Honeymoon, Nov 15, 2012

THURSDAY NOV 15

WIW: red and blue micro check shirt, grey trousers.

WRW: blue shirt, purple polo, purple sweater, grey trousers.

We had a quick breakfast and took the train to Philippe and Jean’s apartment. I said something to Jean and he instantly said that I should call him “tu” - - in French you either don’t know someone very well or are in some way in a lower social strata to them and you call them “vous” or you know then well and are equals and you call them “tu”. I later explained that my high school French teacher told us that you never address someone as “tu” without an invitation, so I thanked him for the invitation. He said it’s completely natural in French culture, you always know which one to use.

Our trip to Fontainebleau was pretty fast. Richard sat in back with Philippe - - I sat next to Jean, who was driving, and was amazed at how well I was able to talk in French. I don’t remember what we talked about but we were definitely talking, and it was in French.

Fontainebleau is a chateau used by French royalty back to the 12th century. The most beautiful part of the house is the exterior. Check out this stairway.

The rooms make you see where Versailles got the idea, though not nearly as crazy opulent as Versailles. Richard liked the ballroom the best - - it was very big and beautiful, wonderful wood carvings. My favorite room was Marie-Antoinette’s boudoir, which was tiny and done with exquisite decorations in silver and gold and painted flowers on a white and silver base. The whole place was littered with fleurs-de-lys, so you had no chance of forgetting that you were in the home of the French royalty. Oh yeah, that’s right. We did the audio tour, which got a little too detailed and tiresome after a while. Maybe we were just experiencing what I’ll call fatigue de chateau.

A couple more cute pictures before we leave Fontainebleau:

We thought we’d do lunch at the Café Bernard across the square, but Philippe was stopped at the door by someone who said they weren’t serving lunch, they were having a special event for the Beaujolais nouveau. Philippe said, “We love the Beaujolais nouveau!”, and the guy chuckled but did not let us in. He suggested the place across the street. We went there and were stopped by the cook, who said (I’ve translated this):

COOK: You can’t have lunch here. We have no bread.

PHILIPPE: No bread?

COOK: That’s right, we’re out of bread.

PHILIPPE: That’s fine, we’ll order things that don’t have bread.

COOK: You’re going to have lunch without bread?

PHILIPPE: Yes, we will.

COOK: OK, it’s your funeral.

Maybe I’m being a little free with my translation. Nearly every table in the restaurant was covered with dirty dishes, we were sure a big group had just left from having lunch - - Richard thought it probably was the grubby bunch of Russians we saw at Fontainebleau.

I had the crepes with ham and cheese, Richard had an omelet, I don’t remember what Philippe had, Jean had the chicken and fries. I also had a Weiss beer, which was very nice. We all had ice cream for dessert. Oh, and what do you know, they were able to scrounge up five slices of bread.

The drive home was as much fun as the trip there, until we got to Paris - - the traffic was out of control, it took us almost an hour to drive just a few miles. Jean and Philippe were kind enough to drive us to our hotel. And to top it all off, they offered to drive us to the airport on Saturday!

We hung around the room for a bit, rested our feet, and set off for Christina’s house. We picked up some chocolates on our way, because as Richard says, you shouldn’t go to someone’s house with one arm as long as the other. They live in a gorgeous building from around 1880, with a cylindrical mesh-enclosed elevator going through the center of it. Unspeakable glamour!

I hadn’t seen Christina’s husband Philippe since their wedding day, nearly twenty years before. He looks just the same, only is maybe even more adorable, if possible.

We met the three kids: Hanna is twelve, and very articulate. All the kids speak English to a degree, and I guess it’s no surprise that the eldest speaks it with the most fluency. She’s a very sweet girl, and has a poster in her room that says KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON. That old routine.

Hugo is ten, a cute kid with a deep and raspy voice. He showed Richard the bathroom and was very serious in his instructions. He has bunk beds in his room. The youngest is Eva Joséphine, who is six and naturally too cute for words. You gotta love the baby! Her room has a fireplace - - they don’t use it, but can you imagine.

Christina took us upstairs, where they have a room for the nanny - - there’s a view of the Eiffel Tower. As I said, unspeakable glamour.

She and Philippe gave us a little history on the building - - it was lived in by German officers during the war and some of the alte kachers in the neighborhood still speak with disdain about the Germans. Which led to me telling this story:

You know my Dutch cousins, Nieske and Anke. They have an elderly aunt who lives in a town in the south of the Netherlands. She was walking around town one day and a nice young couple in their twenties stopped her and asked her directions, in Dutch. She recognized their accent as being German, and said to them, in German, “You knew where everything was during the war.”

I’ve told this story a number of times, and no one ever laughed at it as hard as Christina and Philippe, because they actually KNOW this old lady, she lives in their neighborhood.

Hugo and Eva Joséphine watched a movie and I don’t know what Hannah was doing, but the four of us had a drink and ate some nosh: cheese, salami, some amusing stuffed tiny grape tomatoes. Champagne. Christina put the finishing touches on dinner and we moved to the table. The first course was a small bowl of carrot ginger soup, served room temperature, also a bit of salad and some very creamy luscious paté served on bread with figs in it. I told Christina how much I loved the bread, and she said paté should always be served on bread with figs or with raisins. White wine.

The main course was duck in a vinaigrette, served with steamed vegetables (scallions, carrots, beans, and best of all, turnips) and roasted potatoes. Fantastic. Red wine with that course. A cheese course, three kinds of cheese - - a brie, a blue, and something else. More wine. And then a giant raspberry macaroon (about a foot across) for dessert, so tasty. Sometime around here the three of them had vodka, but I don’t like vodka and had had more than enough to drink.

Christina sometimes does this hilarious thing when she tells a story - - she interrupts herself and goes back further, starts over. Like this. “OK, Eva Joséphine has this friend… OK, there’s this French actress named Chantal… OK, OK. The Italian royal family was expelled from Rome in 1942…” The end result is you’re desperate to hear what happens in this story!

Hannah joined us for dessert. We had what one might call a rather adult conversation, in English, but Hannah insisted that she couldn’t understand what we were saying. Richard thought she might have been lying, but he’s naturally suspicious. We left too late to take the Métro, we took a cab. What has become of me.

Next day...