Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - December 2002 - Volume 9, Number 12
Copyright (c) 2002 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
Vive les Fètes:
A Moroccan Vacation, A Week-End in Lyons, and Thanksgiving and Christmas in
Paris
Autumn gives way to winter and as the leaves fall and the colors fade,
Parisians alternate between resigning themselves to the Paris winter or
embracing it.
I say "resigning" themselves because winter in Paris is not winter in
Montreal or New York City where you get blue skies and enticing white snow.
No, the color of a Paris winter is predominantly gray-gray skies, gray
trees, gray buildings. People's complexions even start to take on a gray
tone! Gray, gray, gray.
And yet, for all that, one can embrace the Paris winter. I think of the end
of the day, around 6, when the sun is gone and the street lamps go on.
Cafés and boutiques and food stalls are all lighted up and doing brisk
business and there's something magical about being out and about.
This is indeed the time of day I like to go out, even if I've been inside
all day. I'll stop by at Ali's, the Egyptian-Tunisian news vendor whose
store is a veritable neighborhood meeting place. I highly suspect 80
percent of his clients buy their newspapers there just to have a little chat
with this eternally good-humored soul. I know I do.
Depending on the day, I'll then either do a bit of shopping for dinner or
take my newspaper and repair to a café. I like this kind of "silent
socializing"-being around people, observing, reading my paper. For me, it's
a very Parisian way to end my day.
But Paris in November can get you down as well. Too much cold rain, too
many leaden skies. It's time to get out!
Since we hadn't taken any summer vacation, my husband and I were desperate
to head to a warmer clime. After much deliberation, we settled on Morocco.
Morocco is a favorite destination for the French, in fact. A French
protectorate from the 1912 to 1956 when it gained its independence, the
majority of Morocco's inhabitants speak French and many French people either
own second homes there or run "riads" (the name for typical Moroccan houses
giving out onto an interior patio). The climate in November is perfect -
blue skies, cool but not cold.
We decided to rent a car and visit the cities of Essaouira, formerly
Mogador, on the Atlantic coast, Marrakesh, Ouarzazate and Zagora in the
south. A little bit of coast, one major city inland, and two towns right
before the Sahara Desert. We stayed in "riads" in all these places. Most
of the ones we stayed in were owned and run by French people and in addition
to the charm of offering guests a peek into what a typical Moroccan place is
like, included such modern conveniences as hot water and heating (important
in Morocco in November). Coming from France, one is picky about food but
not to worry in Morocco where the Mediterranean diet of fruits and
vegetables reigns. We had some of the most well-prepared lamb ever in a
restaurant in Marrakesh run entirely by.... women. This may not be a major
phenomenon elsewhere but in a Muslim country it makes one sit up and take
notice. Not only were they women, but they weren't veiled, Morocco being a
progressive Muslim country in which some women wear the veil and some don't.
Other surprises were in store. When you're from a rich Western
civilization, you take things like paved roads, good sewage systems and
garbage collection for granted. When you visit a country like Morocco, you
are immediately struck by the contrast between state-of-the-art highways and
muddy roads in towns where the principal mode of transportation is the
donkey. To get to some of the riads we stayed in, we walked or drove down
mud paths strewn with old plastic bags and other detritus. Just as we would
be turning up our noses and deciding to head toward the local Hilton, we
would find the sought after door, knock on it, and enter an environment
straight from the Arabian Nights - incense burning in the entryway,
beautiful tiles and ironwork and copper and rugs and soft southern colors of
different shades of ochres and pinks and greens you'd never find in a
northern clime. This is one of the many reasons Marrakesh in particular is
a favorite with the French "jet set", among them the now-retired French
fashion designer Yves St. Laurent who has had a home there for many years.
Our visit coincided with Ramadan, the Muslim holiday in which the faithful
fast from sunrise to sunset. In Marrakesh, we watched in amazement as the
streets of this town of 736,000 inhabitants literally emptied after the
siren went off at sunset. Everyone just vanished, returning home to break
the fast with a meal consisting of harira, a traditional Moroccan vegetable
soup, hard-boiled eggs and dates and crepes and other sweets.
We tourists had no trouble finding food, though. Once I asked a waiter if
it didn't bother him to have to look at and smell the food he was serving
when he hadn't eaten all day long. He replied that it was ok, he'd eaten for
eleven months of the year and would eat that night and that it was "good to
know how people who have nothing to eat feel when their stomachs are empty."
I thought about that comment when we returned to Paris just in time for
Thanksgiving dinner, an occasion on which are stomachs are certainly
everything but empty. Each year it's a toss-up as to who, among our
friends, is going to devote himself or herself to the task. This year it
turned out to be a French friend whose American boyfriend, a Texan, is, like
me, fanatically attached to this American holiday. She graciously offered
to hostess the affair and make the turkey and stuffing. The rest of us
brought the other goodies, sweet potatoes, wild rice, brussels sprouts (this
was brought by an English friend and I'm not so sure it's really typical but
at least it brought a green element), cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, lemon
pie... The works!
As if this foodfest was not enough, it just happened that a day later, my
husband's 35th year class reunion took place in Lyons. Three more days of
intensive food! And Lyonnais food is anything but light! On the first
night of the reunion, we dined at Les Muses, a restaurant on the top of the
Opera of Lyons with a smashing view of the Lyonnais skyline, in particular
the basilica of La Fourvière which looks somewhat like Paris's Sacre-Coeur.
The second day we walked all over the city with a guide (Lyons is well worth
a visit and only two hours from Paris on the TGV) and ended up at a
well-known brasserie for lunch which started at 1 and ended at 4 - and two
hours later, we had to be ready to go to the school's Gala where we (you
guessed it) spent another five or six hours eating and drinking! We did
however manage to squeeze in visits to the magnificent Textile Museum, the
Silk Museum and Natural History Museum as well as a walk in the beautiful
Golden Head Park so all was not lost.
And now it's time for Christmas in Paris. Many readers ask me what
Christmas in Paris is like and what there is to do. Without being negative,
my honest reply is that Christmas in Paris weatherwise is often cold and
gray and rainy. However, the big department stores are lit up with
wonderful decorations, there are concerts in churches (if you can get to
midnight Mass at Notre Dame on Christmas Eve, that alone is worth the
journey) and the store windows are so tantalizingly and beautifully
decorated you'll want to buy everything in them.
However, a word of warning about Christmas Eve - most French people are
en famille so eating at a restaurant isn't be the easiest thing to do. And for
New Year's Eve, the prices rise sky high. Some American friends of ours
reserved (from the States) a table at a very expensive restaurant. When
they arrived were surprised to see that there was no menu - or prices
listed. And so they were served a marvelous repast complete with champagne
and fine wines and succulent food and all went well until they received the
bill at the end. Astronomical!! But they hadn't asked and didn't know the
custom which is that on New Year's Eve, almost all restaurants offer a set
menu at a fixed price which is generally twice as much as during the year
because you're being served the best of everything.
So if you plan on dining out on New Year's Eve: don't be shy: ask the price
of the menu BEFORE you go. Forewarned is forearmed - and ever so good for
the digestion.
As for me, well, hey, Christmas is one more eating occasion! I just hope
that the famous French paradox is going to kick in and I'll remain slim and
healthy while imbibing wine and eating my foie gras. Fat chance? Stay
tuned.
Harriet Welty-Rochefort, is the author of
French Toast: An American in Paris
Celebrates the Maddening Mysteries of the French and
French Fried: The Cu
linary Capers of an American in
Paris.
Both are published by St. Martin's Press.
For more of Harriet's prose on Paris, check out her
website.
If you've had some funny, startling, satisfying, or dismaying
food experiences in France you'd like to share,
you may contact Harriet directly at
harriet.welty@hwelty.com.
Editor's Note:
Dear Readers, while our writers are always
delighted to hear and to receive comments, both about their columns in the The Paris Kiosque,
as well as your experiences in Paris,
they are unable to answer any requests
for travel information.
Thank you for your understanding.
Your Hotel In Paris