Remember that scene in the movie by Barbra Streisand, The Face in the Mirror, where she is at a restaurant and very carefully makes a little pile on her fork of food from her plate make the perfect combo? It’s not the best movie I’ve ever seen but I liked it and what it had to say about beauty. Anyway, I have had the perfect bite a couple of times. The first time was in Paris when I ordered a Salade Chevre Chaud-a salad with warm goat cheese. So, onto my fork I pushed some lettuce covered with tangy vinagarette, a piece of tomato, a walnut, and the warm cheese on top of a piece of crunchy toast. It was such a great explosion of flavors in my mouth-the acid tang of tomato, the warm soft cheese with the crunch of toast and snap of the slightly bitter walnut, the warm cheese binding it all together-it was all a little piece of heaven. I also like salty and sweet together as in dates with bacon or a cheese with a sweet jam. And, then there is Thanksgiving, where into one bite are the flavors of turkey, stuffing, mashed potato and gravy topped with a small amount of cranberry sauce. Eating can be such a fun adventure.

The French aren’t the most demonstrative people I’ve ever been around. I don’t include my husband in that statement. I don’t know if he is “Americanized” by living in the States for ten years or not, but he is very sweet and he does show me that he cares about me. Even with all of that double kissing on each cheek that is exchanged whenever you meet a French person, it doesn’t seem much to have to do with warmth as much as just tradition, in my opinion.

When we first moved into our house in Provence we had several French couples over and after showing them around got sort of luke warm reactions which made me feel that our house wasn’t that great. Maybe we just thought it was but it really wasn’t. It wasn’t until we had some American guests over and they raved about it that my confidence in what we had created returned. Of course, the French think Americans rave about everything and that we aren’t often sincere when we do. Anyway, I don’t expect to get enthusiasm from the French anymore-and therefore don’t get my feelings hurt.

One day Maurice and I were having dinner at one of his relative’s. We were all sitting there having a drink and chatting. At some point everyone left the room except for one man and I. While we were there he starting asking me things about myself-how I liked Paris, how my French was coming, what I thought about certain things. He actually seemed to care. It was later, after we had left, that I realized that, while Maurice’s friends and relatives, all seem to like me and are friendly to me, not one of them had ever really tried to truly get to know me or engage me in conversation on more than a surface way. I think it was then I started to realize the difference between Americans and French. I may be wrong, but that is my take on things here. I save sharing my life and personal thoughts to when I am with other Americans, usually women.

One of my few negative comments on living in France. I really love it here in France, on the whole.

One of my favorite churches in Paris is the St Etienne du Mont which is right next to the Pantheon. It has a very rare rood screen which goes across the middle of the church, very delicate and lace like and the remains of Genevive, the patron Saint of Paris.

Part of the rood screen with curving stairs on each side

A statue of St Genevive. She became the patron saint of Paris because her prayers, and those who she encouraged to pray with her, kept Atilla the Hun from invading Paris.

I especially liked this unusual stained glass window

Such a lovely church

The Sorbonne University is universally famous. Everyone I’ve ever talked to who has visited France has heard of it. It has been around for centuries and, in fact, was started by Robert of Sorbonne in the mid 13th century. Richelieu, in the 1600’s, had it rebuilt along with a chapel where his tomb now lies. On the spur of the moment I took a short tour through the Sorbonne. You aren’t able to get inside the Sorbonne unless you are a student and I’ve long wanted to see the interior. Parts of it that we got to see aren’t even accessible by students.

This is an observatory that is a land mark of the Latin Quarter where the Sorbonne is located. It was called the Latin Quarter because all of the classes were taught in Latin and Latin was heard all over the area.

This lovely window was up overhead as we entered the building. There are staircases on either side and then the balcony making the oval.

A view of the famous staircase. This area is going to be closed for renovation so we felt lucky to see it. The building was last renovated in 1889 to celebrate the 100th year of the French Revolution.

A closeup of the corner of a room showing the tile work on the floor. I love details like this. It seems like they don’t do work like this anymore.

A lovely, little used room lined with famous paintings

An S standing for Sorbonne painted on a wall

A lovely huge courtyard in the interior of the Sorbonne that students could hang out in. I wonder if they know how lucky they are to attend school there?

There is a chapel in the Sorbonne where Richelieu is buried. He is a very famous, very influential minister to Louis XIII. The tomb was almost destroyed during the French Revolution but was saved at the last minute by a man who threw himself on top of the tomb to keep the Revolutionists from destroying it and was injured with a bayonet for his trouble. He also preserved the tombs at St Dennis. Richelieu’s tomb is placed rather strangely in front of the alter and only the priest can see it, while the congregation gets to look at the back of the sculpture. It shows Richelieu being held by “Religion” while “Science” grieves at his feet. The chapel was in a very bad state and was undergoing renovation.

This is the hat of Richelieu suspended over his tomb. I have looked in vain for the reason for this. I know Richelieu had it suspended there . I think I read, some time ago, that when it finally fell, Sorbonne would no longer exist. I have been googling like crazy but can’t find the information. Since I read that, I have been wanting to get into the chapel and see it, and I finally did. Now I can check off one of the things on my growing list of all there is to see in Paris, not to mention France. I don’t think I will live long enough to see it all.

When I arrived in France there were a few things that I wouldn’t eat. If I saw foie gras-goose liver-on the menu I just kept on going until I got to something “safe” that I liked, such as shrimp or chicken. Then one day I ordered a salad and it arrived with the dreaded foie gras on top. My mother used to eat calf liver with onions about once a week. It always smelled so fabulous that I would try to eat some but the taste just made me gag. So, here was some liver. I tried to eat around it but eventually some of it reached my mouth. It was one of those moments of revelation. I finally got it! This is why it is so famous in the food world. It was sweet and creamy and so tasty spread on bread. I had some just the other day with onion confit, crusty bread and a glass of sweet white wine. It was fabulous. I was humming “Heaven, I’m in heaven” the whole time I was eating it. Who knew?

One of the delights of living in France is the cheese. There are hundreds of varieties to choose from. We often just by the pre-packaged cheese in the grocery stores as they are cheaper but it is really fun to either buy some at a market or in a fromagerie. You can be half a block away and smell that cheese is somewhere further on. It isn’t the most pleasant smell but I love the taste of many of them.

I’ve had the rather runny Banon cheese which is wrapped in dry chestnut leaves and then tied with twine. It is strong but great spread on bread. Compte has a wonderful nutty flavor. Simple goat cheese is fun to mix with other things such as a sweet fruit confit. I’ve come to love cheese with a glass of wine which really adds to the flavor. Is any of it low fat? No, unfortunately. I try to have just a small slice after dinner. It is a part of France which I’ve come to love.

I guess before I moved to Paris that I was somewhat of a picky eater. There were many things I wouldn’t even try. My world opened up, as I like to say, when I moved here as I was trying all sorts of things new to me. I still won’t have anything with the word “tete” in it-which means head in French-and I’m not big on things made of “parts” as Maurice likes to say. I still haven’t had rabbit or horse and I probably won’t. So I don’t think I am a picky eater anymore.

Maurice, however, has turned out to be one to my surprise. He will scarf down veal head, rabbit and very barn-yard like in smell sausages but will almost turn pale if I want to make a tuna fish sandwich. The meat has to be very well cooked and cinnamon is a no no. He never had tropical fruit growing up so doesn’t like bananas, coconut or pineapple. Luckily there are still many things I can cook but it does limit me a little and I love everything he doesn’t. Compromise, the name of the game.

There are some sounds that even with your eyes closed will tell you where you are, such as the sound of a siren. I have heard the European sirens for long enough now that the sound of American police cars or ambulances racing by strike me as odd. I don’t feel quite at home in the States anymore.

There are the sounds of people talking around me that my brain is taking in unconsciously. I hardly notice that French is being spoken where ever I go, although I do hear German and Italian quite a bit in tourist areas, especially at the Eiffel Tower. It is a shock when I land at an American airport and first hear that American accent all around. It sounds especially strange if I am in New York City as I’ve never been used to that accent. I get a smile when I land in Dallas and hear all of those Texas accents twanging around, entering my consciousness. After returning to France hearing French seems strange for a few days.

Once, the last time I was in the States, Maurice and I were walking at night in a city. Suddenly a train went by in the night not too far away and it gave out its long low whistle. It rather pierced my heart, that sound, and I realized that it was one of those uniquely American things that my heart had stored up somehow that I didn’t even know that I missed.

I am always on the outlook for angels

The much visited tomb of Chopin

Flowers left from some official consul in Poland at Chopin’s grave

Look at all the flowers and candles left as well. There were also many on the tomb of Jim Morrison and the tombs of actors and musicians who died recently.

Someone spelled out something on one of the tombs with some small rocks. I can’t make out what it says. I liked the outline of a leaf left above it.

The tomb of two ancient lovers, Abelaird and Heloise, reunited after death.

I had over one hundred photos from my stroll around Pere Lachaise. It’s hard to pick out just a few, but fun to go through them.

A cross that I liked

This one was new to me. I went to feel it and it was metal but it had a funny looking texture, almost like spray-on plaster.

It looked like this man was trying to peek over all of the flowers his relatives had brought

Someone had placed a flower in hand of this sculpture

This sad goddess got painted golden for some reason