Happiness in a bar

Ohhhh joy.

Seeing this candy bar in the supermarket made me giddy on two levels. First, the obvious: it's white chocolate and it has SPECULOOS - my breakfast, lunch and dinner of choice! And second, the not so obvious: in Tagalog, "galak" means "extreme happiness." Nestlé, you went out of your way to speak my two tongues, I thank you. But, that's not the only thing that gave me galak this week.

I also got my French recipe/spellbook from Amazon earlier than expected; and even with the little wrinkle on the cover it was not as battered as I thought. (I placed an order for a "comme neuf" or "like new" book so it was half price and I prepared myself for the worst.) Isn't it lovely? I was shocked to realize I could understand most of it, save for the occasional word even H hasn't heard of. C'est drôle, quoi.

Last Tuesday we walked up and down Paris to catch the Fête de la Musique performances, and we crawled back to bed at two in the morning. We were treated to a myriad of melodic styles - jazz, club, medieval, punk. A friend was with a group of Pinoys who gave Parisians a dose of Manila sound in the most unlikely of places: the archaic thoroughfare in front of a gothic church in the Marais district. Around sunset (about ten p.m.) we wound up at the canal Saint Martin, hungry and waiting for some friends who were coming from Republique. While waiting for our crepe sarrasins, H and I danced to the samba music coming from a steel drum orchestra along the banks. A few minutes later we made our way through four drunken street rave parties and I had to wear my helmet to avoid the flinging fists at Point Ephemere. (To great comedic effect.)

The following day, we saw Paris through the eyes of the impressionists at a free exhibit at Hotel de Ville, or City Hall. Paintings from Musee D'Orsay were on loan for the occasion and we saw the evolution of the city in dreamlike pastels. My favorite were the Henri-Toulouse Lautrec drawings dripping with sex, drawn as they were by a man who had moved into a maison close - a prostitution house.

From Ibiblio.org

Moviegoing is an expensive pastime here, so I was full of galak when I found out that one of the perks of summer was Fête du Cinema. We've been to eight movies so far (and two more this coming Thursday), the first at full price and then the rest at three euros a ticket. For some divine reason, the three movies we saw on the first day were about writers, the power of the written word and writing in beautiful, romantic Paris.

Relax, see a movie... or eight.

Limitless, about a novelist turning to drugs to get over debilitating writer's block; Midnight in Paris, about an insecure writer thinking of moving to Paris, but Paris in the rain in the 1920s; and Omar m'a Tuer, about a non-French speaking foreigner wrongfully convicted of murder and saved by the publication of a writer's independent investigation; and then there was The Hangover 2, which was about nothing, really, but I could totally relate about Bangkok. It's crazy and it could be scary, but they also have galak in bars.

Get Your Fête Wet!

It's the first day of summer! And the longest day of the year! (But talking figuratively, it was April 5th, my prefecture meeting, mheh.) In these parts that means Fête de la Musique!

I used to go to the "Fête" gigs in Manila, and now I can really get into the spirit of things.

One of the best things about Paris are the buskers, the street musicians and graffiti artists. When my family was here they were treated to a brass band concert at the Pompidou. Got my brother to shell out 10 euros for the CD. They heard musicians in the Metro and in the tree lined avenues. Music and art are everywhere,  you only have to step outside.

Belgian singer Selah Sue on the steps of the Sacre Coeur.

If you did that in the Philippines, a security guard would shoo you away. In Manila, that's called mendicancy.

The bad news is that it's been raining for 2 weeks and the meteo took back its earlier forecast of sunny weather because it's obviously not happening - in Paris, at least. But we're still taking the scooter, weather and RER strikes be damned, for the love of musique and a lack of better things to do.

Summer Lovin'

A friend asked last Friday what we were planning to do on Saturday. "Farniente?" she suggested, which means to relax or do nothing. I said "Yep, farniente tous les jours," relax every day!

We woke up around noon today, as usual. It's Sunday so the street market was downstairs and H volunteered to get fresh baguette, croissants, fruits, and whatever my heart desired. My heart yearned for a Paris-Brest, which is basically sugar posing as pastry.

But H came back home with much more: Plump cherries, succulent strawberries, a fragrant melon plus a tall bouquet of flowers.

Happy hormones shooting up.

To reward the man, I made shrimp scampi for lunch with what we had at home. This required some help from my friend in the terrace, Elvis Parsley.

Yeah, I name the plants. You should meet Toni Basil. She's been flowering lately, so I'm happy for her.

Anyway, we had this while watching Kitchen Nightmares with Gordon Ramsay, and it made my cooking look soooo much better. Not that it needed any help...

It tasted a helluva lot better than it looks here. For once I didn't overcook the shrimps (maybe because they were gigantic, too). You can't see them so well because I finished the giant onion leftover from yesterday's siopao sauce experiment.

I wanted to go see the Impressionist exhibit at the Hotel de Ville since it's gratuit (free), but the weather was acting up so we might swing by on Tuesday before we catch the acts performing for Fête de la Musique.

Speaking of Fête de la Musique, the building had it's own yesterday night and some friends sang and played guitar. H was pulled in to play percussion and it brought out the stage wife in me a teeny bit, especially when I heard the first notes to "Paint It Black." I was facing east but I could spy the sunset from where I sat, and caught the first twinkle of light from the Tour Eiffel reflected in one of the windows. I got a bit drunk from glass after glass of champagne so I stepped out for some fresh air in the balcony and dove into the chilly night, while fireworks exploded across the dark firmament as Paris welcomed summer.

But to be honest, it feels like autumn again.

Grès Anatomy

I had been meaning to go to the Bourdelle Museum to see the Madame Grès exhibit for a while, but when I stopped seeing the posters around Paris I figured the exhibit must have ended. WRONG. I saw the posters again this week at St. Germain after hanging out with a friend at Les Deux Magots (je sais, so tourist-y). Now I know for sure the exhibit will be around for a few more weeks, until August 28 exactly - our wedding anniversary.

So, now, this is the part where I explain why I want to go. Everyone knows I'm in no way a fashionista, but while I was researching the gown I wanted to wear to my wedding I came across Madame Grès.

From Paris.fr.

 
I love her signature Graecian silhouette. She makes women look like goddesses taking some time off from their altars; flowing and graceful, like living sculptures. It came as no surprise then, to learn that she was also a sculptress.

I mean, how lovely is this? From Trendland.net.

It may seem like a stretch to combine the hellenistic spirit of her aesthetic into the Filipiñana gown we all know, but I found a designer who was willing to work with my unorthodox idea. Hence, my dual- function detachable dress.

With my mom, minutes before the wedding.

J'adore the draping around the waist :) If only it wasn't so long!

Too bad I couldn't fit into it anymore, heheh.