Snow painting the entrance to the Musée de l’Armée

It doesn’t snow in Paris very often, and when it does, we see the flakes falling but nothing accumulates on the ground. Paris, although it is at the same latitude as the northern-most parts of the US, has a mild, temperate climate similar to Seattle. The relatively mild winter weather is both because of its position in the European land mass and due to the influence of the Gulf Stream on the weather of northern Europe. The Paris urban area is always a couple degrees centigrade warmer than the surrounding areas. This often spares the city from effects of cold weather even when it produces snow in the suburbs. Typically, the temperature here in winter is in the 40-45 °F range. Freezing weather is rare.

Thus it was significant when 12-15 cm (5 or 6 inches) of snow fell in Paris Tuesday night, turning the streets, the parks, and the building tops white. It was the biggest snowfall in Paris since 1987. No one from a snowy winter climate would be impressed with the magnitude of the storm, yet for Paris, the snow creates two effects: it renders the city quiet and magical and it turns city services into chaos.

No shoveling on rue Cler

Not much doing at Le Malabar

About a year ago I purchased an Apple Watch, which has a couple of fitness programs I use, Nike Run Club and the Activity App. These drive me nuts because I have goals every day to stand up often enough, burn enough calories through movement, and to get enough minutes of exercise. It’s relatively easy every day to stand up enough and to get 30 minutes of walking or running, but on days when I don’t run it’s difficult to get the 550 calories of activity. It usually takes about 90 minutes of walking to get there. Oh – and the watch can’t detect when you are doing pushups or squat thrusts, so you can’t achieve the goal by going to the gym. It bugs me not to reach my goals, so every day there is this reckoning.

Eerie quiet in the snow on the Champs de Mars

All is quiet along rue de Belgrade

Tuesday night at 10 pm I still needed about 125 calories, so out I went into the snow storm. I stuffed my 35mm camera into my coat, put up my hood, and walked around. Every once in awhile I stopped to take a photo in the swirling snow. Hopefully I’ve captured some of the calm, the quiet, and the mess. If you click on the pictures you can see a larger version.

Underfoot in the snow, Paris becomes magical. The snow gives a different look to every familiar scene, and the weather keeps most people away, so especially at night the streets and public spaces are lightly trafficked and sometimes deserted. The normal noise and bustle becomes quiet and serene. No one moves quickly. Traffic slows down. Everyone proceeds carefully, looking for solid footing, except the kids who revel in the sudden chance to have a snowball fight.

Not much activity on slushy rue Saint Dominique

Garden out our apartment window after the snow

All this calm belies the inability of the city to cope with even a minor snowstorm. No one has even a shovel. In walking extensively through the city streets, I saw one small green city truck with a snow blade, pushing a narrow path up a busy street. Most streets were eventually cleared by the grinding of the slushy snow under wheel and gradual melting. Curbside there were slush and deep puddles everywhere. Merchants and the City spread salt and sand to improve traction along the sidewalks of the main streets, but other than a narrow path near the doors to the storefronts, the slush and snow remained as a hazard out to the curb. Flights were cancelled. Metro trains and the bus service stopped running. The Eiffel Tower was closed. The city forbid large trucks from using the highways and encouraged people to stay home. Hundreds spent the night in the airport or in a train station. I stopped short of trying to achieve my calorie goal.

By Thursday there was sun but still freezing temperatures. I could sense the extra strain on our apartment’s heating system in the colder weather. Some sidewalks became passable, some almost clear. Others remained slushy and slippery.

The flood waters are subsiding

Voie sur Berge Rive Gauche still packed with snow and ice

Snow capped Le Zouave wears his life jacket

Down by the river the walkways were thick with ice and treacherous. At Place Saint André des Arts I nearly fell several times walking across the slippery brick surface. The flooding that surged into Paris a couple weeks ago seemed to be subsiding, though the roads and walkways beside the Seine are still covered in water. The Crimean War statue called Le Zouave, the city’s unofficial flood gauge under Pont de l’Alma, was outfitted with a life vest. Though the water level looks about 2 feet lower than it was at its peak, perhaps the citizenry still fears for Le Zoave’s safety as this new storm moves through.

Champs de Mars shows no willingness to give up the snow after 3 days.

The days are getting longer. Soon all this will pass and spring will be here.

Hugh Nelson and Brenda Prowse at Vaux le Vicomte

Apologies to our readers. We have fixed the security device that was blocking comments to our post.

We did a lot in 2017, but one thing we didn’t do was post to this blog. Our experiment of living in France is now almost five years old, and 2017 was no less active than any of the other years. To start the new year out right, here is a small effort, neither too long nor too inclusive, to convey something about the past year.

We traveled a number of places, the most impressive being a trip to Cuba in May. In sum, Cuba is both a country with a totalitarian government and beautiful place with ingenious people who manage as best they can, have happiness where they can find it, and hope for a better outcome in the future. Around every corner of Cuba there was surprise and fascination. It was our privilege to visit with and learn from some of its citizens. We also vacationed on the Greek island of Corfu, which was beautiful, historic, educational, and fun. We went to Barcelona, one of the greatest tourist attractions in Europe, to meet friends from Australia for the second year in a row. We flew back to the US to visit family. The natural beauty of Washington is as good as any other place on earth. We spent time last August in Nice, France, our first experience on the wonderful Mediterranean beaches and towns of France.

We finally moved our furniture from Washington into a Paris apartment. It was a saga and an ordeal, but at least it is done. Apartment hunting, financial contract arrangements, and moving our furniture all took much longer and were much more difficult than we could have imagined, but we’re happy with the result. One conclusion, despite getting rid of as much as we possibly could before leaving Washington, we still shipped too many things that we didn’t need – our bed for instance, which the movers thought was a piano.

We were robbed a couple times. Once I was pickpocketed on the Metro. And one of the movers made off with a few thousand in gold jewelry. None of this was recoverable (except for my French ID card), but it impressed upon us that though France is relatively safe, there isn’t much trust between people.

We stopped taking French lessons. We are still not very fluent, yet our French is many times better than when we arrived. I liken it to failing 3rd grade. Try as hard as you can and come up short every time with no hope that proficiency will ever be attained – yet things seem to be getting better. There is no switch that flips so that suddenly you know French, yet every effort to learn and speak in French makes the experience here better. French self study is still a daily activity.

We have lost some dear friends this year, people who have influenced our lives in the past and continue to do so today. I keep in mind that this life does not go on forever and that every new day presents opportunities to honor the past and to make something of the gifts we have received. On the other hand, we love hearing about the new members of our families, and we’re proud of the efforts of the next generation and want for them every success in raising a new group of children.

The good fortune of our time in France is that we have been befriended by a French family and have been invited into their world. We see them every week and often go on vacation together. This has been a cultural exchange that has enriched our lives immeasurably and has made every inconvenience of living here worth the pain.

So another year begins. We wish you and your family a safe, prosperous, and happy new year!

I‘ve been thinking that there would be time to post an end of the year letter like the very nice ones I’ve been receiving in the mail – but no, the clock has almost run out.

We started 2014 in Paris, celebrating with our American friends Martha and Terry and French friend Pascale and her mother (German friend) Barbara. Later in January we were off to see Van Morrison in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and along the way learned about “the Troubles” between Catholics and Protestants, about the building of the Titanic and its fateful voyage, and got to see some of the rugged coastline.

In February we searched for a new apartment and then moved just a few blocks to a larger, quieter place in our same Latin Quarter neighborhood.

Our house in Provence

In March we received a surprise invitation from our Seattle friend Laurie Greig to come stay at her friend’s house in the small town of Saint-Cannat in Provence. We toured Mount Sainte Victoire where Cézanne did much of his painting, visited the market at Saint Rémy, and spent a day visiting the Roman ruins and amphitheater at Orange, as well as touring a bit of the côte du Rhone wine country nearby. We also celebrated our 25th Anniversary with dinner at a wonderful hotel in Saint-Cannat.

In April we made it through the difficult process of preparing to renew our residence permit for a second year in France, though the permit itself wasn’t ready until July. Later in April we saw Randi Strong Petersen, who came for a few days after visiting family in England.

In May our friend Don Merry arrived, and after a couple days in Paris we went to Barcelona, where we spent a lot of time getting to know the works of architect Antoni Gaudi as well as seeing many other sights. After that Brenda and Don headed off on a further great adventure, first to steamy Sevilla and then to fabulous Madrid. I went back to Paris hoping to catch up on a few things, but my mother passed away, so I made plans to go back to her home in Pekin, Illinois. Brenda and I flew to the US for her funeral shortly after Brenda returned from Spain.

Rocamadour

In late May, just after our return from the US, Rob Gelder and Brian Johnson came to Paris for a few days of sight seeing, and then we went with them on the train to Bordeaux, and then by car into the Perigord region of central France, where we stayed in a 400 year old cottage in the small village of Berbigueres. This was a fabulous trip that we have yet to report on in our blog. The first day we saw the 17,000 year old cave paintings at Lascaux, and afterwards spent each day on a new foray to see the various famous castles in the area, one example being the cliffside city at Rocamadour, a legendary Christian pilgrimage site built in the 1100s. Five liters of very good Bergerac (the town where Cyrano came from) wine in a box from the local coop cost 8 Euros, and most nights we cooked wonderful dinners at home (that would be Rob and Bryan and Brenda who did the cooking).

Brenda and I went out for Paris’s popular all night party, Fête de la Musique, on the June 21st. Later in June we made the first of two trips to Normandy with our French friends Cat and Jacques. We stayed at Deauville and visited other coastal towns along the Normandy beaches, namely Trouville, Cabourg, and Honfleur. Jacques and I went swimming in the chilly Atlantic – water temperatures were about 60 degrees F.

In July we saw Keb Mo at a great small venue concert in Paris – our seats about 20 feet from him on stage. Brenda got to shake hands with him as he headed off stage. One beautiful summer day we visited Monet’s garden at Giverny. Another summer night we had dinner with Pierre, the Fromager at our local food market. Afterwords we walked with him along the Seine and took in the activities at Paris Plages, the local summer festival where the highway along the river is turned into a beach for people to come and enjoy if they cannot leave town for the customary summer vacation. We also spent a day with Cat and Jacques at the medieval village of Provins, south of Paris, where we saw demonstrations of falconry and jousting, as well as a full scale play of the knights defeating the invaders in an exciting demonstration of horsemanship and fighting skills.

Vaux de Vicomte

In August we were off to Normandy again for another weekend, this time staying at Étretat, a small village with high cliffs sheltering a small beach. It was a popular site for some of the Impressionist painters, as well as another place for Jacques and I to swim in the Atlantic, this time a few degrees warmer. Also we spent a day at the spectacular Vaux le Vicomte, the Château of Nicholas Fouquet, superintendent of finances for Louis XIV. When the King saw Fouquet’s Chateau at a party held in the King’s honor, Fouquet was arrested and imprisoned for life for alleged misappropriation of public finances. Louis XIV hired Fouquet’s team of architects and landscapers to create Versailles. Later in August Brenda headed to the US to see her mom in Spokane, Washington, for 11 days.

When she returned to Paris in September, we headed off again with Cat and Jacques on a new adventure, a two week vacation in the Dominican Republic. I never imagined that I would be going there. It was our first experience with an all inclusive resort vacation, and we had a great time. We also made an effort to go into the cities and experience the local flavor of the island.

My brother Peter at a Christmas concert at Saint Chappelle

In early October, my sister-in-law Jan Hiatt and nephew Alex Nelson visited us in Paris for a few days as part of Alex’s corporate sabbatical. They were the first of my family to make it to Paris. Later in the month my brother Peter spent a few days with us, and he was back again in early December, now that he has work that regularly brings him to England.

In November we renewed more easily our residence permit for another year in France. With the help of Mon Ami Andy, an agency that helps English speakers with real estate and residence issues, we now have the process fairly under control.

Getting ready to eat the meal we had prepared at La Cuisine

On the holidays of Valentines Day, July 4th, Thanksgiving, and during the Christmas season, we went to dinner cooking classes at La Cuisine, an excellent highly recommended cooking school located near us. We’ve continued throughout the year to take French lessons twice a week, and though it seems like we’ve learned a lot, there is still a wide gulf between what we know and what I would describe as fluency. It has been a humbling experience.

Through the year we’ve had numerous other visitors whom we’ve spent the day or perhaps met for dinner. We enjoyed every moment with them and hope you’ll get in touch with us if you are ever in Paris. We love sharing our experiences and local knowledge. I’ve failed to mention numerous art exhibits and galleries we’ve visited, and many many walks around town just to enjoy life here. Throw in going to the gym every other day, the local market three times a week, and keeping up with friends and obligations in the United States, and life is pretty busy.

For the second year in a row we celebrated Christmas with our friends Cat and Jacques and their family. We’ve seen them perhaps once or twice a week, often for a movie and usually for dinner, all year long, and without their help and interest our experience here might be entirely different, for they have provided a true window into what it’s like to be French. Many evenings we have played highly competitive games of scrabble in French, men against the women – and the women usually win.

After a second year in Paris we’ve made some decisions. We’re headed back to the US in February to fully retire (or maybe it’s “more fully retire”), sell the house, consolidate all of our stuff, simplify our finances and return to Paris in July for another year. This continues to be a great adventure.

It’s almost New Year’s Eve. We hope that you and your family have a healthy and happy 2015. Bonne Année!

Brenda and Hugh

Marion and Bill heading off into the fog at Mount Saint Helens in 2005.

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. This, the start of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, is also a principle in statistics. From Wikipedia – the Anna Karenina principle describes an endeavor in which a deficiency in any one of a number of factors dooms it to failure. Consequently, a successful endeavor (subject to this principle) is one where every possible deficiency has been avoided.

My mother Marion Nelson died last night. She passed away after 91 years. I looked up the meaning of “passed away” – it is a euphemism for the act of dying – a nice way of saying something that is unpleasant to discuss head on. She was at her nursing home in Pekin, Illinois. My brothers Peter and Chris were at her side. I was here in Paris – there wasn’t time to get there, and the situation was uncertain. I spent a restless night and didn’t really perceive any of my feelings except relief that her struggle and suffering were finally over. But I knew that if I waited some idea would come to me about the meaning of all this.

Mom and I shared the view that every possible deficiency should be avoided. I could be wrong, since my father was also a formidable planner, but I’m pretty sure that my mom and I had the market cornered on worrying – and to the extent that worrying alone can prevent deficiencies, voila! In an attempt to avoid every possible deficiency, I of course nixed the idea of moving to France. Fortunately I am married to someone who does not recognize the importance of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina principle – so we moved here in spite of my grave warnings.

On Mom’s side of the family, we are German. I studied German in high school and back then could actually convey my thoughts, though a trip to Munich in the ’70s convinced me that there was a limit to my abilities. German was the logical language to study in our family. It’s a somewhat harsh sounding language, and though the German’s started World War II, still I loved the connection it gave me with the important non English roots of our ancestry.

Mom, on the other hand, studied French – I have no idea why. Here in Paris, I have her French books. Her address is dutifully recorded in the binding of each, 1115 W Nevada, Urbana, IL. I have her notes in the margins. The pictures, which represented some remote possibility in her lifetime, are of places that I have visited and readily recognize. Though I am no expert, in most cases I understand the French. It’s reassuring to me that I have brought the memory of her to a place where, despite the family’s logical connection to German, she sought to study. When we notified our relatives about our crazy idea of moving to France for a year, my mom was the first to cheer and encourage us, though she must have wondered whether she would live to the end of the experiment.

We don’t exactly know what constitutes a happy family, though perhaps it is a case where you can recognize an unhappy family when you see one. Our upbringing was not all wine and roses. My mom was the enforcer. If you follow hockey in the NHL you might have some idea of what that looks like. Certainly my recollections of childhood feature her as one who would enforce the part about “woe to that man by whom the offence cometh”. I think my brothers know that too. Still, mom was wonderful in her own way. We could bring her any modern idea that excited us, and she would become excited about it too. There was always that youthful exuberance without the fear that the standards of social etiquette would crumble.

We’ve scheduled the funeral, and I’m now planning an unexpected return to the US. Conveniently the timing works with everything else we were planning to do here. It’s funny how in spite of our family having spread all over the country (and now the world), the memory of our parents binds us together now more tightly than when we were younger. We were never the smartest kids, and we were always aware that many other families enjoyed a greater economic fortune than ours. Still, every day here I have a coat of my father’s to protect me and some French textbooks of my mother to remind me of the adventure yet to come. Were I to reconsider my life, I really wouldn’t want to have it any other way.