are reserved for all countries. All content of the publication is protected by copyright. Any total or partial reproduction, in all genres and in all languages, is prohibited without written consent of Romantic Paris Magazine. Recipes are for informational purposes only and have not been kitchentested by us, so must be used at reader's discretion. All brand logos reviewed are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Š 2014. Romantic Paris Magazine. All rights reserved.
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Romantic Paris Magazine
Personalized Private Tours
Flea Markets & Brocantes, Patisseries & CafÊs, the French Countryside, Buying Tours for Boutique Owners and More ‌
www.paristravelgroupe.com
Contents 16 L’aura de Paris Laura Pahulje
20 Romance & Seduction in 17th Century France Edith Werb
24 Bloke Two Point Five: Tanguy Continued Madame London
29 Paris Photo Series Jerome Treize
38 The French Lesson Elizabeth Bettencourt
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41 St.-Valentin à Paris Olena Yashchuk Codet
45 Coffee Buzz Amanda Bestor-Siegal
52 Love in Paris and Beyond Michelle Pozon
56 Paris Angels Rosemary Flannery
64 A Paris Love Story Expressed through the Creation of Art Carolyn SMith
78 Falling Off Bicycles– Paris en Rouge Julia Willard Illustration by Elaine Biss 9
ROMANTIC PARIS
MAGAZINE
Madame London Madame London has lived in Paris for 10 years, masquerading as a normal housewife, mother and businesswoman whilst hiding her sordid past from the judgmental vixens on the Parisian scene. She has perfected the art of listening blank-faced to stories of clandestine affairs, broken marriages and debauchery whilst secretly rubbing her hands with gossipy glee and jotting it all down in her Eiffel Tower notebook.
Elaine Biss Elaine Biss is a fashion illustrator and designer who specializes in feminine art with a touch of Parisian chic. She enjoys teaching artists through her videos and blog posts. Her work has been used by companies such as Christian Dior, Pour La Victoire, Eileen Fisher and Bloomingdale`s. You can find her work at Elaine Biss.
Rosemary Flannery Rosemary Flannery, writer, artist and tour guide, has been living and working in France since 1989. Angels of Paris: An Architectural Tour through the History of Paris, is her first book and will be available in French as Anges de Paris in October 2015. Rosemary shares her love of Paris and of art history in her tours of the city’s museums and neighborhoods. www.passport-to-paris.com and www.angelsofparis.com.
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Contributors Carolyn Smith Carolyn Gibson Smith is our resident expert on up-and-coming artists, galleries, and art fairs in Paris. A Toronto native, she arrived in Paris in 2011 and was immediately hooked on the artistic life of the city - which she shares with art-loving visitors to Paris year round as a guide with City|Art Insider.
Amanda Bestor-Siegal Originally hailing from Washington, D.C., Amanda Bestor-Siegal worked in theatre in New York City for several years before making the (unsurprising) leap to Paris. Amanda is an an avid traveler and writer, a lover of the French language and culture. Though writing is her greatest passion, she holds a B.A. in Architecture, which if nothing else has served her in her views of coffee shop seating arrangements.
Jerome Treize Jerome grew up in the district of Montmartre, in Paris. He completed his studies in photography at a Photography institute in Paris and is inspired by American landscape photographers, both urban and natural. His work reflects his interest is exploring the different ways to create a photo, particularly through shooting film and using different format cameras. He also shoots weddings, couples and events in Paris and throughout France. www.jerometreize.com.
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ROMANTIC PARIS
MAGAZINE
Edith Werb Edith is both French and Parisian to the core. Born in Belleville close to the birth place of Edith Piaf, but not of the same vintage, she is fluent not only in her beloved French language but also English, Italian, Spanish, Swedish and Chinese. Edith studied law at the university of Sorbonne for five years and graduated with a post graduate diploma in private law. She is also a knowledgeable tour guide: www.edithsparis.com.
Michelle Pozon In Paris, since 2004, Michelle gave birth to her son Olivier and created the children's label EVA&OLi. 2014 saw the birth of The Closet Guru Paris, in which she helps women (and men) get in touch with their own brand of gorgeous, and express who they are, with what they already have. “Forget Fashion. Find Yourself… You're beautiful already.” In search of your Inner Guru? Get in touch with Michelle at www.theclosetguruparis.com.
Olena Yashchuck Codet Olena Yashchuk Codet is a French-Ukrainian artist and journalist, born in Kyiv, Ukraine and moved to France in 1999. She speaks and writes in 4 languages (Ukrainian, Russian, French and English). Olena has taken part in exhibitions and art fairs in both Paris and London and her drawings and paintings are in private collections in the UK, the US, France and Ukraine. You can find her cat world creation Katou-Matou on ETSY: www.etsy.com/fr/shop/ JoieDeVivrePaintings.
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Contributors Laura Pahulje Laura (L’aura) Pahulje is a native Canadian who has recently moved to Paris to teach English for a year. Follow her adventures of living abroad here on her blog: lauralaflaneuse/wordpress.com.
Elizabeth Bettencourt
Edith
Elizabeth Bettencourt created THE FRENCH LESSON in 2012 to develop an improved method for individual learning. This method uses innovative programs to offer students the full intensity of a team of teachers in the city of Paris with its wealth of surprises. www.thefrenchlesson.fr.
Julia Willard Julia Willard is a self-proclaimed intrepid voyageuse, She has made a life out of always looking for new places to live, explore, photograph, and write about. Never without a camera in her bag and a notebook at hand, she captures the beauty around her to share in hopes of inspiring others to pursue their respective passions. Follow her adventures in Paris, Amsterdam, and beyond on her website: www.fallingoffbicycles.com.
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Let’s Connect G e t E v e n M o r e Pa r i s i n Yo u r L i f e
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The language of music is universal, and as such, I am not bound by the dense or clumsy language barriers of a non-native speaker while singing.
How do you express yourself when words do not suffice? This is a question which I am often confronted with while living in France. I speak the French language and I would venture to say that I am fluent. However, attaining fluency in a language is not the same as being fluent in a culture. It is certainly not the same thing as being fluent in the body language of a culture. This is now my second time living in France, and yet, I still find myself dancing around particular cultural nuances not engrained in my speech palate and behavioural patterns. For example, when is it okay to do the bises and when do you resort to a handshake?
L’aura de Paris
Every Wednesday evening I attend choir rehearsal with the l’Académie de musqiue. Luckily for foreigners, the interpretation of music is not subject to these language particularities which have me otherwise boggled. This semester my choir is singing a programme titled Vive l’Opéra, a collection of various Italian operas, curated by our conductor JeanPhilippe. Italian speakers are renowned for talking with their hands. Though, any foreign language speaker would probably argue that Italians are not alone in their supplementation of verbal communication.
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Constructing Communication
When a word, or words, escape me, I over compensate in other areas of communication. Charades, miming and general hand-waving have become valuable arsenal in my French language toolbox. Emotionally and mentally, it is fatiguing to be constantly switching back and forth between English and French. Expressing exactly how I feel and what I think is difficult.
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In a similar vein, I have a grandmother back in Canada who suffers from the numbing clutches of advanced dementia. Her short-term memory is nil and her long-term memory is ravaged by the pain of a childhood disrupted by loss, war, uprooting and immigration to a new country. Otherwise physically healthy, she is a prisoner of her mind which distorts and shrouds her thoughts. Memories and words now elude her, like water trickling out of cupped hands.
The girl who smiles too often and laughs too loudly; a defensive response to any awkward situation. I am the girl who shops at the market and though buys the same product week after week, still cannot remember if it is a “le” or a “la”. My thoughts and ideas are not any less worthy because of the speech errors that I make. One should be judged not by their accent, but by the breadth of their ideas. The struggle is not the ideas themselves, but the distillation of thoughts into words. Ideas become trapped inside, isolated on a different cognitive plane.
Like me, she is not able to fully express herself. I imagine she feels lost and disoriented, anxious and alone most of the time.
Despite my accented and sometimes garbled words, I strive to inject kindness and compassion into my voice and gestures.
Maya Angelou, an American poet and writer, once said: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
In my daily exchanges I try to make others feel valued. I do not constantly check my cell-phone when with a friend. I make eye-contact while conversing. I smile. I listen.
Cultural, language and other barriers and nuances aside, Angelou reminds us that at the base of human communication is the feeling remembered from the exchange. I recognize various nuances of the French culture will remain a mystery to me and I will forever bear the cloak of foreigner. I also understand that I may be perceived as that strange, too tall, Canadian girl with The Accent.
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I am present and attentive. I give what I have to give, whether that be a nugget of advice, a hand to hold, a pat on the back, or just my silent presence of support. Language and cultural values are inherently tied, but one’s presence and investment in the moment, one’s patience, grace and compassion are universal values that can benefit any communication despite other hindrances which impede the exchange of words or gestures.
Romance and Seduction in 17th Century France
Edith Werb 20
Romantic Paris Magazine
She was beautiful, smart, educated, refined and incredibly charming. Her friends were Molière, La Rochefoucault, Henri de Sévigné and Madame de Maintenon. She crossed the 17th century as a legend. he most magnificent courtesan of them all Ninon de Lenclos, who could seduce young men until she was 70 years old. Anne “Ninon” Lenclos was born in 1672 between a libertine father and a mother who was a religious zealot. Her beloved father gave her the nickname Ninon and taught her to read Montaigne, how to play the luth and how to sing. Unfortunately for Ninon, her father had to escape from France, and at 10 years old she had to bear a mother who was very rigid. Her mother attempted to send her to a convent, but Ninon said no! She said no to the Convent. She said no to God. She said no to the wedding. She said no to the family. Ninon de Lenclos decided to be free in a century which did not allow freedom for women. So she decided to be a courtesan, but not a cheap one. Thanks to her beauty and her intelligence, she became the most fashionable courtesan of the Marais… and the most expensive.
Left: Etching of Nanon de Leclos by Antoine-Jean-Baptiste Coupé (1784—ca. 1852) 21
ne of her Gallant bought her a mansion in the Marais, one of the most voluptuous places in Paris. The free spirit Ninon decided that she would choose her clients and that she would leave instead of being left.
The delightful Ninon would have offered you a nice cup of violet tea (her favorite beverage) or a hot chocolate bought in from the first chocolate shop of Paris - and the price of that chocolate was nearly a week’s salary of a Parisian worker.
She had three kinds of men: "The Payers” who had to pay a minimum 500 louis (4000 euros) to have an intimate conversation with her in the cozy yellow bedroom.
You would have make jokes with Molière and Jean-Baptiste Lully, the first musician of the Sun King, would have played a magical baroque aria for you.
“The Martyrs” who were waiting to perhaps one day become a Payer, and “The Favorites" were the men she chose, the men she loved, and for them it was free. The romantic Ninon became the love coach of all the noble Knights, fathers and sons. She taught them how to behave delicately with a woman in a salon and… in a bed.
All the aristocracy from Paris wondered how Ninon could stay so young and attractive? At 60 years of age she could still easily pass for a woman of 40.
Ninon is also the first woman who used language as an erotic's tool. She had her own literary salon where it was compulsory to be spiritual and forbidden to be arrogant.
In the 17th century, a woman of 40 years old was considering very old. But not Ninon, who stayed slim and fresh all over her life thanks to a strict diet.
If you had the privilège to be invited by Ninon, between the hours of 5 to 7pm, you would have met the most brilliant spirits of the Great Century.
When people were drinking heavy wine and spicy food, Ninon was eating light food and drinking only water.
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eople were thinking that water was bringing diseases. So they did not wash… and the smell was quite obvious!
She could talk with men about topics they liked; philosophy, war strategy and hunting while always staying extremely feminine. It's a mixture that But not Ninon. She was taking baths, no man can resist. and slathering Rosewater and almond Of course, in the 17th century you could not live the life of a scandalous oil on her sensual body. woman without having a good share When the crème de la crème of of troubles. women's Paris were having red skin She was sent twice to a convent on and hiding their spots and blemishes orders of Anne of Austria (the regent, behind well-placed scarves and faux beauty mother of Louis XIV) marks, Ninon had white because she was skin and an exquisite living too openly as a complexion with no libertine. wrinkles. Fortunately, a distinShe had her little beauty guished member of secrets of course, that her fan club included you can still find on the the incredible Queen internet. Christina of Sweden who set her free. It's actually quite easy; applying a mixture of Before dying, at the onion juice, almond oil ripe age of 85 on the and spermicia. What 17th of October 1705, was spermicia in the she met the young son of her notary 17th century? Whale sperm. who impressed her so much that in But don't worry, if you can't find whale sperm at Carrefour or Walmart, you can use bee’s wax instead. Fortunately, now we don't have to smell like onion or whale sperm to have nice skin. But there were plenty of women more beautiful than Ninon de Leclos. Ninon knew that the body is not enough. When you want to seduce, you need to have spirit. .
her will she left him money to buy books. This intelligent boy of 10 years was... Voltaire. If you visit Paris, don’t forget to visit the Marais at 36, rue des Tournelles, and if you are lucky enough, maybe you’ll hear the voluptuous Ninon whispering in your ears her secrets of her seduction -
"Ce n'est pas assez d être sage, il faut plaire". (“It's not enough to be wise, you have to please”.) 23
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Illustrated by Elaine Biss
Bloke Two Point Five – Tanguy Continued Being alone in a city with few friends and limitless time can lead you to signing yourself up for stuff you’d never normally do. Like Irish dancing lessons. I’d always secretly found that Riverdance malarkey a real bore – I mean, who wants to watch a line of people moving from left to right with their arms clamped to their sides like a huge version of a foosball game? But after chatting to an Irish dancing teacher in a Guinness bar near the Sorbonne, I suddenly found myself standing in a class full of other similarly non-plussed expats looking for a way to kill time by hopping up and down like a bunch of nutters. The classes took place near the bustling chic boutiques of Rue du Commerce but unfortunately the studio was located by a homeless shelter which meant that throughout the lesson, twitchy junkies and toothless tramps dribbling cheap vodka would press their faces to the windows and laugh at us as we attempted to bounce around vertically while flinging our legs out horizontally. And to add to the embarrassment factor, I hadn’t had time to buy the correct dance clothes for the occasion which meant I’d pitched up wearing wraparound yoga trousers that decided to un-wraparound during a particularly energetic jig so that the tramps had a lovely eyeful of my wobbling arse in a thong. Michael Flatly would have been appalled.
One plus point of the lesson, however, was that I met a wonderful 70-year-old Englishwoman called Kate who had decamped to Paris twenty years earlier after a particularly messy divorce. She was having a whale of a time, swanning round the city with her 45-year-old Senegalese boyfriend, indulging in her love of French literature, Comté cheese and “noisettes” (expressos with a swirl of cream). Unfortunately for me though, I wasn’t having a lot of luck bagging any man – young or old. In fact, I’d had a few nasty wake up calls where I’d begun to consider my ripe age of 33 a barrier. One night I’d been approached in a club by a cute angel-haired dude wearing a ridiculously trendy beany hat. (I hate those hats. They look like they’ve been knitted by a Granny for a teddy bear.) Despite the dodgy headgear, I acquiesced and arranged to meet him for a date the next week. But after a pleasant 15 minute chat over a beer in a dinky bowling alley near Place Monge, the subject of my age came up and he scooted away so fast you’d have thought I’d just given him a peek at my first smatterings of grey pubic hair. Then the following day, after a particularly depresing dinner with a couple of visiting friends who were well into their 40s (and who were so desperate for some male company they were considering advertising by wearing a sign round their necks with the words “Dinner And A Shag”) I decided that perhaps I’d been a bit hasty when relegating my previous dating disasters to the realms of the bargain bin.
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So when pokey-worm-tongue kisser Tanguy (from the previous chapter) texted me for a date, instead of ignoring him for fear of being subjected to another round of sloppy smackers, I answered him affirmatively.
about the time I crashed a première in London’s Leicester Square and got hauled off by the police for running up and down the red carpet in the style of a gibbon.
After all, I figured, here was a goodlooking, sweet, romantic man of the same age who just needed some tweaking in the lip and tongue department. But – as I should have remembered – you must always go with your first gut feeling with dates.
As I talked, I could feel myself getting a bit lary – too loud, too animated - which Tanguy found amusing but which, quite understandably, seemed to be annoying the hell out of our fellow Parisian drinkers.
Our instincts are very good at telling us when something is off but unfortunately I was only listening to the voice in my head telling me: “Your breasts are trying to make friends with your knees. Get a shift on girl!” In a bid to quiet that queasy feeling, I decided to do what I always do when in denial. I drink. Upsettingly, I had already polished off my beers in the fridge in a previous block-it-all-out binge, and was left only with a bottle of “Eau de Vie Poire” – a liqueur made from pears that was so strong you could run an SNCF train off the fumes. By the time Tanguy arrived I was about 15 sheets to the wind and was in that dangerous state where I was likely to say or do anything. My demeanour took him a little off-guard at first but – even in my pickled condition – I could see that he found it all quite exciting and very different from the usual dates with wellbehaved and dignified Parisian girls.
I was one dirty look and a comment away from a fist fight when Tanguy gently steered me to the bar to calm me down and get me a much needed glass of water. But as he perused the drinks menu, alarm bells started to sound when he said with a depressed sigh: “The wine here is very bad but it’s cheap.” Then he delivered an epic moan about how expensive everything was in Paris – rent, travel, clothes, entertainment. Ooooooh dear. Don’t get me wrong, I understand what it’s like not to have much cash. I’d been through some very lean times myself when I had to eat rice and pasta spillings found in the back of cupboards and share pots of out-of-date fish paste with my cat.
But with Tanguy, I got the feeling that money was the ONLY thing he was interested in. I just couldn’t get him off the subject. So I ignored the massive clanging in my ears by ordering a really pricey cocktail which I made a point of He took me to a bar on Rue de la Roquette that had a goth vibe going on – by paying for myself. all tattooed barmen and skull candles. By the time we got out of the bar I was We found ourselves a table and while we weaving around the street, pinging from waited to be served, I regaled Tanguy lamppost to litter bin like a giant pinball.
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Tanguy steered me with a protective arm into what I was hoping would be a little restaurant but when I focused my reddened eyes on the décor I realised it was a McDonalds. This was when he delivered his “pièce de resistance” whilst studying the overhead menu: “This McDonalds is expensive.”
dragged out this acquaintance it would always end imperfectly.
Quoi??? If you’re dating a man that actually knows the differing prices in the branches of a fast-food chain then you’re into the hideous realms of penny-pinching. He ordered and paid for his meal himself without even asking me if I was hungry and then went to sit outside on a bench. I sat beside him, watching his pokey-tongue dart out and lick the “special sauce” from his mean lips and wondered just how desperate I was going to have to be to give this tightwad bad-kisser a third chance. Not very, I decided.
I just had that terrible overwhelming panicky sensation you get when you finally comprehend that you are totally and utterly alone and the possibility of finding anyone that might ‘get’ you or accept you, is beginning to look increasingly unlikely.
So I stood up and said very loudly in the direction my chest: “Hello Tits. Let me introduce you to my Knees. You’ll be hanging out together very soon.” And then – for God-only knows what reason but probably due to the mixture of liqueurs, cocktails and disappointment – I started doing the energetic jig from my Irish dancing lessons. After I’d finished my routine with a flourish and a burp, I looked over at Tanguy and realised he was pulling the same face I did when my French teacher banged on about imperfect tense endings.
So I decided to simply run away. I couldn’t even be arsed with any of those dating excuses “Oh it’s my fault. Maybe I’m not just ready”, blah blah blah.
So I blurted out a hurried “SORRY!” and just ran and ran and ran down the Richard Lenoir Boulevard until I gave myself an asthma attack and my legs conked out. I bent over trying to catch my breath and when I looked up I saw a dishevelled bag lady taking a swig from a bottle of Eau de Vie Prune (infinitely stronger and more lethal to the bowels than the Poire). I walked the rest of the way home feeling sad and sober and more than a little ashamed for ditching poor Tanguy in such a fly-by-night manner. But one thing I did realise - with the last shred of shrinking self-respect I had left – was that I didn’t want to be the type of woman with a sign round my neck saying ‘Burger on a Bench and A Shag”. Even the bag lady wouldn’t have put up with that. Next issue: Bloke Three: Dimitri
I could tell that, just as I was never going to understand certain aspects of French grammar, Tanguy and I would never be able to understand each other and no matter how long I
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Paris Photo Series Jerome Treize is a French photographer, based in his home town of Paris. His series of Pinhole Images is an exercise in creating more with less. A return to the earliest techniques of photography. The result is a collection of images which exist partway between a photo and a drawing. This series was taken during winter 2014-2015 along the banks of the Seine.
The photos were produced using nothing more than a pinhole camera, a simple box with a small hole and no lens, and black and white photographic paper. The extended exposure time required, (ranging from 5 minutes to 25 minutes) creates the sense of movement in the clouds and the water, giving a softened and dreamy look to the image.
As pinhole cameras don't even have a viewfinder to look through, the photographer only has an idea of what the final result will look like. This blind process ends when the negative of the image appears in the darkroom.
The photos in this collection of Pinhole Images are available for purchase as a limited edition of prints through the website www.jerometreize.com
The French Lesson Elizabeth Bettencourt
Here is the first lesson from THE FRENCH LESSON especially created for the readers of Romantic Paris Magazine.
You will meet all of the characters that you will meet again in each episode of the various lessons.
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The main character is Claire, a retired American VP from IBM, so French. Elizabeth, the founder of The French Lesson, so old French family. The sparkling prefessor Julie, skilled in French as a foreign language and who will make you love grammar. Jeanne, our opera singer, who will worry about your pronunciation. Lola, a young poet who will make you love words and poetry. Florence, writer and journalist, will share with you history and culture, big stories and little stories. As for Max, our charming Canadian professor, he will explain intercultural comparisons and subtleties. And let us not forget an important character of these lessons: Momo, Claire’s fitness trainer, who will not always agree with Eliaabeth and her team but who will shed light on the richness and diversity of French language and culture. The setting: Paris of the Parisian! Enjoy the lesson!
CathĂŠdrale de Notre Dame
Flying High in Paris
Delightful Illustrations by French-Ukrainian artist and journalist Olena Yashchuk Codet
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Coffee
Buzz Amanda Bestor-Siegal 45
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s a transplant from the land of avocado toast and cocktails in mason jars, known as Brooklyn, the coffee shop has long owned a corner of my caffeineaddicted heart. I myself have never been inducted into the society of coffee snobs. To me an extraordinary tasting coffee is nice, but second in importance to any drink that can transform me from a sleep-deprived ogre into an imitation of a human being. That said, the coffee shop itself is a critical establishment, and not merely as a local fuel pump. It is also an office, a writing zone, a gathering space, a hideaway of sorts, and a way to catch up with friends in nasty weather for fewer than 4 Euros. Though the café culture in Paris is one of the city’s greatest attractions, with its charming outdoor seating and baby cups of espresso, there are times when one may crave the coziness of curling up in a squashy chair with coffee and a laptop, or - let’s just say it - iced coffee in summer weather.
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At these times, we are in luck. There are a growing number of specialty coffee shops, typically expat-owned, that have cropped up around Paris over the past few years.
ver the next few issues of Romantic Paris, we shall explore some of these blessed morning (or evening) havens for the sleepdeprived ogres, and get to know more of the hidden spots in Paris where iced coffee is not a fairytale and where socializers and studious souls alike may find solace. In this first issue, let us commence with Loustic, a coffee shop in the Marais that is one of the more established of the new wave of coffee shops. Opened in 2013 by Londoner Channa Galhenage, Loustic has quickly gained a loyal following of both expats and French. As a writer who finds productivity difficult in any space within fifty meters of my bed, coffee shops are an important nesting spot and atmosphere is important. 48
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On this front, Loustic is highly successful, a cozy yet trendy shop where it is equally safe to work or to socialize, an environment where you won’t feel like a heel for remaining in your chair an hour after finishing your coffee (though beware, laptop users: computers are discouraged on weekends during busy hours). Aesthetically the space is beautifully designed, with its exposed brick walls (along with print decorations from interior designer DorothÊe Meilichzon), octagonal tables, wicker chairs, and a series of mirrors in the hallway that may cause some disorientation on your way to the restroom for the first time.
For those into tiny visual details: there are quiet happy spasms to be had over how the wicker chairs match the wicker counter. Making full use of its long and narrow space, the layout of Loustic has allowed for a number of different seating options: a secluded corner at the front of the shop for a couple, looking out onto the street; a row of cafĂŠstyle side-by-side seating facing the counter, where you can watch the wizardry of your food and drinks being made; comfy group seating in the back, including booths. Whether in the need for solitude or for entrenchment in a community of coffee drinkers, there is always a perfect seating option.
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The coffee and food are consistently top-notch. In addition to the delicious coffee (crafted with beans supplied by Belgian roaster Caffé Nation) and the well-rounded menu (espresso of the week, cappuccino, latte, piccolo latte, iced coffee, multiple types of tea…), I have three particularly important words: Chai. Tea. Latte.
Though on the pricey side (6 Euros), the drink is massive, with a good heap of syrup that the drinker is permitted to stir him/herself depending on how sweet of a chai is desired. In short, prepare to drink autumn in a cup. The roast variations for coffee options are seasonal, allowing for a range of tastes and bean explorations for those who’ve never ventured beyond a Starbucks cappuccino (though the cappuccino at Loustic is as creamy and well-executed as any you’ll have).
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The range of food will support a hungry coffee lover at all hours of the day, from a wide selection of pastries in the morning, everything from a pain au chocolate to bagels to cookies larger than a hand – to savory afternoon snacks, chicken pot pie and quiches in more flavors than seem possible (broccoli/ cheddar, mushroom, artichoke/ ricotta, ratatouille, etc.) - as well as some seasonal items, such as egg nog cake in December. After ordering at the counter, the coffee lover is free to grab a seat and wait for drink and food to be delivered directly to the table.
Payment is not required until departure, making it (dangerously) easy to continue ordering additional drinks and food over time without accumulating annoying pieces of paper. Factor in the friendly staff, a very international clientele, and free Wi-Fi, and you may find yourself returning repeatedly for more than just the caffeine. There is a reason Loustic has already grown so quickly in popularity during its childhood in Paris. Stay tuned as we stay buzzed and explore more caffeine sanctuaries!
Loustic, 40 Rue Chapon 75003. METRO: Arts et MĂŠtiers (lines 3,11); Rambuteau (line 11)
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Love in Paris and Beyond!
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‘ve been in love with my husband for 17 years now. This feels like a lot to me, as I feel like I'm 17 years old half the time. What 17 feels like, is different for us all, but I get caught off guard when I look in the mirror and see a 47 year old face smiling back at me. To be sure, we've had our share of struggle and strife; times when we wonder how we ended up together, and want out - fast! But Love shines through once a lesson is learned, and we feel like teenagers, once again (if only for a moment). Although I have witnessed this miracle too many times to count, I still forget. As the Closet Guru in Paris, I help women (and men) connect with their true beauty, which I like to refer to as their inner Guru. “There is a Guru in every closet,� I like to say, but for so many of us, these gurus have been buried under a pile of (fill in the blank) clothes or roles that we put on to exude a purpose and strength. Roles are great, but for some, taking on these roles can lead to forgetting who we really are. Do you have a closet full of clothes yet feel like you have nothing to wear? Do you feel like you have to go shopping to be beautiful? Do you think you have to lose or gain weight to wear and look good in clothes that you love? In a way, these questions can be applied to how we feel about love, itself. The principles I have for Falling in love with your closet can be applied to falling in Love with yourself, your partner and your life. Make room for love. Rid your space, your closet, your home of anything that you don't LOVE. What that means is keep only items that give you a sense of well being when you look at them. Clutter distracts us from what is important. Keeping things we don't like around us, sends the message that we do not have space for, nor do we deserve, what we need.
Michelle Pozon, The Closet Guru Paris 53
elebrated Japanese organizer, Marie Kondo, was featured in a New York Times article by Penelope Green last October and has 2 basic tenets: Discard everything that does not “spark joy,” after thanking these objects for their service. In terms of organizational equipment - your home already has all the storage you need.
Many personal organizers have been known to say: “If you haven't worn it in a year, get rid of it”. Many personal shoppers will advise you on how to be “au courrant” or “timeless”, by buying “investment pieces”, as defined by the fashion magazines and “style icons”. I however, disagree.
While I do not attend black tie events often, I will not dismiss the Tuxedo I designed for my first collection, 23 years ago. It's beautiful, I love it, and when the odd event arises, I have a piece of my very own. I wore it to a Halloween party, as part of a vampire costume, for example. This was not exactly a Black Tie event like the ones I used to attend, but my Tuxedo still serves a purpose and brings me joy.
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When thinking about Icons, recognize that the inspiration you derive from them is a reflection of the same in you, and “cultivate in yourself, that which you see in them.” - Jackson Kiddard
Celebrating a day for love. Celebrate as you will. Rings, flowers and chocolate are not necessary (unless they are for the two of you). Whatever it is, do it your way.
These tips are great, if they appeal to you, but for others, they can also seem exhausting and deflating. Take heart, you already have all that you need.
In this case, with my business growing, I was spending more time than either of us would have liked, on social media. It was as if finding this article was saying: “Remember...?” I was able to see his side, and in softening my energy toward him, he was able to do the same.
There was a great article in the HuffKnow your life and who you are; Icons ington Post last December; “8 Surof any genre do. And as Ms. Kondo prising (And Scientifically Proven) preaches, Joy, like Love, is personal. Things That Lead To A Lasting MarBelieve in what Joy is to you, and it riage”, by Amanda Scherker. will guide you. Call it divine intervention, but I found With regards to the task of organizing, this article a few weeks later, while magazines and blogs are overflowing my beloved and I were furious with with lovely images of magnificent each other. Reading it, connected me homes, and share ideas on how to to my knowing, reminding me of how implement these systems for ourgood things were between us, and selves. what was causing tension.
Once you make room, by eliminating items that do not serve you, an organizational method will appear organically. Some of us like pretty boxes with labels. I personally like anything that keeps my focus on my expression and my other joys. Following your gut and honoring your intuition may seem counter intuitive when it comes to love and your closet. Many of us have been covering something up for so long, that we have to peel away all the layers of Ego, “societal should's” and expert advice, that cover up our inner knowing… Which brings me to my next tenet: Feel don't follow.
Don't try to be perfect. Don’t compare your love to others. Don't compare yourself to a magazine or try keeping up with the Jones's. Love your closet, love your life… you have all that you need and you are beautiful already! This Valentine's Day, my husband and son will be off skiing and I will be in the Philippines, sipping coconut water from a freshly shucked coconut. I am super in love and looking forward to it! May you have a great one too! Michelle Pozon, the Closet Guru Paris
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Paris Angels
Rosemary Flannery 56
Romantic Paris Magazine
Lovers often offer a gift of sweets to their cherished one - usually a box of chocolates, but today, the rage is all for macarons. On a gilded, painted advertisement from the 1920’s, a duo of cupid-like angels hails down heavenly chocolate and vanilla macarons from a golden cornucopia. Still reigning over a bakery today, the facade with its delightful sign was given landmark status in 1984.
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upid, Cupido, Eros, Amor - these are little winged baby boys, mischievous m human, who is pricked by his dart is overcome by uncontrollable desire; his ha drawing his bow to inspire romantic love, and is the mascot of Valentine’s D
In Greek mythology, Cupid is the son of love goddess Venus, and as the genes attraction. He first appeared in early Greek art as a slender winged youth, and la
By the time of the Renaissance, in art and in architecture, his imagery merged w amorini - little loves.
Cupid sports wings, because love and lovers can be flighty and capricious, but h messages, play music, aid, comfort, triumph, protect or simply delight.
And Paris is a city awash with angels, adorning buildings, chapels, residences, s
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mini-gods armed with bows and arrows and a mission, and anyone, god or apless victims often fall hopelessly, helplessly in love. Today, Cupid is shown Day.
would have it, he himself became god of desire, erotic love, affection and ater as a chubby boy.
with that of the putti - boy cherubs - and he was often shown in multiples as
he’s no angel! Angels are a link between heaven and earth, sent to deliver
shops, theatres, and more. Quite a few of them look a lot like cupids.
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The beautiful Louise-Benedicte de Bourbon-Conde, Duchess of Maine live today’s Rodin Museum.
Take a stroll through the garden, around to the back of this magnificent build moved here in 1736, the pediment was bare. And so she decided to decorate it, commissioning a fanciful low-relief sculpture, goddess of flowers and spring. A young and handsome Zephy, god of the gentle fiancé, crowning the duchess with a wreathed wedding veil in a romantic scene.
The gifted ornamental sculptor chiseled in a couple of affectionate amours in the mimic the love scene. Hôtel de Biron (Rodin Muséum), 79 rue de Varenne, 7th arrondissement Métro: Varenne
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ed for a time in the Hotel de Biron,
ding, and look up: when the duchess in which she is portrayed as Flora, West wind, is her imaginary
e right hand corner, who charmingly
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n the center of Paris, a grand neo-Renaissance theater stands, protected by a pair of charming cherubs who hold a lightening rod. It is a little boy and girl; she is swathed in a flying banner, while her partner does his part to hoist the rod on the roof top. A dramatic mask at its base recalls the thespian arts. Perhaps these little ones have been hit by what the French call a ‘coup de foudre’ - love at first sight, and literally, a strike of lightening. Théâtre du Chatelet, 2 rue Edouard Colonne, 1st arrondissement Métro: Chatelet
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Carolyn
n Smith
In the 6th arrondissement of Paris, among the winding streets of the Left Bank, is a small ceramics gallery called “Artrium.�
A Paris Love Story Expressed Through the
Creation of Art
In Paris you can just walk along and take in all the impressions of the city. But sometimes it’s worth digging a little deeper, stepping inside an intriguing gallery and asking questions… because you just may uncover a love story.
In recent weeks, the inside of the gallery has been illuminated by exquisite, sleek vases, arranged in family groupings. It’s clear from the colors of the glazes that the works were made over decades spanning the 50s to the 80s, and yet there’s a modernity to them that stands the test of time. I asked gallerist Thomas Fritsch who the artists were, and he shared the story of a young couple who, over the course of their lives together, became two of the most celebrated French ceramics artists in the world.
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Old photos among the works show a couple, a woman potter, and a man with a paintbrush and an intent look.
In the late 1920s and 30s, Jacques Ruelland and Danièle Dupin grew up in the Paris suburb of Versailles, where Jacques was friends with Dani’s brothers, but nothing more.
By chance, following high school and WWII, they both moved to Paris and both went to art school. He studied painting at the school of Beaux-Arts in Paris, and she studied sculpture at the Grange School of Sculpture on rue de Seine. One day a prescient friend played matchmaker, knowing Jacques was interested in a romance with the sister of his childhood friends. On their first date, they went to see the romantic drama Brief Encounter, and then Jacques wowed her with his double bass skills in his jazz band. They shared a love of the creative atmosphere of post-war Paris; the art, decoration, and modernism, and the optimism of the times. It was a heady mixture - no surprise that they fell in love.
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But somehow, that wasn’t quite enough: they wanted to build on their romance with shared art project - but what kind of project? Eventually they settled on ceramics would create the forms and he the glazes. 68
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ha she 69
hey set up a studio in a basement in Versailles, before finding an atelier in the dissement of Paris. As if to remind them of war year privations, the atelier was on floor, and the water was in the courtyard. The years leading up to the fifties were together, they began to prosper.
In the summer of 1950 they hitchhiked from Dani’s family’s summer-home in Saint Tro town of Vallauris, where Picasso had joined a group of 100 potters whose work was s world abuzz. Seeing the interplay between art and ceramics cemented their decision would be their “communal means of expression.”
The next few years were busy: the couple were married in 1951, their daughter Domin later that year, and they had a positive review in a local paper. They continued to prod their rue de Buci studio, and by 1953 had scored an atelier on the ground floor, closer of water!
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6th arronn the fourth difficult, yet
opez to the setting the art - ceramics
nique arrived duce works in r to a source
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espite their art education, they were essentially self-taught in their chosen techniques, which gave them great freedom in their work. It’s this liberty we see when we encounter their vases and lamps. Jacques noticed that using a darker clay gave a certain brilliance to his finishes, which he amped up using extra powdered manganese oxide in his glazes. But it’s a special recipe, closely guarded and never shared. Meanwhile Dani Ruelland shaped the clay. She was left handed, and was open to the slight asymmetries that created in her work, which was always done by hand and never on a wheel. Indeed each vase appears almost human in form, in that the slight imperfections make them even more relatable. Add to her forms his extraordinary glazes, in ocean blues, coral reds, rare bright greens, oranges, mauves, pinks and yellows, and it becomes evident why they attracted such a following over their shared career. They often recalled their first outings to the Salon des Ateliers d’Art, at Maison de la Chimie, rue Saint Dominique, in 1952 or 1953. They transported their works on foot in bakers’ baskets which were big enough for baguettes, and thankfully also for ceramics. Eventually they got a car, and worked their way into galleries in Paris and Brussels, and by 1965, “Les Ruellands” were a well-respected brand.
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ne evening they met the Golodines, a family of Russian dancers living in Paris, who admired their work. It was their friendship that led Dani and Jacques to appreciate that the relationship between their works that also counted. Which is why, when you see a collection of Ruellands’ tall, slender bottles or vases, they may remind you of a corps de ballet on stage. Dani and Jacques very much thought of their works as groups, or families, and that’s where, most recently, gallerist Thomas Fritsch came in. For the past four years he’s scoured sales to discover as many works by the Ruellands as possible in order to return them to their original groupings. The Ruelland family passed along later works to be included as well.
He’s gathered 350 of them in this lovely gallery at #6 rue de Seine for an exhibition and sale that lasts all of October, and will be reunited at fairs in the States and Europe throughout 2014-2015. The exhibition is a testament to a relationship between love and art, and focuses on their works between 1950 and 1970, along with a few paintings of bottles by Jacques, made after illness prevented him from working with glazes in the late 80s. While Jacques and Dani Ruelland stopped producing and exhibiting in the 1980s, taking a long retirement in Les Angles, current prices indicate how prized these works have become, with collectors spending around €2,500 per piece and buying sets at €12,000, as befits their now international stature.
To learn more, take a read through a new book about “Les Ruillands,” available at the gallery. 75
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Paris en Rouge
Julia Willard, Fal
lling Off Bicycles
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