Over the past few weeks I have been conducting a highly scientific study of the ice cream shops in Paris. Everyone says that Berthillon is the best in town, but I disagree. While certainly not a popular opinion, I think their ice creams and sorbets are too sweet. Even their caramel au beurre salée, which is generally my idea of heaven, is too sweet and slightly burnt tasting.
Everyone knows Amorino, the Italian-style French-owned (I think?) company that crafts their gelato into flowers. I really, really like their yogurt ice cream, and many of the other flavors are quite good, but nothing spectacular. So I figured there had to be something better out there.
David Lebovitz declared Pozzetto the best gelato in Paris, so I went to check it out. About ten days later, I don't remember what flavors I had (bad sign), but I do remember being unimpressed. I would try it once more, selecting different flavors, but I wasn't wowed the first time around.
What did wow me, however, was the Italian import Grom. I remember having Grom when in Florence a few years back, and being impressed with their slow food philosophy. Located very conveniently on Rue de Seine, about halfway between Odéon and St Germain des Près metro stops, it's my new favorite left bank ice cream.
I don't normally order vanilla, but theirs won an award so I figured I'd try it. Oh, my. It was so flavorful and creamy. I found the coffee too intense, but that's because it actually tastes like espresso, exactly as they claimed. Totally my bad for expecting a Haagen Dazs type sweetened milk with a dash of sugar coffee. This was full on espresso with sugar, and gave me an insane sugar/caffeine rush.
I went back a few days later, solely for research purposes, of course, and got the vanilla again. Still good. This time I tried the cioccolato fondente, one of their three chocolates. The balance was perfect. I prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate, and this was a very fine dark chocolate ice cream. I'd like to try their extra-dark chocolate or chocolate sorbet next time (listed at the store, but not on the site), and also sample some of their fruit sorbets, which look just as good. Still, the vanilla is definitely a top choice.
My new favorite right bank ice cream is Raimo, a 25-minute walk from my house. In case you didn't know, that's the perfect distance for working up an appetite, and then working off the ice cream. While Amorino, Grom, and Pozzetto are all Italian-style gelato, Raimo is straight-up French. I'd tried the ginger on my first visit, which was surprising and very spicy. It definitely catered to ginger lovers, like me!
This time, I got caramel au beurre salée and lait à la menthe. They were both perfection. I kept on taking bites, expecting the next one to be disappointing, because it couldn't possibly be as good as I thought it was. But it was. It is! Raimo seems to have mastered the caramel au beurre salée ice cream in a way I've never seen. It's the closest to a Ladurée macaron that I've yet tasted, which is a pretty good hallmark. And the lait à la menthe, while sadly a summer 2009 specialty, was creamy and sweet and refreshing and maybe my favorite of all the ice creams I've mentioned above.
I hear that Grom opened up a few shops in Manhattan, so I definitely recommend my friends there check it out. As for Raimo, I guess you'll just have to come visit me!
Since my plans for the month got all kinds of messed up, I've decided to do lots of little day trips from Paris. Not having to pay for youth hostels will keep the cost down, and there are tons of things to do in under a 2-hour train radius. I picked up the Guide du Routard Week-ends autour de Paris, and have been marking things I'd like to do.
So far this week I went to Chartres (one hour by train from Gare Montparnasse) and Chateau de Vincennes (5 metro stops from my house!). I'm looking at Reims (45 minutes by TGV), Orléans, Chantilly, and Provins.
Does anyone have experiences with any of these cities/towns/chateaux? Other places to recommend? I'm thinking of making at least 3 more trips next week, so send your ideas my way!
So this is now the second time I’m writing this post, as the last time (5 days ago) it was erased before I could save it. I HATE when that happens. I think I’ve learned my lesson. Since vox sucks, I’m going to write my posts in Word and then transfer them over. I’ve been meaning to switch from vox to another platform for, oh, about two years now, but find the whole idea daunting.
Anyway. Back to the story.
After leaving the house in Apt, I took a train from Avignon to Bandol. My parents’ friends Elise and Henry, who are doing a home swap, picked me up at the station. They were spending the day there, although they’re based in the Var. I changed in the street, and went swimming in the most beautifully temperatured water ever. We went for a free wine tasting in town, and while Bandol is very famous for its reds, I didn’t particularly like them. I did like what came next, though: fireworks!
Elise, like me, is a huge fireworks fan. There was a pretty
great show, including lots of pinky purples that you don’t see often, and even
a ring of fireworks that surrounded the full moon.
The next morning, after sleeping at their house in Pierrefeu, we hopped in their car for a trip to Cannes. Along the way, we stopped for a seaside lunch near Frejus. I had a pan bagnat, which, although not entirely authentic, was quite tasty.
We made it to Cannes, where I checked into a hotel that they had reserved for their daughter, Amanda, who arrived later that night. I settled in while Elise and Henry went on to check into their swanky digs, at Cannes’ most famous hotel, the Carlton. We met on the beach for an evening dip and enjoyed the calm before the madness of Cannes at night.
It ended up that none of us liked Cannes. And I think that’s
putting it lightly. Both Elise and Henry had been there when they were younger,
but apparently things have changed. The hotel was SO tacky. Considering the
outrageous prices for their rooms, you’d expect decent service, or at least
breakfast included. But instead you’re nickel and dimed for every little thing.
Even sitting on the beach in front of the hotel isn’t free!
While the fireworks were great, the rest of Cannes is totally not worth it. One of the hotel’s guests, the prince of Saudi Arabia, had parked some of his cars. These included a SOLID GOLD FERRARI. At least, according to the front desk clerk it was solid gold. It certainly looked possible.
There was also a Lamborghini that was in some kind of matte plastic, so it looked like a toy car.
The women all looked like they charge by the evening, and we saw some truly ugly, ridiculously expensive things in hotel’s stores. There were 24-karat gold-covered alligator clutches, gold-tinted mink throw blankets, and men’s watches big enough to serve dinner on. The bathrooms were really out-dated and in need of renovation, although there was a maid who went into the stall after me and folded the end of the toilet paper into an attractive V. Very important.
The main reason we were in town was for the finals of the Cannes Fireworks Festival. That night was France’s entry, which was just outstanding. It was set to music, which I didn’t think I’d like. But it was awesome. At one point I looked over at Elise, Henry, and Amanda, and all four of us were sitting on our lounge chairs with stupid smiles on our faces, jaws hanging open. The fee to sit on these lounge chairs included a glass of champagne and a small plate of pastries. It was really lovely.
A thirty-minute train ride later, and I was in Nice, where Pauline and Patrick met me at the train station! We went for dinner in Vieux Nice, which is beautiful. On Sunday Pauline and I went to the market to shop for lunch and dinner, and then I went to the Musée d’Art Moderne et d’Art Contemporain, or MAMAC. They have a great permanent collection, but I particularly loved the Robert Longo exhibit. His black and white works are really powerful, and it’s kind of overwhelming to see how much he can do with only two colors.
I walked back through Vieux Nice, which was even more beautiful in the late afternoon sun. It really looks like Italy. If you had dropped me down in Nice, without telling me what country I was in, I would definitely have said Italy. The architecture, the colors of the buildings, even the ice cream was Italian!
Speaking of ice cream, I’ve very glad I took Patrick’s suggestion of going to Fenocchio. The orange blossom was scrumptious, but the honey with pine nuts was a bit too strong on the honey flavor. Not a big deal, though, as there are dozens of other flavors to try! Next time I’d get jasmine or rose. Yum.
That night we had dinner of the balcony, where we spied on the neighbors and chatted until bedtime.
The next morning I took a one-hour bus ride to Vence, a beautiful medieval hilltop town. It’s incredibly well preserved, but a bit touristy.
It looks exactly like what you think a medieval town should be, but with an artistic bent: there’s a Chagall mosaic in the cathedral, a 500-year old tree immortalized by Soutine, and a chapel entirely designed by Matisse. You're not allowed to take pictures inside the Matisse chapel, otherwise known as la Chapelle du Rosaire, so I only got a couple of outdoor shots:
While waiting to get in, the clouds started rolling in for the mother of all summer storms.
Supposedly it never rains in Provence during the summer, but in my 9 days there I experienced two huge storms. I had to catch a bus back to Nice, in order to make the last train back to Paris, so I had no choice but to walk 20 minutes in the rain to the bus “station.” Also known as a bus stop. There was a shelter, but the roof of the shelter was missing, so it didn’t do much good. It was actually pretty funny to see people go into the shelter, realize that they were still being rained on, and look up really confused. My purse was so soaked through even my wallet was wet! And let’s not talk about the state of my underclothes. NOT the right day to wear a white shirt. Ahem.
I did manage to make the train back to Paris, although I wish I could have stayed longer in Nice. I snapped a picture of the beach at 6pm, and you can see how packed it is.
That doesn’t appeal so much, but the water looked beautiful. I would happily have spent a morning exploring the hills surrounding the town, and then an afternoon on the beach. And maybe another day trip to Grasse, for the perfume museum. If Pauline stays down there, I will happily invite myself back for another long weekend.
So, that was the end of my time in Provence. There are many more towns and cities I would have liked to see, including Marseille and Aix, but I had packed my bags for a three-week stay in one spot, not for hopping from place to place. I had my computer, and three weeks’ worth of books and toiletries. Everything was just too heavy to be practical, which is too bad. But Provence isn’t going anywhere. I’ll be back.
Once again I'm too tired to write much, but am having a great time. I'm currently in Nice for a few days, staying with Pauline and her boyfriend Patrick. I spent last night in Cannes, and the day before in the Var. I'm really excited to get to see Pauline, since it'll likely be several months before we're able to hang out again. She's right in the middle of writing her dissertation, so I won't get quality time with her till November, if not December. And it's nice to see her new home and get to know her new (to me) boyfriend.
I'll post more about my experiences on the Riviera tomorrow, including a picture of me with the Prince of Saudi Arabia's solid gold car. Until then, I'm going to collapse into a blissful night's sleep.
Okay, so here's what happened. The dad got back to the house on Wednesday night. Thursday morning, after breakfast, he took me aside and said that it's not working out and I have to go. I said, "you still haven't told me what I'm doing wrong or what you want me to do differently." And he refused to tell me. He said that he's not interested, and doesn't want to take the time. That I have to go, and that they're now screwed for the rest of their vacation. I said that they're making a choice to get rid of me, that I would stay, and if they think it's going to ruin their vacation then perhaps they should just tell me what they want me to do and work things out. He said that my being there has just been a stress for them, that I haven't helped them in any way, that I haven't done my job, and that everyone knows it.
Hm. I find this insanely confusing, not to mention insulting. In addition to all the activities I mentioned the other day (swimming lessons, hide and seek, etc), I also helped the kids make puppets, played monkey in the middle, helped saved A. from choking when the parents weren't paying attention to what he was eating, cut up T.'s food for lunch, watched movies with the kids, took T. on exploratory walks, was always on time and where I was supposed to be . . . isn't that my job? What sort of magic nanny are they expecting?
The father also kept saying that I have to seduce kids. That's the word he kept using over and over. "Your job is to seduce my children." There's something so creepy about that. Never mind the fact that I have a lot of experience with kids T.'s age, and I've never seen a child so lazy, entitled, and bored. Here's a normal interaction with her:
Me: Hey, want to play a game?
T.: No.
Me: I can read you a story.
T.: No.
Me: Want to go into the kitchen and make our own play dough?
T.: No.
Me: Should we watch a movie?
T.: No.
Me: Okay, what do you want to do?
T.: Nothing.
Seriously. It's like she expected me to just entertain her, with no participation on her part. The adorable kids I was babysitting in Paris for the two weeks before this job, not to mention Lucas, Margaux, Marina, Martin, and lots of other kids I take care of between the ages of 5-6, were full of idea for games and always ready to play. I didn't have to "seduce" any of them. They're just kids. T. was a fucking nightmare. And she had this insanely supercilious attitude, that I suppose is normal in a girl raised with maids and nannies and people serving her family 4-course dinners every night. She actually said to me, after she had finished her breakfast, "You can clear the tray now." Um, no. YOU can take your plate to the sink. I am not your maid, 5 year old brat.
I know, I'm better off without the job. It's just . . . I hate being treated like crap. And the father really really treated me like crap. I brought up the issue of pay, saying that he hired me knowing that I was giving up my vacation and knowing that the money was very important to me. I had accepted the position on the basis of its being 4 weeks of pay: 3 weeks in Provence, and 1 week in Paris. I reminded him that I turned down other jobs, etc etc, and said that he has a moral obligation to pay me for 2 out of the 4 weeks. He turned bright red and said I had a moral obligation to do my job. I said I did do my job, but I can't read your mind. If you refuse to tell me what you want, I can't do it. He said he's not refusing. So I said, great, please tell me then. And he said, no, I'm not interested.
Finally he gave me one week's pay, and as he handed me the money he said, "You don't even deserve this much." I had gotten off the phone with my friend who knows a lot about hiring illegal employees cause she has illegal housekeepers, and she said that since I have an email outlining what I'd be earning and for how long, I can actually sue in small claims court to be paid through the end of my contract. French law protects illegal workers from exactly this sort of situation, and generally the person with money loses, while the little guy wins. One of the leftovers from the revolution, I suppose. I mentioned this to the father, only after he refused to pay me for more than 1 week, and he said, "Go ahead. We'll file a legal suit against you proving that we're unhappy."
I thought that after my telling him that I had a written contract (his wife had sent the mail, so he might not have known ahead of time) that he might change his mind and realize that the money really isn't that much to him, so why not just give it to me and have it over with. But no. Instead he said to me, "You can try to get the money, but remember that you have a lot to lose here, too."
What I still don't understand is what I could have possibly done that was so offensive that they would rather have 2 weeks of vacation with no nanny, rather than just tell me what they'd like me to do differently. Would it have been so hard to sit down and give me a list of things to do? Really?
I've gotten a lot of great support from my friends, via facebook. Most people are saying that I'm better off without the job, and why would I want to stay anyway, and that these people are crazy. But it's still an attack on my competence, and that's really hard to swallow. I know I'm good with kids. Hell, I got this job cause one of the moms I work with loves me so much that she placed an ad for me, without my asking her to! And I have so many repeat clients, and people trying to reserve me for next year, thanking me for getting their kids' grades up . . . I know that I'm good at what I do and that kids like me and relate well to me. So why is this getting under my skin so much? I know it hasn't been that long, but it's still hurting. I just find it hard to believe that I was such a repulsive presence in their life that they felt the right to treat me that way.
Does anyone have any insight? Or is this just a lost cause?
I'm too pooped tonight to write much, but I am no longer in Apt. I'm hanging out with some of my parents' friends, Henry and Elise, who are in the south of France for a month doing an apartment swap. They're staying in a small town called Pierrefeu, near Toulon. I'll be with them for a few days, and then back up to Paris. After that, I'm not sure. Possibly joining Anna and Pauline in the Carpathian mountains for a bit, if I can find cheap fare.
More on my firing tomorrow.
I had thought my summer wardrobe, although pretty basic, was cute. It’s all white and navy, with some turquoise, orange, and pink thrown in. Sure, most of it comes from Old Navy. But I try to look nice and put together.
So it’s really disheartening to realize that what I’m wearing is basically schmattes, compared to the clothes I see around the lunch table. Hermès, Balenciaga, Prada, Valentino, Marc Jacobs, Yves Saint Laurent. . . and that’s just their pool wear. Even T., the 5 year old, wears Chloé jeans.
I know that it doesn’t matter. And I know that my things are much nicer than many other people’s clothes, despite their being cheap and a bit used. I also know that spending 65€ on a bathing suit for a 3 year-old is ridiculous (one of the guests has a little kid, and they left the tag on the couch). But I can’t help coveting all the beautiful sandals, bags, sunglasses, and dresses.
Also, all the women here work in fashion, so they’re incredibly thin. Add to that their gorgeous bikinis—Erès, of course—and my glasses (still no contacts, due to the pink eye) and I feel utterly dowdy.
Still no update on my employment status. The dad just got back tonight at 21h, so we didn't talk. I still don't know what I was doing "wrong," or what they want me to do differently. It's been 5 days. I'm trying to stick it out 10 days (that's including 1 day off) for the moolah, and then I'd happily go back to Paris.
Although, I checked my bank account last night, and saw that the French government deposited a nice chunk of change into my checking account. It's basically just reimbursing me for some of the taxes I pay from my business English job, since I don't earn enough money to pay them. It's not quite enough to cover two weeks of nanny pay (what I'm assuming I'll lose out on this summer), but it's not far. While I was planning on using that money for a nice vacation and some new clothes, it'll make me feel a bit more solid come fall if I lose out on my August pay.
Okay, enough about money. No one said anything blog-worthy today. They made plenty of obnoxious comments, but nothing that's particularly funny. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it? Now there's a scary thought.
Well, I'm still here. This morning I told the father that I'm available to sit down with him and his wife to discuss what they're looking for, and he said we would. Then he left, back up to Paris, for two days. Okay.
I woke up with pink eye, which I haven't had in about 20 years, since my days at summer camp. So I can't wear my contacts, which means I can't wear my sunglasses. And it's obviously pretty uncomfortable. I got some eye drops, and while my eye looks better than this morning, it's still pretty hot and red. Not itchy, though.
Oh, quote of the day! While walking through the French labyrinth part of the garden with A. and T., the father noticed lots of spider webs on the hedges. He was not happy about it, and said to me, "I can't believe they don't clean the garden."
Oh, lordy.
I was trying to be positive in my post yesterday. I had a vague hope that this relationship might be long-term, and so I thought there was a chance that the parents would stumble across my blog at some point, and I didn't want anything damning on here. But at this point, I would be shocked if we make it through the week.
Why, you ask? Well, for starters, this morning the father took me aside and told me that it's not working out. I'd been here all of 40 hours at that point, including the 16 I was asleep. When I asked why, he said he didn't want to go into detail, but that he and his wife are not comfortable because there's too much of a disconnect between what they were expecting and what I was expecting.
Hm. I pointed out that I had only been here one full day, and that perhaps we could discuss their expectations and define my responsibilities. I've asked to do that several times, and each time they tell me that we'll take things as they come. But now they wanted to give me the boot after one day!
I reminded the father that I had canceled my vacation plans, rearranged my summer, and turned down other jobs for August in order to be available for them. He said that my leaving would be bad for them too, as they would have no one to help for the next three weeks. I suggested that instead of firing me, perhaps we could just discuss what they'd like me to do differently and that way no one will be shit out of luck for August.
He had to check that with his wife, who I guess agreed, because he came back to me with, "I'm still very confident that this won't work, but we'll give it a shot for you."
Gee, thanks, asshole.
So far, since being here, I've played hide and seek, I spy, started teaching T. how to swim, swum races with T. and her friend J., walked up and down countless stairs with A., painted and drawn pictures with T. and J., made play dough meals, read stories, applied stickers, created origami fortune tellers, and forced myself to lose at Memory. I've chased after A., helped T. get dressed, had a smile on my face the whole time, and still they're not happy. But god forbid they tell me why!
I think, honestly, what it comes down to is the same thing I experienced last summer. These people think they want a white, Ivy-educated au pair for their kids, but they don't. They want an immigrant (not an American immigrant!) woman who's just happy to have a job, and will clean up after the kids and eat in the kitchen. They want someone they can feel comfortable ordering around, not someone who's obviously their intellectual equal.
And it's not just how they treat me that's disgusting. They, and their many visiting friends (6 adults and 2 kids are the current guests) are just so rude to the servants. It's like a bad movie. One of them took a sip of sparkling water and spit it out, saying "this isn't Perrier, it's San Pellegrino." Oh no! Call the cops! Another one sniffs every dish before eating, and rejects most of them, saying that they're full of glutamate. They mock the food, the service, the plates and glasses, and insult the staff behind their backs. It's just revolting.
I'm also not allowed to play with A., ever. His mom is insanely attached to him, and won't give me the chance to get to know him and have him feel comfortable with me. If I try to play with him she'll pick him up. But yet this morning her husband said I need to make more of an effort with A. Get your stories straight, people! They obviously have no idea what they want. Last night the mom told me to eat with the adults, as long as I would get up and chase A. around during the meal. So I did. This morning her husband said that made him uncomfortable. So I said I would just eat with the kids. He said that he knew I would be unhappy with that. I suggested that perhaps he let me decide what would make me unhappy.
The kitchen staff obviously feel bad for me. I heard the cook say to her assistant, "c'est infernale, je n'en supporte plus!" which translates to "this is hell, I can't stand it any more!"
You and me both, sister.
My ensuite bathroom in Apt is the size of my apartment in Paris. That is not an exaggeration.
I also never have to make my bed, do laundry, cook, or even clean my bathroom. There is full maid service, every day. The house is actually too big, as it's really inconvenient for the kids. The gardens and grounds are immense. I haven't even begun to see all of it. There are no barriers or safety gates, so A. can run around everywhere and his mom is constantly panicking that he's going to get hurt. I have tons of scars from my early days, and I turned out fine. I definitely think I'm more easy-going about letting kids fall, as I think that's how they learn. It can be a bit frustrating to have to bow to a parent that wants to protect their kid from everything. It's just not possible.
Hopefully they'll loosen up a bit. In the meantime, I eat my breakfast in the self-serve summer kitchen, and then get waited on for lunch and dinner. The food is amazing, as the private cook is a former restaurant chef. I wouldn't mind if someone offered me a glass of wine with dinner, but I have a feeling I can sneak it once I'm "off duty."
Shower time!
