Halloween Paris Style

Halloween in Paris was unexpected. I assumed that French people were not the costume kind and was actually a little relieved that I wouldn’t have to come up with one of my own. When Alayna announced the Thursday before Halloween that were having a costume party, I immediately went into a panic. How could I come up with a costume in just two days? I didn’t have my hot-glue gun or any craft supplies at all. I decided I could rely on an old standby favorite from college and be a gangsta. But, in order to accomplish this I would need a bandana and a several plastic weapons. I searched for both and finally came across a store called “Ruff Riders” in the pedestrian-only shopping area around Chatelet. Sadly, there was a group of skeezey guys standing in front of the entrance and a strip club across the street.

I returned home empty handed and, quite frankly, a little freaked out. I went to my computer to talk things through with Amy and through a series of 20 or so emails, I landed on Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz.” As it happens, I have a light blue jumper and red shoes in my regular wardrobe, which is both lucky and a little strange.

Saturday morning Alayna and I went out to gather provisions for the party with a detailed list of everything we needed:

1.     Apple juice

2.     Allspice,  nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves

3.     Apples

4.     Oranges

5.     Dark rum

6.     Baguettes

7.     Cheese

8.     Meats/sausages

9.    Cups

16. Candy

17. Bowls

18. A tray

19. Champagnes

20. Wines

21. Vodka

22. Juices

23. Basket

24. Little dog

We arrived at the boulangerie and Alayna ordered 6 baguettes. “Do you think that’s enough?” she asked me. 

Next we went to the supermarket and randomly threw meats and cheeses into the basket. She started picking up apples and I declared, “I know what I said last night but we are not actually going to have people bob for apples in our bathtub. That’s just a waste of Apples .”

We filled one basket and then another before arriving at the checkout line/liquor store. “We need some dark rum,” Alayna asked the clerk.

“We have a few kinds. Which one would you like?”

“We’d like the cheapest and darkest kind you have,” Alayna answered.

“Ok, well this one is 7 Euro and has a black woman with a kerchief on the bottle. That should be really dark,” the clerk said as she pointed out the woman on the bottle.”

“Umm, I’m not  sure that’s an appropriate way to judge the quality of rum,” I whispered to Alayna.

“7 Euro? We’ll take it,” Alayna exclaimed excitedly.

We left the store and walked across the street to McDonald’s for lunch (my first McD’s in Paris) and while we sat outside enjoying fries and fresh air, contemplated our next purchases.

“Well, we really need a tray. We have to have something to put all the baguettes on.”

“We could just take this tray,” I said, gesturing to the one underneath our lunch.

“Totally. That’s perfect,” Alayna said.

“No, we’re not stealing a tray from McDonald’s. It’s broad daylight and they can see us!”

“Fine. Then we’ll buy one for 15 Euro,” she challenged me.

“Well, I’m not doing it.” We deposited our trash in the can, stowed the tray in my shopping bag and ran up the street as fast as two out-of-shape girls can run while carrying 5 bottles of booze, 6 baguettes and a stolen tray.  “I’m really glad we did that,” I said once we were safe at home.

After spending a hundred Euro on snacks and drinks, I decided to forgo the basket and little dog. “The French people won’t know the difference,” Alayna told me. “I’m just hoping they realize that I’m a pirate and not a Gypsy.”

As we prepared for our guests, I toiled over a caldron/pasta pot of toxic cider. It wasn’t the Everclear Halloween death punch I was used to but I figured it was better to not meet new friends with a pot full of 200 proof booze anyway. 

Alayna’s boyfriend, Adrien, arrived and we helped put together his “girl” costume. We went through three dresses, two pairs of shoes and finally applied a pound of make up to make him the most beautiful woman at the party. Slowly other guests arrived and I tried to guess what their costumes were while explaining mine.

“I’m Dorothy,  from ‘The Wizard of Oz,’” I said.

“From the Michael Jackson movie?” I was asked repeatedly.

“No.”

“I’m a prisoner,” Amandine said, “and he’s a panther trainer from the circus,” she said gesturing to her boyfriend. She was wearing a striped shirt and he was wearing all black with a stuffed cat strapped to his shirt.

“Ok!” I said, confused. As the rest of the group arrived, I realized that I was correct to assume that French people don’t really get the idea of a costume. By the end of the night, I even started agreeing with them that I was from a Michael Jackson movie. All in all though, the party was a success. Despite the mass consumption of toxic cider, and aside from two people getting it on in our kitchen at the end of the night, the party was relatively civilized.

It was unlike any Halloween party I’ve been to--no one got arrested, no one got beat up, no one cried and nothing was broken.

Things You'll Find in a Parisian Garden

My first few weeks in Paris have been marked with wine, cigarettes, croissants, more wine and occasionally things that don't involve consuming. Very occasionally. Adjusting to life in the 20th Arrondissement of one my favorite cities is an exciting challenge that I expect to surmount sometime in mid to late July. I am giving myself two months to learn to speak french. One month in, I am considering learning to be mute instead.

It's hard to leave the house without spending 30 Euro, which painfully is about $45. I still measure everything in dollars because I've yet to get my French bank account set up. So, every week I withdraw painful amounts of cash from the MAC machine and always refuse the receipt. I hang on to the bills as long as I can but trade them over at the supermarket and tabac and at any one of a hundred little bodegas around the neighborhood as fast as I can walk from place to place. It's much safer to stay inside.

But, I came to Paris to write and to be inspired by the city. What I have found most inspiring so far, though, is just how much I am able to accomplish when I don't have to go to the office. For the first time since I was in high school, I don't have to go to work or school or anywhere but wherever I want. I am taking advantage of the freedom, sleeping in, eating and drinking my way through the days and somehow still writing at least 500 words a day.

Last week I went to to the Tulleries Gardens, which is one of my favorite places in the city. My adventure started as soon as I got on the Metro. There was a man standing next to me on the train wearing slim fit, red plaid pajama pants. His scarf can only be described as two recently dead foxes and on his head, a hat made out of another recently dead animal and ornate brocade. My favorite part, though, were his shoes--olive green Crocs. Classic Parisian style . . .

When I arrived in the gardens, I found that the modern art exhibit I had seen a few weeks before was still on display. When I saw the exhibit the first time, I was caught off guard by the grotesque giant faces in silver plaster. They encircle a lovely fountain and are a mildly unpleasant juxtaposition to the delicate sculptures that permanently reside in the gardens. But, they are interesting at the very least and I guess that's the point. Either way, on my second visit, there were about 1000 children running from silver monster to silver monster, all scribbling and sketching in matching bright orange folders. Groups of three of four moved from each sculpture, their faces filled with the kind of unbridled excitement that can only be found on field trips.

I found myself a chair and sat down to observe them and before I got to far, a man approached me from my left.

"Excuse me, do you speak English?" he asked.

"What?" I asked, lifting my pen from the page, removing my headphones and tilting my sunglasses up.

"I was wondering if you'd like to talk with me for a while. I am a medical student and need to practice my English."

"I'm sorry, I'm kind of in the middle of something here," I said, waving my pen and turning my head.

"You are writing?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Well, as I said, I am a medical student and I'd love to give you a foot massage while you work."

"Excuse me? I'm sorry, I don't think I understood what you just said."

"Well, feet are my speciality and I think it would be nice for you if I gave you a foot massage. It's good. I am a medical student."

"No, thank you," I said, turning my head, replacing my sunglasses and repositioning my headphones.

"No, it's good. I am a medical student. Please. I'd love to massage your feet."

"No."

"Why not? I am a medical student. It's my speciality."

"No."

This went on for a couple minutes before he (sort of) took the hint and walked away. He stood about 10 feet from my chair, looking at me for another few minutes before finally leaving my peripheral. The rest of my afternoon in the park was uneventful, which I was I happy about. When I got home and retold the story to Alayna, she saw the bright side instantly . . . "Now you can tell your mom you've met a boy and he's a med student. It's every mother's dream!"