I was thinking the other day of the differences between living in the States and living in France, just the everyday sort of things, a lot that have to do with food.

 When I think of my time in the States I remember sitting in traffic, buzzing along the many freeways, sitting stopped at yet another red light hearing Christmas music on the radio when it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. I found that many things tasted either too salty or too sweet. The desserts and the champagne were too sweet to my taste and crackers and snacks tasted too salty. We ate alot more ready made foods, such as frozen Mexican food. My mother even fixed an all ready baked beef roast from Costco which was really tasty.

 Back in Paris and most of my cooking is done with fresh vegetables, meat from the boucherie down the street, cheese bought from a fromagerie straight from some distant farm, unwrapped in plastic. I take the metro or a bus where ever I go, do much more walking, and am just now starting to see Christmas decorations, if you don’t count what the huge department stores have up. I often miss the convience of having grocery stores open just about all of the time. I must plan ahead to have everything we need for meals so I won’t find I don’t have something essential on a Sunday, even though you can always find a bakery open somewhere on Sundays-the French have to have their daily bread.

Both countries are great and I enjoy aspects of both of them. I miss many things-not counting family-from the States, the more mundane of which is American sports. As I said before, I think France feels like my home now but, if I should win the lottery, I will have a home in both countries. That would be perfect.

 The Marais, in the heart of Paris, has some of the most charming and beautiful areas and buildings in Paris. Here are just a few:

I love the color of this door. You see many double doors around Paris and, in fact, in Europe. The were made double to let carriages into the courtyard so the inhabitants of the house could get out and go into their entrance there. You will often find a charming courtyard behind these double doors although sometimes it is now used as the place where garbage cans are kept.

 The symbol of Paris is a ship. This is one of my favorite ships found at the entry into the Musee Carnavalet, where items having to do with the history of Paris can be seen.

 This victory angel is also inside a courtyard of the Carnavalet

 As is this formal little knot garden

 My name is Linda and I am a face cream addict. I have to stay out of the pharmacies here as they sell all sorts of skin products and I find it hard to pass up on any of them–and they are all expensive to boot. I was the first girl on my block, in 7th grade, to wear make-up, and my mother never went a day without it, so maybe that explains it. It is a constant source of amusement to my husband. He looks at my row of beauty supplies and asks what each one is for. It takes alot of work to get this “natural” look.

 Here are a few things in my bathroom, some of them samples. My mother, who has great skin, swears by Olay products, so I bought some on my last trip to the States. If all of this worked, I would have the skin of a 20 year old.

 Just a few other products I have for my body and hands.

This is my latest discovery. I use it to clean my face and it makes my skin really soft. I think alot of French women use it here. I get a large bottle for about 9 Euros. I saw it for sale on the Internet in the States for about $20. Ah, the price of beauty, even if it is an illusion. Something that makes me feel good.

 I can’t find any photos of hands or fingers

It seems to me that the French medical system uses massage therapy more than they do in the States. I did go to a physical therapist once in Texas for a painful hip but it did absolutely no good. I’ve never been one to go for massages but a few experiences recentally convinced me that it is a mighty good thing.

 No fingers here, either

 I had a really great massage in Thailand that lasted an hour and only cost about one dollar. I was tempted to get one every day but was too busy being a tourist. They can be really incredible-so relaxing.

Not even any arms

 So, I wasn’t very enthusiastic when my doctor sent me to a kine, a type of physical therapist, here in Paris. The first time was for a shoulder pain. The therapist, a man, turned out to be amazing. He got rid of the pain but, what was incredible to me, was what I am told is a reflexology “thing”. He stood at the end of the table, put his hands on my feet, closed his eyes and sort of listened but it was really more feeling pulses in my feet. He looked up and said, “Do you have trouble with your stomach?” I was amazed and said yes and asked him if he was psychic. He assures me that he isn’t but it was really sort of magic to me. His wife also does massages and she does the same thing but she doesn’t have his gift. Her massages never seem to be as affective.

A foot of Peter in a Montmartre church

 So now when a doctor tells me to go to a kine, I usually comply. I haven’t found one as good as the first therapist I went to in Paris, the one I just spoke of. I think he is one of a kind. He and his wife are unusual in that they go to Nepal once a year to work in a orphanage for a week. He gave Maurice and I a massage to do ourselves which is a circular massage on our stomachs which is supposed to relieve stress and wants us to go to a person in Aix to learn some stretches. We are both very “tonic” which, I think, means up tight. Not a surprise. 

You would think that because numbers in France are the same as in the States-we are talking the written numbers by the way-that there wouldn’t be much room for confusion for me. The problem comes in how the numbers are used.  For instance, in France, as well as the rest of Europe, floors are numbered differently. I live on the 4th floor if I am talking as an American but the 3rd floor if I am talking to a French person.

The calendars are different here. They start the week with Monday, not Sunday as I am used to in the States. I have to be very careful when I glance at our calendar and check the day. The last time I just casually looked at the date of an appointment I didn’t notice the day and ended up missing the whole thing.

Clocks are the same except they use military time here after noon. I was once an hour early to catch a train and spent my time cooling my heels waiting for the time to pass. At least I wasn’t an hour late. It is the little things that can get you.

 I love blogging and the whole new world that has opened up because of it-new friends, new interests, new connections. One of the things I love to do is to check the statistics of my blog and see not only how many visitors I have had but where they come from. The site I get the most visits from is from some sort of food site which, when I went to visit, is in a foreign language that I think is from Thailand. (If someone who came here from food.search-hp.com, please let me know your country.) Why they come to my blog I have no idea. I often post about food and favorite recipes so I’m guessing that is the reason.

 My statistics page also lists the phrase use to find my blog on search engines. I’m not surprised to see such things as, Christmas in France, Tarteflette recipe, Paris Photo Tours, Paris Meridian, or Lauderee Tea. But the most used phrase to find my blog? It’s UGLY CATS ! Why, I have no idea. In fact, I have never even written about ugly cats. I did a post once, writing as my cat, about ugly dogs which somehow, I think, lead to this. It’s a mystery.

 A few photos of cats and dogs, but not an ugly cat among them.

 This is my cat, Elliot. I think he’s cute.