Paris Is Crying

Living out of harm's way in the south suburbs of Paris, I was spared by Friday night's terrorist attack in the eastern part of the city. Spared but deeply saddened.

The country has long been the target of terrorism. In December 1994, nine months after we arrived to live in Paris, seven were killed in the hijacking of Air France Flight 8969 by members of the Armed Islamic Group.

In July 1995, members of the same group killed eight people in the underground bombings of the Metro and RER commuter train in the heart of Paris at St. Michel. As a journalist freelancing for USA Today, I ventured down into the empty caverns of the subway to report on the story. The odor of destruction still haunts me.

By French graphic artist Jean Jullien, Nov. 14, 2015

Friday's attack was the deadliest ever, with more than 150 killed and counting. Suicide bombers did their dirty work on innocent Parisians and visitors out on a lovely November evening to hear music or have a meal together.

Yesterday, I was overcome with grief. For those who lost loved ones, the city that has been deeply scarred, and the nation that has for so long been my second home.

At the same time, I was overwhelmed with the kindness of dozens of you who messaged and called with your thoughts and prayers—and so many from my fellow Pittsburghers, yinz are the best! Merci beaucoup! Je vous aime! I am touched and blessed.

I think I worried some people by my silence. I wasn't thinking that anybody would be worried about me! I set my Facebook status as “safe,” and wrote back to everyone to say I was safe--sort of.

Safe is an overstatement. I was not harmed, but don't feel “safe.” I went to church today feeling vulnerable in the second row, and have to admit that I was half-listening for gunfire during the sermon. I quizzed my daughter about what to do in an attack, and she answered correctly (fall to the floor).

Words are failing me, but one thing is resonating. It's the “Paris for Peace” symbol that's gone viral, drawn by the Frenchman Jean Jullien in the hours after the attack. It shares my hope for Paris, for France, and everyone who wants to find a way forward—peacefully.

Our Green Home – On TV!

One of the buildings in our new
eco-neighborhood, Issy-Seine,
just outside of Paris.

(Since I first published this post on Nov. 8, 2015, the TV segment aired on Nov. 22. You can see it here, "How the French are burning garbage to heat homes.")


Last week a TV crew came to our place to do some taping about our new eco-friendly neighborhood, for a documentary to be aired in the U.S. later this month on Public Broadcasting Service's Newshour weekend program. This will be part of the network's coverage of the global Climate Change Conference taking place in Paris on Nov. 30-Dec. 22.

A few days before, I called battle stations to clean the apartment—I even ironed a bedspread for the first time in my life. But it wasn't the bedrooms, bathrooom, or living rooms they wanted to film. They wanted to see the garbage cans!

That's because the crew was excited about how our apartment and the water is heated—and our garbage plays a big role. 

We sort our garbage into recyclables and the rest, and take them downstairs to the apartment's garbage room. There, we throw them into separate shoots, and by the power of pneumatics, the garbage is whooshed away about a mile north to a plant. The incinerator burns the garbage that can't be recycled, and sends the energy back to our building in the form of steam—which heats the building and its hot water. (The recyclables are sorted and sold for reuse.)

Not many cities in the world take advantage of this form of energy, called “district heating” (DH), but two examples are New York—and Pittsburgh, believe it or not! The idea is to produce and consume energy in the area where it's consumed—like eating locally sourced food.

DH in Denmark, for example, currently heats over 60% of homes with that number rising to 95% in Copenhagen, according to Renewable Energy Focus. (Read here about a renewal of Pittsburgh's ancient district energy system.)

One good thing about our DH system is … no garbage trucks! Because of the underground delivery system, there is no need for noisy, smelly trucks to be making their rounds. In my old neighborhood, that was a nasty 6:30 a.m. wake-up call! And because there are no garbage trucks, there is no pollution from them, and reduced pollution from the cars who aren't backed up waiting for the trucks that clog the streets.

Plus, DH makes us less dependent on the electricity grid, which is expensive in France. Another good thing: we don't have to deal with water heaters or furnaces in our apartment, small by U.S. standards at 750 square feet, which take up valuable space and require annual upkeep.

“Waste not, want not,” as the old saying goes. The beauty of DH is that it turns waste into something we want. All around, it's a good deal for us … and the environment.

(I don't know the exact date when this documentary will air, but I'll let you know in a future post.)

Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris at http://parispittsburghandmore.blogspot.com. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."

Visit Versailles Outside-In

What to do with mom when she comes to Paris to visit you for a day? Go to Versailles of course! Secretly, I think both of us were hesitant about the idea. Me: The crowds! My mom: All that walking!

The palace of Versailles is the No. 1 tourist attraction in the Paris area, with over 3 million visitors a year and counting! 

How to beat the crowds? The Versailles website suggests getting there at the opening, at 9 a.m. So that's what we tried to do—but failed. I was to meet mom at her hotel, and go directly to the palace. But mom had a heavy bag of presents to give us, so that meant going home first. By the time we got to Versailles, it was 11 a.m.

To buy our tickets, we headed into the very helpful Versailles Tourist Office, about two blocks in front of the palace. Unless we wanted to wait in line for an hour, the clerk strongly advised us to delay our visit until 3 p.m.! What to do?

Visit the gardens! They are free of charge, and vast, stretching on for about 2,000 acres. I was tempted to rent a golf cart to get us around, but my teenage daughter was completely against such an embarrassing idea! I wonder what the French kings did to get around? Probably something like a golf cart, but pulled by horses.

The gardens are not just one garden, but is a group of individually designed and decorated areas. My favorite was “The King's Garden,” designed as an "English garden,” which is wilder and more natural than a manicured “French garden.” The French gardens at Versailles typically feature statues, and a pool or fountains—a high-tech flourish in the 17^th century. My daughter and I wanted to see the gardens again after watching the excellent movie about their creation, “A Little Chaos” (2014).

The walking worked up our appetites. We saw a sign near the Apollo Fountains for a restaurant called La Petite Venise. That might just work, I thought, as it was off the beaten tourist trail. The white tablecloths gave us a fright, but we found a copious antipasti dish--Italian cold cuts, cheese, and vegetables--to share among the three of us at 31 euros. Perfect!

Fortified, we went to check out the lines for admission to the inside of the palace. To our surprise, the lines had completely disappeared. Or so it would seem. Once inside, tour groups flagging their selfie sticks choked the rooms. No fun at all! So after we saw the main sights--the queen and king's bedrooms, the chapel, and the Hall of Mirrors--we made a run for the exit.

Want to really enjoy Versailles? See it from the outside. When the French kings tired of being suffocated by life inside the palace, they found refuge in the gardens. Today's tourists can do the same. Use your admission fee to instead eat like royalty at one of the garden's restaurants. And don't be shy about renting a carriage, I mean a golf cart!

Martin Luther King Jr. In Paris

Nearly 50 years ago to this day, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was visiting Paris, raising awareness for the civil rights movement in the U.S.

He was already world-famous. A year before, on Oct. 14, 1964, King received the Nobel Peace Prize for using nonviolent action to combat racial inequality.

And then in March of 1965, he participated in the Selma to Montgomery marches for voting rights. The peaceful marchers were met with a cruelty that many Americans across the country were able to view for the first time on television. Good came out of it: the landmark Voting Rights Act was passed just five months later.

So it was on Sunday, Oct. 24, 1965, that King preached at the American Church of Paris. The title of the sermon was “The New Jerusalem,” but nothing else is know about what he said in the pulpit. 

One can imagine that it was an early draft of his “I Have A Dream” speech. In the Bible, New Jerusalem is a place where “the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21).

The top thing on people's minds on that October day, however, was the Vietnam War. The preacher “encountered an intense debate about the America war in the former French colony. King conducted himself, reported the Paris press, with 'extreme discretion.'” (Richard Lentz, 1990) Only in 1967 did the preacher come out against the Vietnam War in an extremely controversial speech at the Riverside Church in New York.

In a sermon today at the American Church of Paris, commemorating King's speech, Rev. Dr. Luke A. Powery, Dean of Duke University Chapel, reminded us that we are not yet living in the New Jerusalem--naming the black victims of the recent shootings in the U.S.

For that to happen, Powery said we have to “Speak and declare, 'injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.' Speak because someone has to declare, 'Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.' Speak and declare, 'Guns are not Gods!'”

No one knew exactly what King said in Paris that day, 50 years ago, but I imagine that it was very much something like that.

Madrid: Drink, Eat, and Be Merry

Did I mean to say "eat, drink, and be merry"? Not in the case of Madrid, where my husband and I took a short break last week. In Spain, the drinks come first. The rest falls naturally into place.

In one eatery that we lucked into, El Paladar 24, I spotted a man at a counter eating a bowl of potato soup. I asked the server, can I have that? Yes of course, she said, we bring you that for free if you order a drink! 

So we ordered our drinks, and out came the soup—and four spoons. You see, food is meant to be shared in Spain. I like this country! 

Spain was a surprise for me. How can the people seem so happy? In a country that has suffered so much, most recently from the financial crisis, with an unemployment rate about 20%?

I think part of the answer is that they are more than ready to go out for a drink—whether it's a coffee, a glass of wine, or a beer—with friends or family, and have a good time. Around a plate of inexpensive food. 

Let me share some of the ways that we had a great time:

Breakfast, for us between 10 and 11 a.m., was at Pannus, a chain of 24-hour bakeries with a bustling but cheery staff and more pastries than in Paris. And cheap! Get the whole wheat mini elephant ears, 5 for 1 1/5 euros.

Try lunch at the traditional but quirky Los Gatos, a recommendation from the Rick Steves guidebook, and where I'd recommend the tuna salad, which came on a big platter for the four of us to share. After a glass of wine, of course!

On a tip from a former food guide in Spain, we ate at Taberna del Chato, for a modern take on classic tapas. The melon-colored, lightly creamy gazpacho, topped with crisped bacon bits, was my favorite. 

We discovered the El Paladar 24 on our own, wanting to have a bite to eat before watching some flamenco dancing at the nearby Tablao La Quimera, an authentic and small place off the beaten path. The cover includes a drink. Thanks to my colleague Alicia for the tip!

Source: La Chocolatería San Ginés

One day we had such a big, late lunch we decided to skip dinner altogether. Instead, we finished the day with a hot mug of chocolate at the historic La Chocolatería San Ginés, another recommendation from Rick. The dark liquid chocolate has the density of pudding, just right for the dunking with freshly fried churros.

Another discovery, and an easy one if you're visiting the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, is its cafeteria, where for my last meal I finally had what is the national dish, Iberian ham, served with slices of bread topped with diced fresh tomato. My husband had a stunning pasta dish, a shrimp blue cheese carbonara made with inky black noodles.

The Spanish people are the closest I've come in Europe to the friendliness of the people in my home town of Pittsburgh, itself the home of many a saloon. But sorry, Pittsburgh. Madrid wins, tapas down, when it comes to the bar ... food!

Growing A Life In Paris

I get a kick out of meeting Americans and others who are moving to Paris. They are so excited about living the dream. But at the same time, they’re worried. What about health care? Where do I find Cheerios for my two-year-old? A school for my teen? How do I fill this hole in my life—no friends, family, or language?

Last weekend, I met about 150 transplants at a day-long orientation program called “Bloom Where You Are Planted,” now in its 45th year.

I saw myself in their faces. Nearly 18 year ago, I was newly married, following my spouse who had secured his dream job. It was a French honeymoon! We thought we would be here for just 18 months.

A still from the movie "An American in Paris" (1951)

Except this time, I was volunteering for the program instead of taking part. I was reminded that moving abroad is more than an airplane ticket and a temporary rental apartment. It’s about making a happy life for yourself.

And how to do that? The speakers at Bloom were long on advice—sometimes conflicting. “Don’t mingle with English speakers,” said Simone Zanoni, the Italian executive chef at the Trianon Restaurant at Versailles. He came to Paris barely speaking little French, and it took time for him to win acceptance and acclaim.

Another speaker Melissa Dalton-Bradford, author of “Global Mom,” embraced whatever was in her house or next door. She learned her foreign languages via the friends of her four children, and built her community around a massive dinner table!

As for myself? Immersion is great, if your spouse is French, you’re going to French university or diving into a Franco-French workplace. But, that wasn’t me.

As a “trailing spouse” to a American working in an international organization where English was the working language, I met amazing people from all over the world. Why avoid that? Love the one you’re with!

I didn’t have an opening into the French world until I started working—in an American multinational where the house language is “Franglais”! Here’s a typical conversation: “Tu vas à la huddle sur le way we work?”

After 18 years, my French is horrible (which is English for not too bad) but I am happy.

Happy to have so many American friends that have become family—gros bisous to Shellie, Karen, Helen and so many others!

Happy to belong to American and other Englishy groups for immigrants, exiles, escapees, whatever you call us. Merci beaucoup to Toastmasters, WICE, the American Church, AAWE, etc. where I have learned so much and have met so many amazing English-speaking transplants--and so many fantastic French people!

Call it Bloom Where You Are Planted!

The Female French Resistance: Truth Or Fiction?

Simone Segouin, a woman combatant in the French Resistance, near Chartres, August 23, 1944.

“The Nightingale,” by Kristin Hannah, is about how ordinary French women summoned up extraordinary courage during the German occupation of their country in WWII. I wasn't expecting much from this New York Times best-selling author, but about half-way into the novel, I was hooked. How could things become worse? They did.

The story is about how two rivalrous sisters of Carriveau, a fictional town somewhere in the Loire Valley, play out their roles during the war. Courageous Isabelle becomes a member of the resistance. She's a runner, leading fallen British aviators out of France across the Pyrenees mountains into Spain and out of danger. Her sister Vianne seems more like the typical woman of her time. A mother. A teacher. And dependent on her husband, who is forced to enlist and leave. We fear she will betray all and become a collaborator--in order to survive.

Through this book, I learned much about how women coped in wartime France, thanks to the author's research. Women queuing for hours to buy very little with their ration coupons. Wearing shoes with wooden soles when the leather ran out. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a bomb hit, or a when German soldier decided it was time to maintain order at a border crossing. Or being rounded up as a Jew, a spy, or for breaking curfew. It left me in tears.

In this book, you'll find only heroines, however, no female “collabos.” As if to say that all French women faced ambiguous situations where it may have “looked like” they helped the enemy in some small degree or other, but, in the end, they all slayed their occupiers. I'm not underestimating how difficult it must have been for French women to survive under occupation. But there were certainly other women, like Coco Chanel, who found it convenient and lucrative to become very close to the enemy (read Hal Vaughan’s “Sleeping With the Enemy: Coco Chanel’s Secret War”).

Ms. Hannah gives us the happy ending we all want. And the version of history that France desperately reaches for. In May 2015, France interred Geneviève de Gaulle-Anthonioz and Germaine Tillion, two female heroes of the resistance in the Panthéon, the resting place of the nation’s great, in addition to two male members. It's no doubt that these women were brave. But was there a French Resistance, or more or less acts of resistance? The latest book about the WWII resistance, "Fighters in the Shadows," by Robert Gildea, sets out to answer that question.

(More resistance reading: “The Secret Ministry of AG. & Fish: My Life in Churchill's School for Spies,” by the British author Noreen Riols, who helped support French Resistance fighters.)