“I was raped by Harvey Weinstein, here at Cannes. I was 21 years old.”
This is very moving and powerful. Bravo, Asia, for your courage.
“I was raped by Harvey Weinstein, here at Cannes. I was 21 years old.”
This is very moving and powerful. Bravo, Asia, for your courage.
Strolling along the boulevard de Courcelles in Paris’s 8th arrondissement, you are suddenly arrested by an unexpected and spectacular sight. Stopping in your tracks you exclaim, “Oh, my God!” (which is appropriate seeing as it’s a church). Not a church, actually, but a cathedral. The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral is a Russian Orthodox cathedral located at 12 rue Daru (or the foot of rue Pierre Le Grand). Established in 1861, it was the first Russian Orthodox place of worship in France. To visit, the nearest metro station is Ternes.
Guess who married here in July 1918? Pablo Picasso to Olga Khokhlova. The witnesses were Jean Cocteau, Max Jacob and Guillaume Apollinaire. When visitors to Paris ask me for out-of-the-way places to explore, I always suggest this area.
Cities are composed of villages, really, or pocket neighborhoods and one of my favorites is the district bordering the small and beautiful Parc Monceau. One reason I like it so is because it’s completely off the tourist grid. The people you see are mainly residents or, during the week, people who work there. There are some great shops, restaurants and a market street.
Yesterday I went to buy tea, flowers and macaroons. We’re enjoying perfect weather this weekend in Paris: 20 to 22 degrees with brilliant sunshine. Plus, it’s a 3-day weekend, Monday May 21st being the Christian holy day of Pentecost. From the Russian cathedral, I walked up the road to Mariage Frères, the temple of tea located at 260 Faubourg Saint-Honoré (there are other locations dotted around the city.) I bought 100 grams of Marco Polo tea for 9 euros. There’s a restaurant-tea salon inside, but it’s too expensive for my pocketbook.
Directly across the road is the outstanding La Maison du Chocolat (there are other locations around the city.) If you’re a chocolate lover, these are serious cocoa confections ranging from truffles, ganaches and pralines to éclairs, macaroons and other delights. In the warm months, they make their own sorbets and ice creams. Just up the road is the famous Salle Pleyel concert hall for classical music.
I know this district well because I worked in it for two years. It was probably one of the worst jobs I have ever had. A small French law firm, the people were execrable. I was harassed weekly by one of the senior partners. The upside, though, was the Parc Monceau located right beside the building. Small and romantic, it’s my most favorite park. If you come to Paris, you should definitely visit it. Abutting the park are two small museums, the Cernuschi (museum of Asian arts) and the Nissim de Camondo (an elegant Belle Epoque mansion housing a museum with 18th-century French furniture and decorative arts.) During those two years, when I wasn’t sitting on a park bench during my lunch hour, I was visiting these museums or striding vigorously up and down the nearby boulevards.
Through the park (which was packed yesterday) and out the other side onto the boulevard Malesherbes to my favorite florist.
And then back home to make tea, eat a macaroon (or two or three), and admire my bouquet of fragrant freesia and iris.
Insider shopping tip: if you have cash to splash and are into gorgeous Italian clothes, there’s a small boutique on the boulevard des Courcelles that sells clothes direct from Italy. Expensive, unique and gorgeous, it’s called Cairns Donna. I go there twice a year during the big sales in January and June. 55 bd Courcelles, metro Courcelles. Across the road is the same boutique for men.
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
See, I don’t believe this (anymore). When bad stupid people run the world, fairness does not grow the greater, it shrivels. Notice that Tolkien wrote “perhaps”, because he wasn’t entirely sure.
I was not going to write about the recent killings in Israel, but I’m so incensed I find myself doing so.
58 Palestinians killed along the Gaza border, including six children under the age of 18. Children?
A disabled Palestinian activist – a double leg amputee – killed as he took part in the protests in a wheelchair. In a wheelchair? Shot in the head by an Israeli sniper. He lost his legs during a drone attack by Israeli occupation forces in 2008.
The overwhelming majority of those shot and killed were unarmed demonstrators.
Amnesty International criticized the bloodshed as “another horrific example of the Israeli military using excessive force and live ammunition in a totally deplorable way”.
On the Israeli side, one soldier was reportedly wounded, slightly, by a stone.
A WHOLLY DISPROPORTIONATE RESPONSE, just like in 2014 when 2,251 Palestinians were killed (including 551 children and 299 women). In that conflict, 11,231 Palestinians were injured, including 3,540 women and 3,436 children. Today, a third of those children are coping with life-long disabilities as a result of their injuries. (statistics from UNRWA – United Nations Relief and Works Agency).
Human Rights Watch criticized Israel for using live rounds when there was no immediate threat to Israeli troops or civilians.
At the very least, could rubber bullets not have been used?
During a special session of the UN human rights council in Geneva, it was reported that the injured and killed were completely unarmed and shot in the back, in the chest, in the head and limbs with live ammunition.
We understand the HAMAS threat. We understand the legal right to protect borders. But why deliberately kill? There are other ways to quell a mass of protesters!
While Ivanka Trump and other dignitaries gathered in the afternoon sun to celebrate the embassy opening, the Gaza border was transformed into a scene of chaos as tens of thousands of protesters faced Israeli snipers.
Here’s the link to the UNRWA for Palestine refugees in the Near East. Send a donation.
One of my favorite places to rendezvous is at the fountain in the Jardin du Palais Royal. I’ve been enjoying the graceful splendor of this garden for decades.
There are restaurants and elegant shops under the arcades. Or you can just sit on a bench or chair and enjoy the sound of birdsong and the splashing fountain.
The garden is a perfect starting point to do some shopping and have lunch. Today, Monique and I met at the fountain at noon. We then headed north towards the Galerie Vivienne, built in 1826. See this mosaic tiled floor? It’s the original floor created by Giandomenico Facchina, a 19th century Italian mosaic artist who did much of his work in France.
It was lunch hour, but we got waylaid by some linen clothes in a boutique called Manuelle Guibal. We chatted awhile with the woman who worked there. She gave me the name of a boutique in Lisbon where I can find the same clothes (at a cheaper price.)
We then headed towards the Place des Victoires where I wanted to visit the English boutique that I visit and rave over in London, The Designers Guild. This one had just opened. It was a lot smaller and, I’m sorry to say, the customer service didn’t hold a candle to the service you’d get in London.
Directly across the road was this restaurant where we sat at an outdoor table. I ordered a tomato mozzarella salad and a tiny glass of wine, Monique ordered a sort of grilled chicken niçoise salad.
When you think that you can buy a decent bottle of French wine for 6 euros and you’re charged 6 euros for a tiny glass, it’s a little bit scandalous. But this is the price you pay for the privilege of eating in a chic Parisian neighborhood.
Directly around the corner and located on the Place des Victoires is this gorgeous little boutique that I’ve been shopping in for decades. (They used to be a few doors down in a larger store; there are two other locations in the city.)
As soon as we walked in we spied a bunch of gorgeous scarves. Italian made, some were silk and some were a blend of silk and modal. A type of rayon, modal is a bio-based textile made from the beechwood tree. Modal fabric feels silky-soft on the skin yet is hard-wearing and colorfast when dyed.
A woman can never have enough scarves is my opinion. Again, we spent quite awhile in the shop talking to the friendly saleswoman and trying on scarves.
I ended up taking these last two photos of myself in the mirror because no-one could figure out how to work my camera. ?? (Sigh. I always end up doing everything myself.) The scarf I ended up buying – half silk, half modal – is a gorgeous swirl of mauves, greens, pinks and yellows. It’s lightweight, soft and warm and you can scrunch it up (great for travelling.) It’s not cheap, it cost 190 euros.
Our last stop was Dehillerin, the kitchenware store located off the rue du Louvre. I was in search of a strainer, called une passoire in French.
This shop used to be, and still is, a wholesaler for restaurants. It was a sleepy dusty place. And then tourists discovered it, it became super-popular and now has a new lease on life.
ANYTIME, ANYWHERE … (the next day)
And now, to completely ruin this pleasant scene, a mere four hours later and blocks away from where we had spent such a peaceful afternoon, a knife-wielding terrorist killed one passer-by and wounded four others.
Trump, the human wrecking ball, swinging back and forth destroying things. And that is fitting because it is what he did in his previous career. He demolished buildings, oftentimes historic and beautiful ones, only to erect garish monoliths in their place (with the name TRUMP stamped all over.)
Fifth Avenue Bonwit Teller: Opulence Lost (from The New York Times) – “To build his signature Trump Tower, he first had to knock down the Bonwit Teller building. Designed in 1929 as the Stewart & Company store, it had an entranceway that was a stupendously luxurious mix of limestone, bronze, platinum and hammered aluminum. The face of the building featured two huge Art Deco friezes that the Metropolitan Museum of Art wanted to preserve. The museum asked Trump to save the sculptures and donate them, and the mogul agreed – as long as the cost of doing so wasn’t too high.”
“But then Trump discovered that taking out the sculptures would delay demolition by two weeks. He wasn’t willing to wait. On his orders, the demolition workers cut up the grillwork with acetylene torches. Then they jackhammered the friezes, dislodged them with crowbars, and pushed the remains inside the building, where they fell to the floor and shattered in a million pieces. The art world was shocked.”
And now, like a puerile, perverse, oversized and orange-haired Dennis the Menace, he has wrecked the Iran deal. Why? Because his intention is to unravel much, if not all, of Barack Obama’s legacy.
Trump’s decision to pull the United States out of the Iran deal could place the lives of Americans – and people around the world – in danger.
Never has the USA had such a visionless, backward-looking, unsophisticated and just plain mean President as Trump, a man utterly unqualified for the job. Listening to Hubert Védrine on the radio yesterday, here’s one thing out of many that he said – “Trump and his cohorts will never forgive Iran for 1979.”
Adviser to Presidents, Védrine was France’s Foreign Minister from 1997 to 2002. Known for his candor, when Védrine speaks, people listen. (Sometimes too candid, what he says is not generally printed in the world press). Here are some other nuggets from yesterday’s radio interview on France Inter –
The bottom line is that the American President is being used by nefarious hard-liners, warmongers and ultra-conservative zealots inside and outside of the USA.
He has succeeded in one thing: tarnishing the image of America worldwide. Now, when we see Americans abroad, we sort of feel sorry for them. This was not the case before.
If opposition parties don’t get their acts together, Trump could well serve a second term.
Here are two articles to read: in The Guardian, The Iran deal: how Trump’s actions could flare violence in the Middle East, and in Foreign Policy, Here’s What to Expect Now That Trump has Withdrawn from the Iran Nuclear Deal.
Read them and weep.
The weather was perfect this weekend, especially Saturday. Brilliant sunshine and warm with a cool breeze blowing all day. What a pleasure to escape the congestion of Paris, take the train up to Lille and slow down to the gentler rhythm of the North. Lille is only 20 kilometers (12 miles) from the Belgian border.
It turned out that my six year old godson did not enjoy the new Peter Rabbit movie. “Je n’aime pas les animaux,” he said. (I don’t like animals.) I guess we’ll just have to wait out this new not-liking-animals phase. So off we went in the sunshine to his favorite park, me grateful that he still likes parks.
It was packed. He spent the next few hours playing with the other kids and then we were joined by other members of his family. Back to the house for pizza, cold beer and red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. Yum.
The next morning, Sunday, was as beautiful as the day before. Too nice to stay indoors! Slinging my camera over my shoulder, I slipped outside and walked briskly to the Sunday morning market in the Wazemmes district. It’s vast, popular and extremely crowded (best to go early.) Using their back door, I ducked into my favorite specialty shop to buy rosewater and orange blossom water (for cakes and desserts) and some halloumi, a briny firm Cypriot cheese, made from a mixture of goat and sheep milk (delicious fried and in salads.) And then, as I headed toward the massive crowd to venture further into the marketplace, it suddenly got very very hot and my left knee started to ache. I decided that I didn’t have the energy to tackle the crowds (plus I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink yet), so I walked back in the heat, careful to stay in the shade.
Gagging for coffee, I burst into the apartment and headed straight for the espresso machine. While I knocked back a double shot, my friends made me a large café au lait and toasted some slices of delicious multigrain bread. I slathered them (the toast, not my friends) with butter. And then the little one appeared, wrapped in an oversized terrycloth bathrobe.
“Tata Juliet,” he said decisively, “Today I want to go to McDonald’s and then to the park.”
“OK,” I said.
“I’ll just do my hair and get dressed. And then we can go.”
Do his hair? In French it’s “je vais me coiffer” which sounds very sophisticated coming out of the mouth of a little boy who has only been six for a week. But then again, his mother is a hairdresser …
Ten minutes later I go into the bathroom to find him standing on a stool in front of the mirror “coiffing” his hair with gel. He’s in fact imitating his two older brothers, aged 15 and 17, who do the same.
I love this gel, he says. Can we take it to the park?
No, we cannot, I say firmly.
So back outside, now it’s broiling hot. Off he marches down the road (like a little Napoleon), me following. Thankfully, McDonald’s is air conditioned. He orders his Happy Meal.
Once seated, I ask ‘Is this your breakfast?’ He nods, his mouth full of hamburger. It seems to be an odd sort of breakfast, but I say nothing.
And then back to the park where he meets his friends and I sit on a bench in the shade of a chestnut tree.