From Paris to the moon

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998, after listening to Kevin Klyne’s accent in ze movieee French kiss. I loved Meg Ryan’s hair…the sun glasses with the blue lenses, the whole girl next door look and the charming gallic man with the very sexy accent and a vini-yard in Bordeux…mon dieu! C’est tres romatique sigh! Then came Mr Adam Gopnik with his book from Paris to the Moon…boy did that change everything. Here was a true insight into life in Paris…an American living my dream. Boy I wanted it so bad I could almost smell it! Jardin Luxemborg with the merry go round which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche…Place de la concorde and its gruesome history… Marianne in all her beauty…dinner at Zazou…Nutella ice cream at Amarinos...Le George the V with its exquisite flower decorations … Mont Marte with its bohemian memories … Aux Champs-Élysées, Au soleil, sous la pluie. À midi ou à minuit, Il y a tout ce que vous voulez, Aux Champs-Élysées…and of course the piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…The stuff dreams are mad off. That’s gay Paris!

Yes white men can jump and moon walk too!
Cut to 2002, Bangalore….Girl out for a drink with girl friends. Totally oblivious to the world, especially the little man with the fancy moves standing at the bar. What ever! Back from the toilet and what do you see? The little man and his friend sitting at our table…why? Oh well, its one of those nights I guess. Didn’t quite get his name..think it sounds like a Guillermo…or did he say Gillano …not that it makes a difference to be honest. Buonne Notte to you Gilliano and hope to see you sometime in the future (yeah right).
What do you know it’s the Bob Dylan revival night..and who do we see there, its Gilliano and friend. Quelle surprise, Gilliano is actually Guillaume…a real life French man! I can hear Gary Moore singing in my head…Anyways, he’s leaving for Paris in 10 days, might as well enjoy him while I can…and yes French kissing was invented in France, non?
Day 15 and Guillaume is still here…nice one! Lets see where this goes.

January 2003…and the French adventure begins
Madame est Monseiur varlet, cordially invite you to the marriage of their son Guillaume Varlet to Arshia Basith, daughter of Iqbal and Irshad Basith at Speed Zone on January the 5th 2003. Trust me you don’t want to miss the party of the century

Life in the cocchinel - 14e
Bien venue Chez nous…Soixante sept Rue Didot …walk through the building, ring the bell and the door opens on to a courtyard. And what a pretty court yard it is! Look upwards at the little green door and who do you see there? Mme Varlet waiting to welcome you to her home. Bien venue a la maison…thank you for joining me in my dream. I love Paris in the spring time, I love Paris in the fall, I love Paris oh why do I love Paris…c’est normale non, dose'nt everyone?

The Spanish connection
Hola Andrea and Antonio, thank you for being my friends. I’m glad we met at the Alliance Francaise Andrea, I’m glad you were the studious one…always helps when one of us is. You made Paris that much more special for me. Yes we’ve all gone our own ways but I do remember all those fun week ends drinking beers in st Germain de Pres , picnics along the Seine and candle light dinners on the Champs de Mars. Yes, I do remember our nuit blanche party opposite Notre Dame…those were the days my friends. Thank you for introducing me to the taste of iberico sausage on bread with olive oil and tomato. Thank you for teaching me the one and only phrase one needs in France …es que vous avez blah blah …You gave me so much love and affection when I needed it most, and for being there in the gloomy days. You made Paris special ..merci beaucoup pour tous

Along came Uben
My little Britanny Spaniel aka Boo Boo, my little French man, mon petite. All the way from the South of France straight to life in the big city, a big ask for a little dog. U-ben? What a strange name one might wonder..this is France mon amie, nothings straight forward … dogs are named after the letter that’s representative of the year the dog is born in so the age of the dog is easily calculated, my boo boo was born in the year of the U, so UBen. His best friend, Sabine’s Jack Russel…Union Jack. Boo Boo the first and the last, as he was known in some circles, was a true French man…loved his cheese, his steak tartare and his whining…

Its my party and I’ll spy if I want to
There's a voyeur in us all...none more so when it comes to l the lives of others..Guillaume stands upright and sticks his head out of the sky light in our mezzanine bed room, its easy when you don’t have the space to stand up. ‘Not bloody again! Its Sunday and there he goes again’ its our Opera singer neighbor practicing his bars for the 100th time. Me? I don’t really mind…I quite like Puccini so no worries there…guess that’s what happens when you live cheek and jowl with 10 other people. This is Paris for you…lie on your bed and look straight into the bed room of Marcel and Anges…its nice they still make love…even though I wish it was more frequent. I think their relationship needs it. Perhaps they say the same of Arshia and Guillaume..who knows…Marta and Antoine love Norah Jones…me too…love her new album. If I ever meet you I’m happy to lend you a copy. Madam Martin in her Chanel suit immaculately dressed at all times…that’s my epitome of a French woman , after Coco Chanel and Marie Claude Varlet of course..

Une baguette, un baguette…?
C’est tres confusing pour moi…I don’t know if it’s a male or female baguette can you tell by the end’s perhaps? The sharp ones are male like the baguette Monge down the street at the Boulongerie Fertillet. Maybe the blunt edged ones are the females like the super market fare …no idea. But lets go with une baguette. I’m the dumb foreigner with the anglicized accent who cant pronounce vrai and grenouille so all is forgiven

Down on your hands and knees
Flash light in hand, crawling on all fours…Laurent and Anne Marie in tow…its gone. Metro Varenne here’s my gift to you…my diamond pendant treasured above all else at the time. I cant think of a better offering to a city that’s as precious to me as any bauble…Here I am worshiping at your altar…though unabettingly

Learning to roller blade at les invalides …how appropriate …
And still pretty unsuccessful…though the memories of landing on your ass still sting. Ha,ha,ha..thank God for knee and elbow pads…Guillaume did try…but as they say, some things are better learnt when you don’t care about scars to the body or the mind…and the ego

The BD, a French institution equal to none
From BD’s (Bande dessinée) to Mangas, the Fnac has it all…floors and floors of goodies to make any French man’s heart soar and boy did it take flight for Guillaume. My first encounter with the famous BD, was quite memorable. The comic book or BD in the English speaking world is the realm of the idiot, the one who cant hold his concentration long enough to read a novel..for those who are vocabulary challenged, so much so that they need the pictures to help them make sense. Turn this around on its head and that’s what you get in France. The BD is an institution by itself, a tribute to the French notion of aesthetics and art. The BD is a hard bound A4 sizes book, which for all thoughts and purposes looks like a Time Life series book.Those educational tomes we all had to read as kids to learn about the universe, the animal kingdom and such topics that would help us do pub quizzes I guess. But no my friends, it’s a comic book in every sense, revered for the exquisiteness of the illustration and the very strong story line. There are scores of titles, each one a collectible in its own right..so much so that one of them has even been made into a movie…little did I know that the 100’s of ‘time life’ like books on Guillaume’s shelf were comic books! Shock shock horror! Thought I’d married an intellectual…lets fast forward three months down and guess what, even though I don’t read the stuff, I think the illustrations are exquisite…its all about art …naturellemnt…

Form over function
Its all in the aesthetics…be it a simple table lamp to the flower buckets at Monceau Fleurs…the French have mastered the art of making even a bin bag look, well exquisite. How do they do it? Why is it that certain nationalities (I wouldn’t dare say races..that too’s been beaten out of me) are so aesthetically sensitive compared to others. Where does the need for ‘presentation’ come from? Be it the Haussmanian buildings or even the art deco entrances to the metro stations, the French have it down to a T….Viva la France, Bravo!

Les Francaise
Did you know there are 50 ways to tie a scarf … and when you’re a French woman, all 50 are coded in your DNA…Les Francaise, she lives by a code…elegance, style and poise..all three intrinsic in everything she does…A land where no means yes and yes means no…iconic red lip stick, talons, exquisitely cut suits, le pashmina wrapped around finely accessorized necks, just so. A flick of the wrist with the Ebel watch, a slight whiff of her Chanel No 5, a gentle pursing of the lips and she has you on your knees…


Autum in the Jardin de tuilerries
A time of magic..when the leaves are turning. The parisiennes in their stylish coats, collars turned up against the wind..orange Hermes gloves. Hat brims pulled over eyes…citizens braving the cold, sitting on the chairs by the pond watching the world go by while time stands still. Hot chocolate at Angeline and then a walk down place Vendome to the Opera Garnier. Lets rush into the Gallery Lafayette to de-frost then perhaps a walk down the bags section at the Print temps. The world is my oyster and I’m living every moment of it…

Some say that if it wasn’t for General von Choltitz Paris would have been reduced to a pile of rubble when the Nazi’s surrendered to the allied forces…He was tasked with raising the city to the ground rather than surrender. But that was never to be …Paris is magic …Paris was magic …so many wonderful memories of a time when life was wonderful, when relationships, fresh…when life was about discovery…When all else is lost, there’s still Paris...

Ps. Thank you for the memories (Guillaume)