Beth Arnold

Letter From Paris: A Chateau Weekend

Crossposted at HuffingtonPost.com.  Comments not included here.

The Lone Wolf and I slipped onto the TGV and sat down in our single seats facing each other in the First Class car. We were escaping from Paris. Yes, even though it's pleasure to live here one still needs to get out of town. And it was a fast 46 minute train ride to Vendome (pictured below), where we were picking up a car. In fact, I didn't even finish making my "To Do" list before we arrived and hopped into our darling little Fiat that was a cross between a Volkwagen Beetle and Mini-Cooper in which we would sportily zip around the Loire for the next few days.

We were headed to chateau country. Better than that, we were checking into a chateau-B & B, the divine Chateau de la Barre, which is near tiny village Conflans-sur-Anille in the Sarthe department in the Pays de la Loire region of France. The chateau is owned by the Count and Countess de Vanssay, whose family it has been in since 1404. Countess Marnie de Vanssay is our new Grace Kelly--a beautiful former model who happens to be American and became a countess when she and the count (Guy) married. Marnie and I had gotten to know each other through social media, and she had invited the Wolf and I down for a weekend ages before. It had taken us months to get there, but we were on our way now. We couldn't have been happier.

Chateau de la Barre (Photo by Beth Arnold)

Letter From Paris: The Luxurious Walk of Shame

Image via Wikipedia

I love the Ritz and the Place Vendôme where it sits so majestically.  It would be heaven to stay in the suite where Coco Chanel lived and changed the habits and ideas about the dress of modern women (even if she consorted with Nazis).

The Hemingway Bar is my kind of place with its icy martinis, even if they're a little silly with flowers in them.  What would Papa say about that?  Fish them out.  (Here is the previous blog I wrote about my favorite Paris watering hole.)

The salty cocktail mix and olives are the perfect accompaniments along with the other little hors d'oeuvres that one can order or that sometimes magically come your way, as if the Cocktail God has bestowed a great gift on us for being in such a hallowed hall.  And Colin, the bartender, is a Hemingway Bar icon as well as a poobah in the world of cocktail mixing.  In my opinion, it's only proper to give him a respectful nod if one is ingesting his artful libations. 

Letter From Paris: The Nature of Balls

Image via Wikipedia

Like everyone else I know, I watched the tragedy that is the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico with feelings of horror and helplessness.  America's Gulf Coast, and New Orleans in particular, have had more than their share of disasters over the last few years.  It has been bad enough when they've been natural like the devastating hurricane Katrina (pictured above), and there's absolutely no way to stop it--even if there had been a way to prevent many of the dire consequences that destroyed and paralyzed this great Southern city.  But when they're man-made--like this oil spill--there is positively no excuse.

I occasionally write about our oceans because of my love for them and the danger they're in--and because piggish humankind is raping them.  We are knowingly and with vigor destroying the quality of our water and the wildlife within it for greedy motives, nothing more and nothing less.  The conservation of the planet and the future of their children and grandchildren are of no concern to those who use their mighty resources to this end. 

As my regular readers know, I'm an admirer of Ted:  Ideas worth spreading.  When I watched this talk about the Gulf oil spill by Carl Safina, whose "writing explores the scientific, moral and social dimensions of our relationship with nature," and here gives us a clear picture about the consequences that will stretch far beyond the Gulf, I felt it was important for me to pass this along.  Even if you are oil spill fatigued, it's worth 20 minutes of your time to watch it.

Letter From Paris: Patti Smith and Just Kids

Cover of Just Kids

My friend, J, recently lent me her copy of Patti Smith's Just Kids, her memoir of her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe--the story of their love and life as artists and of finding their way through the fringes and upper echelons of New York City together. 

Dear Patti,

I'm not being a bad patron of the arts and the artists who create so diligently with fever and pitch, love, hate, and remorse, joy and vitality.  These bringers of an enriched reality who soak themselves through with blood, sweat, and tears to do the work they are compelled to do for themselves and for us, this throb of creation that they long for the world to see. 

Don't worry, Patti.  Not only am I ordering my own copy of Just Kids today, but I'm also sending one to each of my daughters.  It's important for them to read this record of your and Robert's life as artists growing up together and of this transforming crack of time in New York when young women and men came to our greatest American city and soared like eagles in the sky before flying too close to the sun, burning their wings, and falling to the earth dying or dead.  A generation of genius lost...not forgotten.

Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe (from Just Kids)

Letter From Paris: A Season for Festivals

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

---(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll)

And so it is time to talk of summer in France as the season for festivals.  From tiny villages like Conflans-sur-Anille where the Lone Wolf and I just witnessed a wonderful fireworks display, to Saint-Tropez where I marched in the parade of the Fête de la Bravade (how I loved it!), to Paris where our yearly Paris Plage has just begun.  (See my Paris Plage piece from last year here.)  It is the time of year for people to take lazier days, relax in the sunshine, breathe some fresh air, and for the arts to be celebrated outdoors with music, theater, dance, regional food and drink, and any other artistic endeavor you can think of.

We all get lessons in joie de vivre that have evolved through the history of France when we partake of the rich culture here.  Is it merrier in summer?  The answer is simply, yes.  Citizens and visitors alike are in holiday moods, and this is part of the summer charm one finds from north to south.  For me, it has always been impressive that every village provides cultural opportunities for its citizens as well as tourists who might be passing through, whether to watch a flamenco performance or to peruse the local museum.

What would we find in the U.S.?  Not that.  The closest thing we have to compare to these yearly fêtes are our County Fairs.  I haven't made it to one in years, though the Independence County Fairs in Batesville, Arkansas, are almost mythological in my memory.  We celebrated our local life and the men and women who lived it.  We rode carnival rides and ate cotton candy.  We ogled the prize-winning cakes and admired the livestock. 

Letter From Paris: From The Balcony

The Lone Wolf and I have reentered Paris after a fantastic three days in the country (more about that very soon).  We could feel the quiet of the city as the taxi drove us from the Gare Montparnasse across town.  The people we saw sitting in cafés, sipping a beer or a glass of wine with baguette sandwich in hand or a salad in front of them, looked laid back and relaxed.  A holiday vibe fills the air on this Monday, the 19th of July.

In Paris, one is never short of beautiful visions.  But the whole notion of summer gives us permission to take a little more time to look at the world around us.  (Why can't we maintain this attitude throughout the year?)

Last week, we were lucky enough to be included in a wonderful party in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.  Our hosts opened their balcony to us, and here were some of our luscious views:

A Paris Sunset  (Photo by Beth Arnold)

Letter From Paris: Chilling in Corsica, Part 3

Crossposted at HuffingtonPost.com.  Comments not included.

When I dream of Corscia, I see a horizon with sparkling blue sea touching electric blue sky as I smell the fragrant maquis in its breezes. I slip into cool water and take a long swim, wondering at the sea life around me.

The Lone Wolf and I fell in love with Corsica on our first trip to the island, when we had cruised there on a ferry from Nice. We drove our car off the boat and into the city of Ajaccio, where Napoleon Bonaparte had sent some of his plunder to his uncle, the powerful Cardinal Fesch. This collection plus more is housed in Cardinal Fesch's palace and is a very well-hung museum .

On this trip, we had decided to go north, first to Calvi and then to explore the Cap Corse. My guidebook had enticed us with this:

While Corsica is traditionally an agricultural and cattle-breeding island, the Cap Corse headland is staunch fishing country. The region's fisherman travel far out to sea to catch lobsters, and seafood is the region's gastronomic delicacy. The landscape and way of life of this region is much like the French region of Brittany - but with sun."

You can see the appeal.

You can read Parts 1 and 2 of our trip, here and here.

Letter From Paris: Happy Bastille Day!

It's been a wild 14th of July in Paris--from rain to hail to sun--and a flood from my terrace to my kitchen!

 

But Happy Bastille Day, everyone!  May we all hold the spirit of r/evolution in our most inner selves and in our daily lives. 

                                                     ---Beth Arnold in Paris

Let Them Eat Cake

By guest columnist Mark Ginsburg

 

One of the striking things about Parisian pastry shops is the absolute consistency of the offerings. There’s a repertoire of 30-odd confections upon which the establishment is judged, which constitute an unyielding part of the French patrimoine. Surprises are quite rare in the French food world.

 

Despite, or because of, the presence of some 50,000 Americans living here, one would never, ever find American-style cake, with its vulgar and unwieldy wedge-like slices, or a slice of pie, with its disorganized fruit, and imperfect strips of crust, in a French pastry shop. The Parisians are warming up to le muffin, and the odd brownie, and cupcakes are sprouting up in some of the ice-cream stores in the 6e arrondissement (think Upper East Side), and le Marais (think Chelsea). Parisians like single-serve items. 

Sugarplum Cake Shop

The new Sugarplum Cake Shop is a total and extremely welcome aberration for Paris. Its unabashedly American-style offerings, and extremely high quality put most Manhattan bakeries

Letter From Paris: A Terrace with A View

One knows the Parisian summer is in full swing when Paris starts emptying out, when suddenly there's space on the boulevards or cobblestone streets once the mass summer holiday exodus has begun.  A friend told me yesterday that last weekend 1.3 million Parisians left the city by train and plane.  No wonder our Sunday market felt nearly lonely when the Lone Wolf and I went shopping that morning.

Speaking of the Lone Wolf, he happens to have the cover story of the July/August National Geographic Traveler magazine.  The subject?  How the entire month of August feels like the most luxurious long Sunday in Paris.  While the city's residents are vacationing in the South of France or in the Pyrenees or the Alps, the ones of us who choose to stay have our own vacation...from them.

Let the holidays begin!  For us at home, a terrace with a view: