The Frau's Love of English

The Frau loves English. She didn't realize this until six years ago when she moved to a place where Swiss German was spoken. Funny how being surrounded by a foreign language makes you love your own. It's a bit like moving to a desert and realizing, you know, I never really gave water the credit it deserves.

So let's take a moment, fellow yodelers, and give English some praise. Let's celebrate its short words. Its gender neutrality. Its lack of umlauts and accented vowels. Its lack of formal and informal you and instead its embracement of an all-emcompassing, "hey y'all."

That said, there is one thing the Frau loves even more than English. It's English spoken by non-native speakers. 

Oh, the joy that is a misplaced modifier. Oh, the excitement that is unfortunate verb choice. These little language lapses have no end in happiness for the Frau. So imagine her excitement to be in Paris two weeks ago (excitement also because it was her first weekend away from her baby ever and she planned on partying but in reality ended up sleeping) and to find this lovely note near the light switch at her bed and breakfast:

Please, switch of the light and radiators before living.

See what she means. One little Google-translated verb, one big fat laugh for the Frau. 

Anyone else love their native language even more after moving abroad?

What the French do during lunch

On a typical workday, while Americans are eating a Subway sandwich at their desk, the French are doing this:


They are learning to cook a gourmet meal and then eating their creations (complete with wine and espresso) at different cooking classes across Paris. And then, two hours later, they just head back to the office. C'est normal, n'est-ce pas?

I've come to the conclusion that we as Americans are doing something wrong. You?

Paris: Fashion, Glamour, and Poop

I love Paris, but Switzerland isn’t helping matters. The longer I live in Switzerland, the harder and harder it is to travel anywhere, particularly a place known for being littered in dog poop.

While Swiss Tourism just ran an ad, jokingly claiming they even clean bird poop from mountains, the French, on the other hand, don’t bother cleaning much of anything—bird, dog, and horse poop included. It’s everywhere. And I find it amazing that a culture so concerned with appearances and filled with manicured people and well-maintained parks can be so passive about poop.

I like to think it’s because the French culture is so creative that their heads are simply in the clouds but really, this kind of attitude doesn’t do much for the glamour on the streets because from my experience, in under two days, any kind of footwear fashion statement will turn a dark shade of gray.

Still, a little (or even a lot) of poop isn’t going to stop me from going to Paris and they know it. Thus, the cliché of April in Paris still charmed me, dirty shoes and all. Because when one is rewarded by flowering trees, grand buildings, and colorful carousels, they have no reason to look down and think that maybe that nice soft ground they’re standing on is anything but a lush patch of grass.

American Tourists in Paris

Whenever I see American tourists in Europe I am always amazed at how bold they are. Yesterday, while sitting on a bench near the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, I overheard an American mother telling her tween daughters, “Now don’t be shy. French boys love to have their photo taken with American girls.”

I’m thinking: Since when? And how is this woman so confident about that?

Then the mother asks the guy sitting on the bench next to me if he wouldn’t mind having his photo taken with her girls. And of course she asks in English. Assuming the guy even speaks it.

“But I’m not French,” he says, obviously having listened to their earlier conversation like I had.

“Doesn’t matter,” the mother says, pushing her girls to stand next to him.

“I’m from Denmark,” the guy protests in perfect English. Then he stands and smiles with her girls.

The mother takes the photo.

“We’re from California and we’re heading to Euro Disney tomorrow,” she says, like he would care.

“It’s a lot smaller than the one in Florida,” says the Danish guy, “I’ve been to both.”

Danish guys are really nice.

But I still wish these kinds of American tourists would go home and stop assuming the world loves their presence. They are an embarrassment to the rest of us who know better.

Cheap Hotel in Paris

My husband likes to make fun of me because I'm a cheap person. But it's actually something I thrive on--and thank goodness because it's inherited so I have no choice. I come from a family of savers. (Imagine that, savers in America.) But it's true. I grew up in a one car family. And if that doesn't tell you how cheap my family is, I don't know what does.

So naturally I love the rush that comes from getting something great for little. It gives me satisfaction like nothing else. And it's much harder to achieve in Europe. So victory is that much sweeter when it does happen.

Here is one of my most recent victories. The view from my room at the Ibis Paris Montmartre hotel. 85 Euro a night ($118). And what a view. I almost crawled out the 9th floor window in admiration.



Top that, Mr. Spendthrift.

For Sale in Paris

Forget mini Eiffel Towers, this is what's hot in the Paris tourist shops.

Giverny—the perfect day trip from Paris

After going to Paris for the fourth time, it was time to start exploring a bit outside the city. Since I’ve been wanting to see Monet’s garden and the weather cooperated, my husband and I took the train from Paris St. Lazare to Vernon (about 45 minutes, 25 Euro round-trip) and then rented bikes (12 Euro) from the café across from the train station and rode over the Seine for an easy (read: flat and paved) 3-mile path to Giverny. (There is also a bus that meets the trains, 4 Euro round trip).

Despite the tourists, Monet’s garden (entrance 5,50 Euro, open April-October) was beautiful. There were rows and rows of flowers higher than our heads, even in late September. The sun was so bright that it was hard to take photos, but I will post some soon.

The water lilies weren’t in bloom, but the lake in the Japanese garden, with its famous green bridges, was something to see, even if you had to do it by fighting tourists over a free space on the bridge to have your photo taken.

Monet’s pink, green-shuttered house overlooked it all. Waking up with those views must have been able to convert even someone like me into a morning person. Most of his rooms were painted a bright, turquoise blue, but his dining room was yellow and kitchen had royal blue tiling. He had many Japanese prints; these must have been an inspiration in his work.

But it all made me wonder who kept up the garden and where he got all this money. Apparently by the time he moved to Giverny in 1883, his dealer was able to start selling his paintings and so his fortunes increased around 1890 (at age 50) and he was able to buy the house and gardens that we visited, which opened to the public in 1980.

Other highlights in Giverny include:

The gardens at the American Art Museum. Each one was a different color scheme. My favorite was the yellow garden, followed by the white. They also had the famous haystacks in the grassy backyard.

The Hôtel Baudy is a great spot for a lunch break (About 15 Euro a plate, very fresh food, with entrees like warm goat cheese salad and duck omelets). They have a shady garden with outdoor seating. It used to be a meeting place for artists and there is still an old garden studio in the back.

Monet’s grave. The church in Giverny is currently being restored and is closed.

The European Anti-Smoking Trend. Now in Paris and Zurich.

Paris is smoke-free now. Almost. There is no smoking allowed in cafes and restaurants and none allowed in our hotel either.

But now there are no sidewalks. All the smokers stand or sit outside at the cafes, so Paris just got ten times harder to stroll in. I guess there's no way for things to be perfect, and I'm not complaining, but boy, I don't know how many times I had to resort to stepping into the constantly wet and trashy gutters not to mention who knows how much gas is now wasted powering space heaters for all the additional cramped seating outside.

On the bright side, there was not as much dog poop around either, although the city still tends to smell like pee. But one thing at a time I guess.

There seemed to be less trash as well, although I noticed that very Parisian trend of people eating a snack and then throwing the wrappers on the ground is still alive and well.

Last night, while eating dinner in the Gare Est in Paris and waiting for our delayed (retard and not so vitesse after all) TGV train, there were announcements in French, English, and German that no smoking was allowed in the train station. This must have recently been decided, as there were signs on the tracks as well.

It was so wonderful. I could actually eat my sandwich without ingesting smoke at the same time. The air was so, so clear.

As anyone used to the main station in Zurich knows, this is something to relish.

And what do you know, I come home to find out that the Swiss voted to ban smoking in Zurich restaurants and cafes! I am overjoyed. I didn't think it would pass yesterday, so I even wrote that it didn't in my travel writing assignment that was due on Friday.

But the Swiss have surprised me for the better. Amazingly better. In Zurich, there were 168,780 total votes for the smoking ban, and 129,534 voted to stop the madness!

Now if they could just ban it in the main station life would be about perfect for the non-smoker.

The Bread Oven Room

As we are planning a short trip to Paris with possibly a to visit Monet's Garden (my idea of course), I have been looking for places to stay in the Vernon area, which is 45 minutes outside of Paris. This email is one of the best I've ever received from a B&B. It helps if you have a small knowledge of French. Here is is the reply I received last night:

Dear XXX

Thank you for your message,
I have the bread oven room available for the 2 nights.
The price is 80 euros per night for 2 persons included breakfast.
I wait for your confirmation.

Sincerely.
Mrs Pain


In case you're still wondering what the heck is so funny, it's the name, Mrs Pain (which means "bread" in French), commenting about her bread oven room. I almost feel like I'm part of a fairy tale here, maybe a French version of Hansel and Gretel would be most appropriate.