Paris Places: Parc Monceau

The oldest tree in Parc Monceau, planted in 1814

Another one of my favorite lunch-time haunts is Parc Monceau, especially now in the springtime. I think it's perhaps the most beautiful park in Paris, a bouquet of flowers, greenery, and trees--one more than 200 years old.

The English-style garden is strew with what looks like ancient ruins, which gives my haunt a haunted look. They are "follies," or replicas of ruins to give it that Greco-Roman look, popular when the park was designed in the 18th century. You'll find an Egyptian pyramid, a Chinese fort, a Dutch windmill, and Corinthian pillars.

The closest thing in Pittsburgh might be Highland Park. (OK, it's a stretch, but I had to fit the reference to the 'Burg in somehow!)

Although you can see the gilded gates from the Arc de Triomphe, it's devoid of tourists.* Instead, you'll find working stiffs like me out for a bag lunch on the green, school children running around at recess, and parents and babies out for some air.

Last week, I took my first jog in ages on the path that rings the park, swerving the walkers, baby buggies--and two children who were shouting at me!

"What's wrong?" I asked. They jumped up and down and said, "Are you part of the race?" "Yes," I said, knowing by their smiles that they were pulling my leg. "Then you have to take the detour over there, or it doesn't count!"

To their delight, I played their game, and took the slightly longer route. To my delight as well.

*One reason Parc Monceau is empty of tourists is probably that the golden gates are always shut, making it appear closed from afar. To enter, use one of the discrete side entrances that are open during daylight year-round. If natural beauty isn't enough to attract you to this living monument, there's always the free Wi-Fi!

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Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home." Want to follow this blog? Find me on LinkedIn, email me at rose.burke89 "at" yahoo.fr, or follow me on Google+.

Paris Places: Pilates Privé

I’m on a quest to find the most effective workout ever. That’s a challenge in Paris, where fitness trends arrive from the West with a 10-year lag.

I was a long-time member of Club Med, then I switched to Fitness First (now Health City). It was OK. But I felt like a number. The classes were uninspiring, and not the quality I enjoyed in New York or in Pittsburgh.

Then I tried some of the city’s many smaller outfits, like The Daily Method and Paris Fitness, and found my groove. (Both offer an American approach, and classes in English.)

But then my office moved, and we moved house. Location is everything! I was looking for a new exercise home. So was my friend Stephanie. About a year ago, she invited to me Pilates Privé, close enough to work that I could squeeze in a session over my lunch hour.

Erin (right), owner of  Pilates Privé in Paris, with Rose

I struck gold! Small classes—solos, duos, and trios only—and individual attention by former dancers with serious Pilates credentials.

While I usually take the trio classes, every so often I take a solo class for my ills: “sitting disease” and “text neck.” My job as an editor has me glued to the screen for hours on end, and my body is paying for it.

Yesterday, Erin, the owner of Pilates Privé, showed me exercises I can do at home with my roller, and then put me on the “Half Cadillac,” which adds resistance to Pilates moves. The equipment looks like a modern version of the rack. It hurt … but in a good way!

Are these boutiques more expensive? They can be. I figure that over the space of a year, once a week at Pilates Privé costs me about the same as a Club Med membership.

It’s not something I can afford several times a week. I fill in my weekly Pilates class with at-home workouts, usually a 20-minute variation of the 7-Minute workout, and inexpensive, weekly cardio-strength classes at work.

Talking about Pittsburgh, when I’m there, I catch a workout at one of the city’s best fitness boutiques, Forma Personal Training of Sewickley. Truth be told, the co-owner is my brother!

I blame him for my becoming such a fitness snob. Or maybe it’s his loving way of pinching my underarm to measure my body fat. … No, actually it went way back to my school days, to tumbling classes with the Shade Sisters, who still have studios around town.

The Pilates teaser

In the end, I've found out for myself that small classes or personal sessions are a great value because they yield results. (I can hear my brother telling me, "I told you so.") You can’t hide in the back of the class. And the instructors care. Right bro?

I don’t think I’ll ever again be able to do a handstand. But I can slug my 40-pound suitcase around via the Metro to the airport, do 50 abdominal crunches without neck pain, and the Pilates “teaser.” Something I couldn’t do last year!

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Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home." Want to follow this blog? Find me on LinkedIn, email me at rose.burke89 "at" yahoo.fr, or follow me on Google+.

The Paris Coffee Blues

Parisian tea drinkers circa 1925

When in Paris, do as the Parisians do--drink café!

And that’s what I’ve done for the 20-some years I’ve lived here. First of all, it’s delicious. Second, in a café it’s the cheapest thing to buy (that secures rights to the restrooms). Third, decent coffee is everywhere.

With the birth of my child and office job (sleep deprivation on two counts), I upped the ante. And it became too easy when my workplace installed all-you-can-drink Nespresso machines. One cup of espresso became a double. A double became a triple.

As George Clooney might say, “What else?”

I've read all kinds of studies about the good and bad effects of coffee, and the jury’s still out.

But one jurist started to scream--my body. I reached some sort of tipping point. My stomach gurgled, and I felt I was running on empty all time. I was more exhausted than ever!

In January, I resolved to cut back to once a week, which I’ve done! Check! But as I ratcheted down, my body became even more sensitive to the caffeine--and the acid.

So I resolved to allow myself just a few sips, for example, when my husband makes his mug of java with his amazing Aeropress machine. (The best coffee ever!)

Yesterday, after abstaining for a good week, I had five small sips from the weakest espresso I could draw. It was Friday afternoon. The week had been long and I was flagging. The vitamins didn’t do the trick, and neither did the herbal Rooibos tea, which I’ve grown to like.

As a result, I went to bed at midnight and woke at 5 a.m., bursting with fuzzy edgy energy and the familiar stomach grind. I reached for the Gaviscon and tried to sleep an hour more. No beans. A coffee hangover.

What else?

I hereby resign myself to end my coffee habit, but it won’t be easy.

Thank goodness that in France, there is something else. The country has some wonderful herbal teas that are unusual in the U.S.: “tilleuil,” (made from lime tree leaves, though ridiculously heard to pronounce; sounds like "tea oil") and “verveine,” (made from leaves of the verbena plant).

These days, when I go to a café, I look at the bartender and woefully say “un infusion, s’il vous plaît.” (An herbal tea please!) I’m waiting for him to say, “Quoi d’autre?” (“What else?”) Fat chance. ("Pas de chance.")

Paris-Pittsburgh People: Christine Arriola

This past week, I decided to expand my horizons and meet new people. And learned, yet again, that it's a small world.

I accepted an invitation from Christine Arriola to give a talk on mentoring at her Toastmaster's club where she works, at the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). I wasn't sure if she was French or from some other foreign country. Over lunch we talked business, but afterward, I asked her where she was from:

“Pittsburgh,” she said. “No way,” I said, “what part?” “South Hills,” she said. “Me too!”

Proof that “six degrees of separation” is off by about five.

But Christine's journey from Pittsburgh to Paris wasn't a direct flight. Here, Christine shares her story, and her fondness for her native city and her adoptive one. Sounds familiar!

https://mathspig.wordpress.com/tag/6-degrees-of-separation-explained/

Tell me about your journey from Pittsburgh to Paris:
“My journey from Pittsburgh to Paris has been somewhat circuitous with many stops along the way.  After graduating from Thomas Jefferson High School in Jefferson Hills, I headed east to Oberlin, Ohio,  to attend college. It was just far enough away that I felt like I finally launched into independent adulthood.

''After university, I made my way east to Washington, D.C. where I worked in policy research organizations. Overtime I didn’t feel like the nation’s capital was east enough, so I up and joined the Peace Corps which took me to Burkina Faso in West Africa--my first foray living in a
French-speaking country.

''After a few more stops in the U.S., which included time in both Pittsburgh and D.C. again, I picked-up a husband and a second degree, and finally settled here in the Paris area.''

What do you like about Pittsburgh, and what do you like about Paris?
''Someone once suggested to me that Pittsburgh was a big city with a small town feel. I think that is a great way to describe the ‘burgh. Everyone is kind and friendly. No matter where you go in town, everyone seems to know each other.

''The stunning architecture in Paris, to me, is second to none. I am consistently mesmerized by the Haussmann buildings which line the streets of my bus ride into the center of Paris. The Grand Palais and Opera Garnier are works of art."
What would bring you back to Pittsburgh?
"My family and most of my childhood friends are still in Pittsburgh. It would be nice to see them more often. I just need to show my California native husband the charms of four seasons--especially the Pittsburgh winters."

What would have you stay in Paris?
"Paris and France have a lot of nooks and crannies to explore. There are lots of regions and areas in and out of the city to discover. The French people we’ve met so far have been more than happy to share with us information about the wine they are producing or the history of area we are visiting. I love it! I love to learn and discover new things. Since moving to Paris, I feel like I discover something new every time when I walk out the door.''

It was great meeting you Christine! Perhaps we'll bump into each other again—maybe on that direct Delta flight back to Pittsburgh?
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Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home." Want to follow this blog? Email me at rose.burke89 "at" yahoo.fr. Or follow me on Google+.

Why I Love Losing

''Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing.''

This quote made famous by U.S. football coach Vince Lombardi explains why I usually hate competition.

Yesterday, I lost a speech contest in Toastmaster's International Speech Contest, specifically the Area A4 contest. Why do I feel so happy about it?

When I joined Toastmaster's three years ago, it was to learn public speaking. But I wondered what the contests were all about. I thought it was CRAZY that the club used so many of its resources on competitions. There are two contest seasons a year, starting in October and then again in March.

Three things changed my mind: 1. The contestants seemed to be having such a good time! 2. Contestants, whether they won or lost, talked about how much they learned. 3. Many more men compete than women, partly explaining why the top champs are usually men—that got my dander up.

Here's what my some of my club members said about competing:

Marc: ''In competing I find out so much about himself, in fact I found myself!''

Carol: ''I love it. I always win because I am competing against myself.''

I vowed to start competing. This was my third contest, and I finally won at first level, the club contest. Then began the hard work of revising and rehearsing it for the area contest, where competition is severe—we have some world-class talent.

Nearly all of us ''competitors'' got together to workshop our speeches—in a spirit of collaboration. We all came away with amazing ideas for improvement. Plus, one club member helped me refine and rehearse. I worked hard, revising well into the late hours of Friday night. (After being sick as a dog after lunch, and not knowing whether I would make it!)

2nd prize in Paris Speech Masters' club contest:
International and evaluation. My first trophies!
Certificates of participation in the A4 area contest.

On Saturday at midday, after the contest was over, about a dozen people--club members and total strangers--told me how much they enjoyed the speech, and how noticeably improved it was. (Go here for the speech ''The Color Of Confidence.'' It was related to my earlier blogpost, ''Going Cold, Gray Turkey.'')

That was icing on the cake. Because I already felt like a winner. I learned a lot about myself: that I can memorize a 7-minute speech, speak comfortably in front of a crowd, and make them laugh!

Women tend to avoid competition and instead seek cooperative endeavors. I believe that because we tend not to compete, we lose out in so many ways—that go a long way to explain the gender gap.

But when competition and collaboration exist together, as it usually does at Toastmasters, it's a win-win situation.

So what do we have to lose by friendly competition? From what I've learned, nothing at all. Unless we fear becoming better, and tapping the power within ourselves and others.

To paraphrase Vince Lombardi, ''Collaboration isn't everything, it's the only thing.''

That's more like it!
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The Message Is Out

This past week, I went to one of the biggest cocktail parties ever. I wore my little black dress and heels. It was mom’s night out.

It’s wasn’t to the presidential palace, or to a corporate banquet.

It was to the annual meeting of my support group—Message. I joined the group some 16 years ago when I was pregnant with my first (and only) child. Life as a mom can be difficult anywhere, but in a foreign country without family and friends, it can be daunting.

Message was there to help.

At first I was a bit wary. I didn’t need a “support group.” Was it some kind of 12-step program? Would I have to bare soul or my lactating boobs in front of strangers?

The short answer was that I found a surrogate family who were willing to care and share.

The idea is simple: moms (and now dads) host a playdate or outing. Members sign up. You get together, the kids play and the parents celebrate … or commiserate. And it’s free, beyond the reasonable annual membership fee.

The idea is so simple and powerful that Message grew from a handful of members in 1984 to more than 2,000 today! It’s one of the biggest English-speaking associations in France. And entirely volunteer-run.

Through Message, I found a neighborhood playgroup for my daughter, then started one of my own. In the playgroup, my timid 2-year-old found her first friends. And I found some long-lasting bonds too!

Beyond activities, the association hosts parenting classes and trained breastfeeding help. There are programs about education and health. The website has a wealth of information … including about my current worry, raising teens. One of my friends purchased all of her baby gear second-hand through the site’s classifieds.

Message Easter egg hunt in 2010 at Les Arènes de Lutèce in Paris 

The group is always ready to rally to the support of a member truly in need, whether they’ve lost their job, their spouse, or their baby—totally anonymously.

Without Message, I think I would have truly lost my sanity. Instead, I think I’ve retained about more than half—not too shabby!

It goes to show you the power of community, even in France, where people tend to look to the government first for help.

One reason I’m writing this post is to “get the Message out.” Together, we can do so much when alone it might feel impossible. Together, we can kick up our heels once a year and say: We made it!

The ‘’Beehive’’ of Paris: A Rare Visit

Source: www.fondation-patrimoine.org

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of going back to the “beehive” or “La Ruche” in the far reaches of the 15th arrondissement in Paris. Not to make honey, but to make art.

This famous artists’ residence was built in 1900 out of the remains of a gazebo-like structure from the Paris Universal Exposition held that year. It was nicknamed “La Ruche” for its unique shape, which reminds me of a smaller version of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater.


Inside this beehive are very busy artists, like Jan Olsson, with whom I had the privilege of taking a print-making workshop organized through the nonprofit association WICE.

Taking a workshop is in fact one of the only ways to see this amazing structure, now officially called la Fondation La Ruche – Cité d’artistes. It's closed to the general public.

When I’m there, I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time. I leave the routine of work and family, and put on my black smock, and start to make art.

Jan makes it easy for people like me who are dabblers to make a finished work. On this day, we’re learning how to make monotypes. We take a small plate and apply ink using brushes, cardboard, Q-tips or other implements. I worked from a photo of three fish that I took.

I take my plate and paper to Jan’s own press, which looks as old as La Ruche, but was made for her in 1993. I get behind the captain’s wheel and turn. I peel off the paper to see what I’ve made.
And I go back to make more.

Jan remarked that we were very productive that day, making about six prints each. Very busy bees at the beehive. On my way out, I circumferenced the hive to take in the brick, iron, and glass structure—laced with ivy—that speaks of Paris, art, and the creative spirit.
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Rose Marie Burke, an editor and journalist, writes a blog about her personal insights into life in Paris. After 20 years in the City of Light, she still calls her native Pittsburgh "home."