Paris in the springtime

An often overlooked museum

Having tasted the Musée Jacquemart-André by night, my curiosity was peaked and I wanted more. I signed up for one of Mona's tours with Paris Walks and joined Cherise for an outstanding tour of the history and the gossip of this Parisian mansion.

Long terrace steps and a pair of stone lions usher visitors into this grand 19th-century mansion, home to a collection of objets d'art and fine paintings.This is a sumptuous townhouse with a collection made by wealthy art lovers, the banker Edouard André, and his wife, the painter Nelie Jacquemart.

The collection includes priceless 18th C furnishings: tapestries, furniture, all displayed in family rooms,  and superb paintings by some of the great artists such as Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Fragonard, David, Vigée Lebrun and Reynolds. In the upper galleries you can admire the works they amassed from the early Italian Renaissance, which are a testimony to the charm of this period. Uccello, Donatello, Botticelli just to mention a few. The house itself is spectacular in it’s own right with ballroom, minstrels’ gallery, Nelie’s studio, a breathtaking double spiral staircase, and the family dining room.

On the opening of the Hôtel André in 1876, an article in the magazine L'Illustration reported: “amazement at the enchanting ball given by Mr André. There is no more admirable setting. All the famous names from the world of fashion and elegance were there. They all shone with the same brilliance."
“Nothing was lacking to make Mr André’s ball one of those sensational events whose magnificence marks our era. The walls of the two entrance rooms, the cloakroom and the vestibule, disappeared under a scented curtain of violets and camellias. The gold decorations of the double ballroom flowed, sparkling under the blaze of a thousand candles."

Need I add more, it is definately worth a detour off the all too trodden Champs Elysées.

Never a quiet moment...

People ask me how I come up with something to post every day. Well, I've got news for you. I live in Paris, there is ALWAYS something to write home about.

Take today, instead of undertaking my usual jog through the Bois de Boulogne, I decided to take a break and run some errands instead, unfortunately the Chinese president had decided on the same route as I.

After dropping off Expat girl at school, I hopped onto the metro towards the Champs Elysées. Upon emerging from underground with millions of other Parisians who were on their way to work, I realized Paris' most famous avenue had been cut off to all traffic. Not even pedestrians were allowed to cross the road.

Lots of French flags were waiving up and down the eight lanes, each one flanked by a Chinese flag. Yes, the French are real good at waving flags.

Well, commuters in Paris were left furious today when authorities closed no less than 13 Metro stations during the morning rush hour for citing security reasons for the state visit of Chinese President Xi Jinping. Paris’s transport authority provided almost no advance notice of the closures, and needless to say Parisians were NOT happy.

I, on the other hand - strolling along the sidewalk - was struck by one thing: the silence! It was a serene feeling to walk along la plus belle avenue du monde (as the French like to call it) and take in the stillness of the moment.

It might be ironic that Paris transport authorities close Metro stations on a day when pollution levels are rising again but I would like to say thank you for this delicate moment of serenity. How do you say thank you in Chinese?

Paris is our home

So, it looks like we're in it for the long haul, meaning it seems that my husband will continue to be based in Paris for a few more years. This is the third time we have settled in the city of lights and the last two times we couldn't get away fast enough, to the point where my hubby changed company some years back in order NOT to move back to Paris.

They say everything good comes in threes. We got lured into coming back to Paris and left Switzerland three years ago to face the music. And here we are, not only singing with the music but dancing to it as well.

I admit this assignment has been one of the easier ones. We had lived here before, we both speak French, we know the system (which doesn't mean we always understand it) and most of all we are familiar with the French. Actually, upon my arrival I was positively surprised, the Parisian have become more approachable over the past ten years, I would not go as far as to use the word friendly, however.

In any case, with pre-adolecent children, the city does have a great deal to offer. No more lugging strollers down the staircases into the metro, no more prams being stolen in the inner courtyard, no more groceries being lugged up to the top floor because we now live in a building with an elevator! We DO hear the neighbours above us stomp across the floor, we KNOW which TV programme our neighbour below is watching (because we can hear it!) and when we switch on our WiFi we need to triple check which one on the list of 20 servers is ours.

All in all, Paris has become home. I never thought I'd say - let alone write - this, but we HAVE settled in. A few days ago I came across a family calendar from when we first moved to France. Needless to say all four of us were smiling on every single shot but somehow you could tell the smiles were tense and in no way natural. We were so determined to make this move work and so preoccupied with digging a new nest that we could call home, knowing that nothing could ever fill the void we all felt when leaving Switzerland.

Comparing it to this year's family calendar (yes, I do make one every year and send it to all our relatives!) where we all look totally relaxed and at ease with our environment, it is a big relief to see that even the kids have come around to the point were - in some ways - Paris is even better than Lugano.

It took a long time but - as always - we have forged ourselves a home. It's a cliché but after all: "Home is where your heart is"... and mine is right here with my family!

A 90 minute fashion treat

What do you do when you drop your daughter off at drama class and the lesson is too long to hang around and wait but too short to go home and return? Hey, living in Paris you pop into a museum, of course!

I had been invited to join a guided tour of Musée Galliera's exhibition "Papier glacé" tonight, but the event organizer called me three times yesterday just to let me know all the spaces had been filled. I guess organization is not his forte.

This was not to stop me, however. I took the short walk through the fancy 8th arrondissement after dropping off Expat girl and strode into the the 'Beaux-Arts' style building constructed by nobody lesser than the company belonging to Gustave Eiffel.

The exhibit drew on the archives of Condé Nast New York, Paris, Milan and London, bringing together some 150 mostly original prints from leading fashion photographers from 1918 through to the present day.

I came across the guided tour and meandered around the group to hear what the lady had to say. Frankly, I learned more from the explanatory texts on the walls. It made me realize how briliant my friend Mona's tours are and makes me appreciate them even more.

The best part? This fashion treat came at the cost of only 8 Euros entrance fee!

My absolute favourite picture was Norman Parkinson's shot for British Vogue 1957 showing the bumper-to-bumper portrait of a Rover 105 S especially sprayed for Vogue in fuchsia.

No matter where you turn, you'll always spot he Eiffel Tower

The streetside facade gives onto a paved courtyard bordered by a semicircular Ionic peristyle

Vive la Journée internationale de la francophonie!

Enrolled in an International school and therefore honouring diversity, my kids celebrate everything from the Chinese New Year to the Diwali, from Purim to Halloween, from St.Patrick's Day to Santa Lucia. However, working closer with the French department lately, it struck me that we were not celebrating our host country. We are all on vacation during France's National Day July 14th and I wonder how many kids would know what the La Marseillaise is.

Trying to raise more French awareness, I had a brainwave during a meeting and suggested a French Day. Not expecting much reaction, but nevertheless, always the obtrusive mum ready to come up with ideas and suggestions.

Sitting at my desk a while later that day, what do I read on one of the French news blogs? The following week was to be "La semaine de la langue françaises" with the March 20th marking La Journée internationale de la francophonie. I couldn't have planned it better myself!

A quick e-mail to the school's language coordinator and tomorrow all the Primary kids will be marching to school dressed in red, white and blue showing off their best French skills throughout the day.

A big bravo to the school for having taken the initiative onboard so rapidly and marked it in their scholastic's calendar as a yearly institution. We are after all living in Paris.

One teacher actually wrote back to me and called me an Eclaireur. To be honest, I had to google that and thereby have learnt a new word today. Merci Madame. A free translation I have come across is: “L’Eclaireur, is to go ahead, to be in what will come, to dare, to dis­turb, it is the duty always to seduce, always to sur­prise”.

This is just the beginning towards a more focused and active French department, I hope!

A sunny Sunday in Paris

Today was the perfect day. Mild temperatures, blue skies and splendid sunshine. Living in Paris, however, you need to learn how to share with the millions of tourists - 29 million each year to be precise - who gather from across the globe and invade the city no matter what the season.

Think, foncionnaire, think!!!

Why is it that the French foncionnaires (civil servants) can never get it right? Is that they don't care, they don't think or they just simply cannot manage their job task? By definition a foncionnaire does not need to do a whole load of thinking but please DO bring your brains to work.

The latest episode has me up in arms again. A simple transaction, a click on the new revolutionary public health internet site and the ordering of a simple card. What could possibly go wrong? So why have I received only three European medical cards rather than four? Going back online to order a fourth for my daughter, the system - needless to say - denies my request since I have already ordered one in her name. Yes.....but did I receive it!?! Nooooooo.

Just to mention a few past hick-ups:
When ordering our French public health card (Carte Vitale) we received three rather than four. Am I surprised? They forgot to issue my hubby's card. After all, HE is the one who is working and therefore registered as head of family and paying the bills. How they excpect to get their money if they don't enroll the employer, I have no clue?

Next, my hubby submits all the certificates requested to transcribe his motorbike license from an Italian to the French version. Again, weren't we all suppose to be one big happy family called the European Union? Three weeks of suspense, whereupon further inquiry, we are told they lost the entire file and my husband needs to retake his motorbike test... after riding a bike for over 30 years? Tell me they are kidding, please!

Last week the checkbook I ordered was registered to the wrong bank account and quite frankly it is a miracle they didn't get my car's numberplate wrong! Having said that, I never actually checked, maybe I should run down to the garage quickly?

A not-so-private nightly view

Call me spoilt but having been invited to a private evening viewing of the Musée Jacquemart André I did not expect to walk into a reception of 300 people. The average age, I might add, was, over 65.

Never the one to have my fun spoilt, I decided to make the most of it, by taking some fun pictures. I started moving around the luxurious mansion while the sponsoring host was trying to sell his goods before opening the museum to the crowd.

The small intimate museum was created from the private home of Édouard André (1833–1894) and Nélie Jacquemart (1841-1912) to display the art they collected during their lives. I quickly got ahead to glimpse at the winter garden and headed upstairs through the Sculpture Gallery housing collections of 15th- and 16th-century Italian sculpture, the Venetian Gallery attesting to the Andrés' love of 15th-century Venetian artists and the Florentine Gallery which is a place of worship, containing works on religious themes.

Gliding back down the most fantastic is a staircase of this beautiful place I could imagine how the wealthy of Paris lived in pre-automobile days. On my way out, running down the marble stairs and through the gothic pillars onto the graveled courtyard, I felt like Cinderella. However, there was no prince following me just a huge crowd trying to make their way through the stately rooms without breaking any of the exposed objects.

I have yet to try the sumptuously decorated restaurant within the building, therefore, dear Musée Jacquemart-André I will be back soon to discover your marvels at daylight with the insight of one of my favourite guides, Cerise from Paris Walks.

Proud to be Swiss

The day was absolutely picture perfect. We were a gang of 12 enjoying our skiing holidays in the Swiss Alps. It had snowed the night before and today the sun was shining and not a cloud in the blue sky. THIS is why I insist with my husband, that we need to come back to Switzerland every year for a week's skiing. There are few things more beautiful and more satisfying not to mention healthier that you can enjoy as a family, in my opinion.

It all came to a screetching halt when one of the teenagers fell over on the very last decent and hurt his arm. Within 10 minutes the first aid sledge had appeared only to inform us that the injury was such that a helicopter had to be called in. While we were waiting and the sun started turning cold in the late afternoon, there was not a single skier that did not stop to ask us if he could help in any way. One man pulled out some hot green tea - mandarine flavoured no less - to keep the boy warm. A Kinder chocolate bar appeared from somewhere after that.

A short while later, a helicopter performed a superbly precise landing on the slanting snowy slope and a kind, smiling doctor quickly explained what was to happen next. 20 minutes later the perfectly trained 3-person team had handed a very worried-looking boy over to the Kinderspital (children's hospital) in Bern.

The helicopter was not big enough to let a parent accompany the little patient. The Dad therefore was picked up at the bottom of the slope by one of the lift workers who drove him down the valley to where his car was parked. While Dad drove 100km to reach Bern, I was calming the Mum telling her that if there was ANY country I would leave my child fly off by himself in a helicopter, it would be Switzerland, most definitely.

Needless to say, feeling slightly panicky, the Dad could not find the hospital and stopped to ask the single soul on the street - that was not having dinner at 6pm - for the way. Without flinching the pedestrian called his wife to tell her he would be late for dinner, got in his car and led the way straight to the hospital.

The medical staff was most professional and precise, they took time to explain exactly what was wrong and very kindly reassured the father of all his doubts and worries. They comforted the boy and the nurses went out of their way to make their little patient feel as comfy as possible, especially since he did not speak their language.

Three days later we were all reunited again, sipping Swiss hot chocolate around a table with a smiling teenage boy in a cast. This will be a lasting memory not only for him but for all of us that were skiing down the slope that late afternoon.

My foreign friends could not praise the Swiss enough. The professionalism, the precision, the reliability, the organization and the dedication were qualities they had always heard about but experiencing these in a moment of emergency was a unique revelation. Furthermore, what they had not expected was the empathy, the kindness, the warmth, the genuine concern about their son's well-being by complete strangers. They were all looking at me as they kept on praising the Swiss. It seemed I was to take the credit for all the Swiss. Therefore, let me say it loud and clear: I am proud to be Swiss!

Thank you to all of you who made this Swiss experience unique and memorable in every way.

Stuck between two worlds

Who am I?

It has been three days now that I have been chewing on the question asked by my favourite blogger from Doha: Who am I? She challenged her fellow expat readers to think about who we really are. The about pages on our blogs contain our marital status, our number of children and the times we've moved. But what is it that really makes us tick?

The various moves in themselves redefine who you are every single time. The experiences you undergo, the people you meet, the cultures you confront. Each and every time you take that plane to relocate to your next destination it is a very different "you" waving good-bye to the "you" that arrived some years beforehand. Places and especially their people leave an imprint, an impression or at the very least an influence that cannot be denied.

Who am I today?

A very self-sufficient Expat wife enjoying the time and place she is in right now, making the most of her days as a companion, a mother, a friend, an explorer, an organizer, a fighter, and a blogger.

I love being on my own but I take great pleasure going on adventures with others. I like keeping to myself but can't resist the drive to blog about my life. I prefer to keep my life private but spend a great deal of time on facebook contributing to my timeline.

I enjoy a good squabble with the locals even though I have grown fond of the city I live in. I am keen on expressing myself and can't help from making comments when something bugs me.

I encourage my kids to be independent but am the last mum to leave the school grounds because I need to give my kids just one more little hug. I am a control freak but can't keep tears from flowing even at the slightest emotion.

I enjoy meeting people and imagining their life stories. I am a friend who will listen to you all night over a glass of wine. I am the fellow expat who'll go out of her way to stay in touch.

I am your friend who sends you her funky newsletter every single year without which Christmas just wouldn't be the same.

So tell me, who are you?

The Expat Wife Prayer

This prayer has been making the rounds for a while. I have read it over and over again and am not quite sure whether to cry or to laugh. I do believe it applies more to those who have trodden off the beaten path in less developed countries. My Expat life has been between Europe and the Americas - I am still hoping that one day our path will lead us to Asia - although we have had our fair share of unexpected surprises.

Rest assure that someone will have to listen to my stories one day when my expat days are over, if only in my blog. ;)

Heavenly Father, look down on us your humble obedient expat wives who are doomed to travel this earth following our loved ones through their working lives to lands unknown. We beseech you, oh Lord, to see that our plane is not hijacked or doesn't crash, our luggage is not lost or pillaged and our overweight baggage goes unnoticed.

Give us this day divine guidance in our selection of houses, maids and drivers. We pray that the telephone works, the roof does not leak, the power cuts are few and the rats and cockroaches even fewer.

Lord, please lead us to good, inexpensive restaurants where wine is included in the meal and the food does not cause dysentery. Have mercy upon us Lord if it be the latter, make us fleet of foot, to make the loo in time, and strong of knee in case we have to squat. Also give us the wisdom to tip correctly in currencies we do not understand.

Make the natives love us Lord for who we are and not for what we can contribute to their worldly goods. Grant us the strength to smile at our maids, even though our most treasured dress resembles a rag or they take bleach to clean our well-admired Persian rug.

Give us divine patience when we explain for the hundredth time the way we want things done and Lord if we ever lose our patience and thump them, have mercy on us for our flesh is weak.

Dear God, protect us from so-called "bargains" we don't need and can't afford. Lead us not into temptation for we know not what we do.

Almighty Father, keep our husbands from looking at foreign women and comparing them to us. Save them from making fools of themselves in nightclubs. Above all, please do not forgive their trespasses for they know exactly what they do.

And when our expat years are over Lord, grant us the favor of finding someone who will look at our photographs and listen to our stories, so our lives as expat wives will not have been in vain.

Amen

Source: Unknown

When I turns into WE...

It started with a post by a fellow blogger, no I rectify that, actually Kirsty Rice is my favourite blogger. No, I have never met her personally but ... maybe ... one day our paths might cross.

"Who am I": a simple question that got my mind wondering in all kinds of directions. I could fully relate to most all the points she listed, being a fellow Expat. With exception, maybe, of the WE bit. "Expat couples travel in a collective ‘we’" she stated.

Of course, there always is and always will be the WE in who I am, BUT - call me selfish - I have always made sure that the ME bit never comes too short. I am a firm believer that you can only support your husband and family, if you believe in yourself. We all know this whole expat thing would fall apart without - what they call - the trailing spouse! And this part of you cannot be linked to a job, it must come from within. Call me pretentious but with age you learn what is good for you.

I learnt a lesson very early on in life. The day I announced to my boss that I would be leaving my job thereby giving up my rather promising career to get married and move to Buenos Aires for an undefined period of time, he told me: "You must realize, my dear, that now you no longer will be sitting in the driver's seat but on the passenger side." THAT stuck. Being fiercely independent (and a control-freak) I promised myself I would always make sure the balance is right in my relationship.

It is all about the balance between him and me.
The exchange.
The communication.
The respect.
The trust.
The complicity.
The patience.
The understanding.
The tolerance.
and always ... The fun!

... which is why the WE is so much better than the I when you're an Expat!

Valentine's Day is stuck in Morocco

Here I am, sitting at Paris' Charles de Gaulle airport over a not-so-romantic dinner with my hubby on Valentine's Day. All my magnificent planning of whizzing my sweetheart off for a surprise dinner in Lugano tonight, have just gone royally down the drain thanks to our easyjet plane stuck somewhere in Morocco! Valentine's dinner at the airport it is. On a brighter note, dinner has never been so cheap on February 14th. 19.90 Euros for the four us. Trust me it is not thanks to the four easyjet vouchers that are worth 4 Euros each and barely cover the drinks!

After facing an angry husband who was forced to leave a vital meeting with his boss at 4pm because his wife had other plans on the day of love, we got a head start and beat the Parisian holiday traffic, only to arrive at the airport and find ourselves blocked in a tiny, boring terminal for four hours. We finally boarded the plane at 10pm and reached Lugano by midnight. Record travel time. Those planes can travel so much faster when they want to...

We might have travelled thirteen hours for a 48-hour weekend but the motivation to head home to Lugano was great and the added surprise factor to celebrate Valentine's Day in Switzerland kept us going... even if we celebrated a day late!