I love the old Paris street lamps. They give this special 19th century flavor to the city that makes it so romantic. I took this photo on the rue de Rivoli where they installed the first street lamps back in 1830 or so. At that time, of course, they were gas powered and every night […]

After reading Suzy Menkes‘ rave review of the Jean Paul Gaultier/Regine Chopinot, Le Défilé exhibition in the International Herald Tribune on Tuesday, I knew it was a must see.
I went to see the show yesterday at the recently refurbished Musées Arts Décoratifs and Suzy’s rave was justified. The show consists of the costumes and videos […]

Whichever way your regime boat floats, there’s no denying that this shot proves the old adage, “A picture is worth a thousand words.”
The banner invites the spectator to “imagine France afterward”… assuming the UMP campaigners succeed in convincing French voters to elect Nicolas Sarkozy as the next Président de la République, you might consider printing […]

Visitors to town often ask what to wear. They seem afraid of being out of style, instantly pegged as Americans. For you, Tacoma Girl in Paris has this advice:
First and most important is the mini trench. We already knew that the trench was French, but as the months get warmer and dryer, the hems get […]

There was a lot of chanting coming from the window, almost drowning out the voice of Julius Caesar himself. Drawn by suspicions of local uprising, I pulled back the windows and pressed my ear to crack in the window. Punctuated by horns and whistles was some kind of mantra… It sounded like they were saying […]

The city seemed eerily quiet this past weekend. I asked a cab driver if here was something up that I didn’t know about. He said, “It’s like this before every presidential election.” I asked him why. “No one knows, but it happens every time.”

Il pète plus haut que son cul. / He is pretentious.
(literal: He farts higher than his ass.)
Il est coiffé comme un dessous de bras. / He’s having a bad hair day. (His hair is dressed like an armpit.)
J’ai la tête dans le cul ce matin. / I have a lot of trouble waking up this […]

I sit down. The waiting room is packed.
And wait.
Dum dee dooo…
I realise that I have no idea what this bloke looks like. Everytime a doctor’s door opens (because there are 5 consulting that evening), I brace myself.
Finally, “Mrs C…?…”
Hooray.
The office is cool and comforting. However, the picture on the wall of the baby BEING BORN […]

16h43: From the living room, I hear a sound like rocks on the window. I peak outside. Large hailstones rocket from the gray sky. People in the street below run for cover
16h46: The hail turns to sheets of cold rain. The window glass is ice cold against my hand.
16h57: From the couch, I see a […]

French swear words have very little corporeal effect upon me. Putain, fait chier, bordel, ta gueule! are all words and exclamations I hear quite regularly and might even be inclined to use in translated frustration, among friends or co-workers. (Okay, not ta gueule - I reserve that for nights out with the rugby team, after […]