-from “A Blessing” by James Wright

Lake and ambitious flowers at the Parc Floral, Paris

This past weekend I stumbled into the Parc Floral. It was something of a spontaneous trip; it was not the original destination, but then it just appeared.

It seemed a bit of serendipity, too, as it had been suggested by the winner of the Quiet Paris giveaway. (Thank you everyone for entering and for your great ideas!) I’ve been to the Bois de Vincennes before, but for some reason never wandered to that part.

It was indeed quiet – an oasis! I think it may have helped that it was chilly again (witness the winter clothes in the photos) so not many people were out. Add that to the tips for finding tranquility: brave the gray and cold!

Presenting the Parc Floral de Paris

Despite the weather, I do feel as if I’m blooming again. So many new things are happening; I’m holding tight to see how things evolve.

Last week I started a new job; it’s only a short-term contract for a couple months, but I’m full time in an office again. It’s been a few years! I’m excited about the content project, but I see long days ahead. Because of course as soon as I’m back to the 9-5 I have a million creative projects clamoring for my love.

May is a great time to start work, though – there are four holidays in the month! First one is tomorrow. Vive la France!

And so, already the weekend, and what a wonderful surprise it turned out to be. I went wandering with my new beau (yes! more newness!) and think the Parc Floral may now be a favorite.

It was lovely and lush, even with full spring still lagging behind. My favorite part: the trees. At certain moments I felt as if I were in a magical forest.

There were waterfalls and waterfowl, totems and bonsai trees. Even peacocks which I never knew sound like strange distressed cats (meow!)

The waterfall is best seen on the *other* side.

A couple performers heading toward the Cercle des Artistes

Meow!

Bonsai!

Art gallery in the park

Art imitating life…or vice versa.

Smelling the roses (or rather a random fallen flower I found on the bench)

A ride in the woods

The city dropped away; I didn’t even feel like I was in Paris.

Oh, and dear readers, sometimes that’s exactly what I need!

Total peace. I will be back!

The long walks I alluded to last post obviously bring even more joy now.

In a bout of perfect timing, I also received a new guidebook that champions the wandering approach. The introduction to Siobhan Wall’s Quiet Paris has her musing: “walking around, I wondered whether we are now less familiar with losing our way and coming across places by benign accident rather than preordained design.”

Wall seeks the calmer side to cities, you see, places off the beaten track. Previously she has produced Quiet London and Quiet Amsterdam. But is it really possible to escape the hustle and bustle in Paris, the world’s most popular tourist destination?

I always approach anything promising a “secret” City of Light with a slice of skepticism. Luckily, this sweet little pocket guide soon swiped away any hesitation. It delivers.

While some old standbys certainly appear (the elevated leafy walkway known as the Promenade Plantee was packed this weekend, for instance; ditto, I imagine, Parc Buttes Chaumont), plenty of entries were new to me (the Musee Bourdelle in the fifteenth? The Bibliotheque Marguerite Durand devoted to French women and feminism?)

Author Siobhan Wall

After the elegant intro, the guide is divided into 12 sections: museums, libraries, parks & gardens, places to relax, places to worship, shops, restaurants, cafes, bookshops, galleries, cultural centers, and places to stay. At the end is a handy index of places by arrondissement. There are more than 120 listings in all.

Each entry is composed of a tempting photograph, a few lines of practical information, and a one-paragraph description. A simple formula, but one that works.

Suddenly I’m wondering whether to check out silent meeting at the Centre Quaker International (I attended a Quaker college) or try out the Wednesday night mediation at the Buddhist Centre Kalachakra. I will of course visit all the parks & hidden squares. A friend actually pointed me to a lovely one in the Marais this weekend that I had never seen before and asked that I not share the secret too widely. I found it in the book.

Wall is a writer and artist who has lectured on photography, cultural studies, and fine art, so she’s particularly good on those fronts. The book offers addresses for tea shops to boutiques, reading rooms to flowery gardens. It’s nice to be reminded of so many possibilities. And to discover new ones.

Now to slow down and enjoy them.

Solo time by the Seine.

WIN A FREE COPY OF QUIET PARIS! Just leave a comment by Sunday April 21, 4 PM EST, to be entered in the random drawing. Why not tell me your favorite quiet place in Paris? Or let me know what kinds of things you’d like to see me explore on the blog. (Will you send me on a quest to find all the squares?) Of course, you can simply say you want a copy of the book.

The publisher has also set up a discount offer for my readers in the UK. To order Quiet Paris at the special offer price of £10.00 including free UK postage and packaging (RRP: £12.99), please call Bookpoint on 01235 400 400 and quote the code 46PARIS.

American readers can find the book here.

And those in France here.

Good luck!

Taking it all in at the Tuileries.

(Last two images are my own from a stroll today, not connected to the book. But I thought they fit!)

UPDATE! Congratulations to Nina for winning a free copy of Quiet Paris! Thanks to all who entered for your great comments!

A rainy weekend in late November 2005.

At that time, I didn’t know the gray of the sky was semi-permanent, that the drab monotony even had a name (la grisaille). I did intuit, however, that the city always looked beautiful anyway.

A transport strike (another common feature, I would learn) was in full swing and so I arrived into central Paris only after a chaotic RER and metro ride.

But out I finally popped onto Rue de Rivoli, the Hotel de Ville lit bright by early holiday lights. Beautiful. There’s that word again. I was overcome by my first sight.

Skaters at Hotel de Ville

I couldn’t stand transfixed for too long, though; the accommodation I had booked didn’t allow check-ins after a certain hour; due to the strike I was already late.

I had no map, no smartphone. Instead I held simple phrases written phonetically and the naive belief that these would get me to where I needed to be.

I soon learned that stopping people on the street – Bonjour, Madame! See voo play! – did not translate so well. Most people gave me strange looks. Many walked away before I had finished struggling through my sentence. Roo Duh Bars! No one knows eww sa troove Roo Duh Bars!

Of course I realize that no one had the faintest idea what on earth I was trying to say.

To my credit, I stumbled across Rue de Barres myself – it was a small side street not that easy to find.

The MIJE youth hostel was housed in a former monastery from the thirteenth century. The tall, heavy doors were already shut when I arrived. Between some combination of gestures and pleading about the trains they agreed to let me in and I settled into my monastic room (a strange choice, on second thought).

That weekend saw a mixture of confusion and isolation, sensuality and rapture. At one point I was crossing a bridge across the Seine, near Notre Dame. The cold had snuck into my bones and the falling rain soaked me further.

“I would gladly suffer here,” I thought, looking down at the river, up at the Gothic cathedral, all around at the cobblestones and light. It would be a beautiful suffering.

How serious! How silly! Did you know I can be quite the earnest soul? I laughed at myself, too – I’m rarely too far gone to forget that. And yet, it was lodged there, the feeling, and how prescient it was, too.

There have been a lot of articles in the press lately about the glum outlook of the French. I first caught sight of this trend in The Guardian, with a headline proclaiming “The French are ‘taught to be gloomy by their culture.’” An image of Edith Piaf accompanied the text as a picture of iconic Gallic gloom.

Next came a New Yorker piece which countered the argument, though in a sidelong fashion: Glad to be Unhappy (emphasis mine).

Finally an article in the Financial Times by the French researcher herself, Claudia Senik, whose study was stirring all the frenzy. “Why are the French so miserable?” she began.

There is no easy answer to that – and is it even true? are they miserable? – but something about seeing these ideas swirling around actually comforted me. So I’m not completely crazy.

When I first moved here I ran into many longtime expats speaking bitterly about Paris. In one such conversation – I remember it clearly in front of Shakespeare & Co – a writer said he was decamping to Sweden because he actually felt happy there. “I’m tired of hating where I live.”

I remember being almost physically repulsed by the negativity, wondering why people complained so much about a place they had chosen, a place where they stayed. (Besides the Swedish decamper, I know many grumblers who remain).

Now, however, I sometimes battle becoming a grumbler myself. No matter how hard I focus on gratitude (because I do! I am grateful!), I still have these moments where I feel this city – oh, city of light – dragging me deep into darkness.

A recent WIN-Gallup poll found the French’ expectations for the coming year rank lower than those in Iraq or Afghanistan. Suicide rates are high, the primary cause of death among people my age. The use of psychoactive drugs is staggering; so many feel they need chemically to alter their mood.

How does one remain upbeat with all of the negative energy? Can one not feel this invisible force all around?

Senik is a professor at the Paris School of Economics and she argues that the cause of this unhappiness is cultural and due in part to the education system. The New Yorker piece questions whether it’s the language of happiness that eludes, not happiness itself. It offers connections between rhetorical pessimism and collective discontent while also acknowledging the French kind of enjoy “self-affirming unhappiness” (think joie de malheur, not joie de vivre).

While all these hypotheses are interesting – and admittedly I see the truth in a lot of them! – I was most struck by this sentence in the Guardian, and obviously for selfish reasons. “The longer immigrants live in France and become part of its society, the less happy they claim to be.”

Yes, this struck a chord with me.

Last summer you might remember how thoroughly taken I was with Barcelona – that the sun and Spanish and the seaside revived me. That may all sound like vacation, but I worked very hard while I was there.

The revelation wasn’t just how much better I felt, though. It was how clearly others who know me sensed it, as well.

“There she is,” one of my best friends said. “Happy Sion.”

As if “happy Sion” had all but disappeared.

The most disconcerting aspect of this peculiar struggle is perhaps the resignation – something about living in Paris zaps a vital force. And yet I quietly accepted it?

Why is this? And so why do I insist on staying? What is the pull? There is certainly some spell because I am not the only one to experience this powerful phenomenon.

I’ve taken a few long walks in the past week. Where normally I might hop on the metro, I have walked 45 minutes, an hour, to get to my destination. It’s not always practical, sure, but it grounds me in that knowledge again – of the beauty here and how it can seep into the soul, too.

Beautiful suffering. My first ever impression of Paris. What if I focused on beauty more than suffering? Must they really be intertwined?

On my walks I pass bakeries and the smell of fresh bread wafts through the air. There is the warm glow of brasseries; I spy friends and couples and families gathered over good meals. Men crowd at comptoirs, well-heeled women push strollers. Cute boutiques, contemporary art. I am closer to the beating heart. I see so many things to admire.

I look at some recent photos, too, shot this weekend in Pere Lachaise. I see my essential self is still in there even if she’s gotten buried a little far beneath.

Wide-eyed in wonder.

Head thrown back with abandon. Wild, sheer delight.

I am still me.

And so I’ll keep sorting through all these feelings, these questions of culture and place and life. But remind myself that yes, I’m so, so lucky. The sun bursts through from the overcast sky at times. Rare, yes, but it means we appreciate it all the more for its appearance. Look up and exclaim: My! It’s so bright!

To the marvels and the future. Flares of hope, love, light still burn.

When I returned in the New Year, the scaffolding had transformed into steps and an illuminated walkway. The shape was complete, but an air of mystery remained.

I soon learned that the new buzz around Notre Dame denoted an anniversary. 2013 marks 850 years of the cathedral, in fact!

Excitement spread as nine new bells arrived, the largest, named Mary, coming in at six and a half tons (6000 kilograms). The new bronze beauties will chime for the first time next Sunday, March 23 for Palm Sunday.

I didn’t see the bells while they were on display, but I was struck by the large questions lining the side of the walkway as one ascends toward the cathedral.

Why was I created?

What is my relationship with others?

Why am I unique?

It’s been exactly a month since I updated the blog. Big questions like these above have been filling my mind, you see. Purpose, meaning, art, work, money, place, love. The ground is shifting; I am in one of those times of reevaluation, re-envisioning.

Often it’s helpful for me to bounce ideas off of others, to share the questions, to speak aloud the journey.

Sometimes, though, silence and sitting with oneself in quiet reflection is what is truly called for. Honing in so you can hear just the one voice – your own.

And so, that is what I am doing, friends, why I am less vocal here. I am trying to figure things out.

So scary and uncomfortable, uncertainty, but also what rich terrain to explore!

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

That quote by Mary Oliver often guides me during times like these.

Let me know what you’re doing with your one wild and precious life, friends. I miss you, even if I appear in your inboxes less often.

Someone shared this video with me recently. Flares are everywhere. I see them. I feel hope.

Speak to me of the flares let loose in the sky.

Love and light,
Sion

One of my favorite things in the world is to play matchmaker.

I’m not responsible for any romantic connections, mind you. But I have fixed up a fair number of friends. A flair for platonic pairings, if you will.

Ah, you’re interested in X? So is my friend Y. Let me introduce you two!

I love putting people together who I think might click.

Not long ago, I introduced my screenwriter/actress friend Jennifer to Alexis, a director/writer, recently moved to Paris from LA. Though I had only met Alexis once before, I knew the alchemy was right for a rendezvous. I arranged that we all go to a vernissage together. (And then eat cheeseburgers afterward. Le classe!)

Long story short, I knew Jennifer and Alexis might hit it off, but I had no idea how much. The past month they (and now a whole cast and crew!) have been hard at work on a new project.

L’Amour (or less…) is a web series that explores what happens when people from two different cultures try to make a romantic connection. Each episode features re-enactments of actual dates between expatriates and the French. Some of the true stories are charming, some are distinctly not, and some are just bizarre.

Let their video here tell you more:

Fittingly, they launched L’Amour (or less…) live in Paris on Valentine’s Day. If you want to see this web series get made, head over to their kickstarter page. They’ve written 12 episodes already, but need some funds to bring the stories to the screen. Why not show them some love?

L’Amour (or less…) kickstarter page.
And the website.

Seeing people go for it; yes this is another one of my favorite things. The idea to collaborate on L’Amour (or less…) sprouted just at the start of January; Jennifer and Alexis have been running full steam ahead ever since. In only a little over a month they’ve assembled a host of talented folks, shot all over the City of Light, and written episodes which I can’t wait to actually see. Kind of dizzying all the activity!

These two remind me: you can decide to just do it. Oh, and I’m reminded, too, of the delight of serendipity. (My favorite word). Of bringing people together. The beauty of momentum. The power of putting your all into a dream.

Now if that’s not a love story, I don’t know what is.

Let’s celebrate love in ALL its forms today. And everyday!

We can love each other, our lover, our friends, our family. How about loving ourselves, too?

Beautiful moments, alone or shared.

Big bisous, friends. I consider you all my Valentines.

And now I know what to do when I’m scared.

Not every new year feels particularly, well, new, but this one truly does. So much is shifting in my life right now. I think it’s all for the good and I’m mostly excited by all the changes – and completely fascinated to find out where I eventually land.

Sometimes it’s easy to get a little scared when the ground is slippery, though.

And so, what a welcome delight to find this treasure today. Thanks to Numero Cinq for posting and drawing my attention to it.

Creativity, imagination, young wisdom, the ancient wisdom we know in our hearts, overcoming fright, chocolate chip cookies. Could you really ask for anything more?

Enjoy!

Before his first novel, If Only It Were True, was published in the U.S., Steven Spielberg acquired the film rights for DreamWorks. The subsequent movie,  Just like Heaven, starring Reese Witherspoon and Mark Ruffalo, became a #1 box office hit.

Since that introduction US readers haven’t had easy access to the rest of Levy’s work, however. That is, until now.

International e-book publisher Versilio is now releasing the English translations of Marc Levy’s novels. To celebrate, they’re also running a sweepstakes. First prize is a long weekend in Paris for two, including roundtrip airfare and hotel. I thought y’all might like to know about that!

Other prizes include an iPad loaded with Marc’s novels. To be entered to win, participants need to answer 5 questions about Marc Levy’s novel All Those Things We Never Said by February 10. Winners will be announced on Valentine’s Day. Head over here to enter!

I’m pleased that the publisher is also offering a free ebook to a lucky paris (im)perfect reader specifically. (That’s you!)

To enter to win a free ebook, just leave a comment by 10 AM EST February 10. I’ll draw a name at random and get your free promo code to you! (Even if you don’t have an ereader, you’ll be able to download the book to your computer, so feel free to enter.) Good luck!

**Please note the comments below are only for the chance to win the ebook. To enter for a chance to win the trip to Paris, head over to Marc Levy’s fan page.**

The past weekend saw Paris covered in snow. It may be gone now, but for a few glorious days, the city was transformed. It’s the biggest snow I can remember.

Here are a few pictures:

More than a light dusting at the Louvre

Alexandre III Bridge in the snow

Invalides

Near the Eiffel Tower

Near Trocadero

St-Germain-l’Auxerrois

Ok, obviously this isn’t snow. But I went *inside* the Louvre for the first time in years. Holy cow! Yeah, it’s beautiful, too! This is just the ceiling in the Italian wing!

Nation

My ‘hood in the snow

I’ll end how I started:

The iron lady

Hope you’re staying warm!

Well, at least last night, though all evidence is already gone.

I’ve come from 11 days in Vermont where people bat nary an eyelash at several inches of the white stuff (witness photos below), but in Paris even flurries are an event. As it’s a rare occurrence, it casts the city in a different glow.

The excitement of the cityscape seen in a new way also drives this video by Benjamin Trancart. By now, time-lapse photography projects of Paris aren’t a revelation (perhaps the most well-known is Le Flaneur, which I also posted on the blog here), but this one  manages to add a fresh spin with its surreal effects and music by Yasawas-Amon Tobin.

Plus, it took 100,000 photographs to create the video of less than 4 minutes; whatever you think, that’s dedication!

There’s more info on the video and director over on Untapped Cities if you’re interested. If you simply want to watch, though, stay put and enjoy!

(And to finish off, the promised photos of snow)

College Hall at Vermont College of Fine Arts. I spent 11 stimulating days attending many readings and lectures here!

To give a little perspective on depth. Yes, those are picnic tables buried under there.

I have no comparable pictures of Paris, I’m afraid. The usual rain came and washed it away!