Reeves Family Travels: Everyday Paris

I wrote this post while I was still in Paris, thinking I was going to return to Paris and add final details. With Paris' sudden end, I'll post it now:

Right now I am at the Laundromat, doing four loads of wash. We have a washer in our apartment, but this is so much easier. For reasons that I can’t explain, the typical euro-washer that has been in most of our apartments takes about two hours to complete a thorough wash cycle. And because of the size of these euro-washers in our apartments, it would take about 16 straight hours to get through four normal-size loads of Laundry. I’ll pay 3.50 a load any time to get this done commercially at the local Laundromat in 45 minutes. That is a much better use of my tourist time.

Speaking of chores, I have generally enjoyed doing “normal” things on this trip. Yes, we came for the sights (and Europe has a lifetime of those), but we also came for the experience of living—though briefly—in a foreign land. And there are few better ways to experience a city than to do laundry, get a haircut, buy a local cell phone or SIM Card, shop at the grocery store, and eat at “neighborhood,” non-touristy restaurants.

My favorite moments in Paris so far were last Friday and Saturday nights when Lisa and I left the girls at home (Sam and Jeffrey were in Germany visiting their friend Charlotte). We found two great restaurants with the help of TripAdvisor.com. There’s no better international resource that I know of to help locate great places to eat. From our apartment, we used TripAdvisor’s “Near Me Now” function to locate restaurants within 5-10 minutes of our location. The results usually return hundreds of options, most of which include ratings and reviews from regular people. You can’t always trust the star-rating (as a 5-star rated place with three reviews doesn’t give you any statistical confidence that the place is any good), so you want to look for places with as many reviews as possible. Thankfully, we found two places near us that came with 100+ reviews and whose average rating was 4.5 stars.

Our first restaurant was quintessential French: dark, small, rustic, wood-beamed, colorful pictures and paintings all over the walls. It had no exterior seating, perhaps because the exterior wasn’t pretty. It was across the street from some ugly municipal building. Locals don’t come here for the view; they come here for the food. We had a delightful two-course meal with a killer salad with shrimp and grapefruit (I hate grapefruit, mind you).

The next night we ate at a place that was even a step up from the previous night. Like the previous restaurant I mentioned, this too was on a quiet street with no view, although it did contain outdoor seating, which was nice. Regardless of the view, eating outside in Paris in the summer is always a treat. We were treated to a five-course meal, which sounds like a lot, but each course was a small but perfectly-sized portion of something that tasted completely different from the previous course. It was one of those meals that you try to eat slowly (not easy for me as I typically inhale my food). At 40 euros per person (which includes tip and tax), this was a bargain.

Speaking of tipping, you generally don’t need to tip much in Paris, or in most of Europe. The tip is typically included in the price (in other words, they pay their servers a wage that allows them to survive without tips). You can always round up and give a little extra, but American-style tipping of 15-20% is just not necessary here. That is one of the reasons that restaurant food seems so expensive here. You have to remember that tax and tip are already in your price, so reduce the price by about 27% to make a real comparison with the price of restaurant food in the states.

Back to the narrative. We had another delightful food experience on Saturday. We visited a place in the Latin Quarter (famous for its charm and history) called Don Lucas, a newly opened Spanish-style deli that is owned by a member of the LDS ward that we’ve been attending in Paris. We were going just to be nice. We left having one of the best food-experiences of our trip.

As our host seated us on the terrace outside his shop, we told him, “Just bring us whatever you feel like making.” A few minutes later he plopped down a plate of what looked like anchovies and a bowl of mussels that, well, didn’t exactly look appetizing. The skin was still on the fish, and while I like mild-tasting (white meat-based) seafood, fish still in its skin has never appealed to me.

Moments after he plopped the fish down in front of me, I knew I couldn’t hesitate. I’ve always taught my kids: “if someone feeds you, you eat whatever they give you. It won’t kill you.” I had to lead out—and quickly. I stabbed the first fish through the skin and quickly inserted it into my mouth.

I didn’t vomit.

In fact, I loved it. It was some sort of tuna, and with a touch of sweet, thick balsamic sauce drizzled over the top, it was superb. I had another. Apparently, that set the tone, and Daphne, who isn’t exactly an adventurous eater, dove in, and did the same. Her response: “That’s good!” We then tried the mussels, which were divine. Even Abby—without a doubt our most picky eater—was inspired and tried the fish. If you know her eating habits—she doesn’t like anything with “spots” on it—the fact that she tried the fish shows how contagious our enthusiasm was for what we were eating. When she put the fish into her mouth, and took the first few chews, it almost came up, but she kept chewing, and then frantically reached for the water. She found and gulped down at least a cup’s worth, trying to wash the fish down as fast as possible. The fact that she didn’t spit it out—something she hasn’t been afraid to do in the past—when she didn’t like it shows that she probably didn’t want to disappoint us because she could tell we were enjoying it so much. Pictures below.

Our host then brought out some Spanish cheese, sharp and dry, and perfectly complimentary with the divinely baked-bread and meat he brought with it. The meat came from the pig leg that has been sitting in a vice on the front counter in the store for a few weeks. The leg had been specially cured for 42 months prior to leaving Spain.

After the meal, at our request, our host shared how the curing process works for his meats. We asked him a few questions about his business: how it was fairing, whether he planned to open other locations, etc.

One of the treats of our trip has been to go to church. At Church, you meet normal, everyday people who are not travelling, and who have real lives in the places you’re visiting. You also meet fellow travelers and have a chance to exchange stories and places to see.

Daphne, who initially was a little irritated that we had decided to attend all three hours of church in a foreign country (after all, we won’t understand a word they say, she asked), ironically complained yesterday when she learned that we were not going to be able to attend all three hours this coming Sunday due to the time of our flight to Prague. She ended up loving going to Church in Paris, which is actually quite nice for an English speaker.

The Paris Ward is quite international. Though mostly French, the congregation consists of a substantial English-speaking constituency. Apparently, they welcome the bilingual nature of their ward. Last week they even asked me to give the opening prayer in Sacrament meeting. When a member of the bishopric approached me and mumbled something in French I responded with one of the two lines I know in French, “Je ne parl pa Francais” (sp). Undeterred, he grabbed a member next to me, who spoke English. He repeated his request to him, who then relayed his question to me: “He’s wondering if you would mind giving the opening prayer?” I accepted and gave the prayer in English. I must say that I felt a little odd doing so in a Paris Ward, but I suspect that about 75-80% of the congregation understood me.

Last week in our high priest group meeting, the lesson was given in English, and was translated into French. That was strange. That was due to the fact that the instructor, who teaches every other week, is an American working in Paris. The week before it was in French. Apparently, they trade off.

Getting around in Paris and most of Europe as an English speaker is a breeze. That said, for some reason it gives me anxiety that I can’t speak the language of the land I am in. I actually feel bad that I’m making these people speak my language. I can’t imagine living anywhere for an extended period of time, and NOT learning the language. It would drive me crazy.

Our time in Paris has been what we hoped it would be: for the first week with Coleman and my parents, we were in super-tourist mode, seeing all the famous sites (which I promise to write about soon). That part of Paris is wonderful: I’ve done it now three times, and I will do it again.

When my parents and Coleman left, we got to slow down and see, maybe, a site a day, or visit a park, or take a walk, or take a metro just to get ice cream. I didn’t feel as much internal pressure to make sure they were having a good time. That pressue was without question self-imposed, but it was there nonetheless.

Some days I stay home and work, and Lisa becomes tour guide. The pace of the vacation is perfect at this point, and we’re happy we chose to spend so much time in Paris, having as many “normal” and non-touristy experiences as possible.