And Then There Was One

As most of you know, I have been all over the map this summer and with the best of company, leaving me very little time to write or update on all the adventures and misadventures I have been getting into. Then like the silence after a storm, this week settled in on me, and I am alone in Paris, watching the storm clouds roll in and wondering where the last year has gone. Time to write.

I've already told you about my adventures in Belgium and Paris with my cousin Caity.

Still to come, the French Riviera and Paris with my sister Sally (better known in the blogosphere as The Quirky Peach).

And last but not least, my two-week trip through the country and kitchens of Italy with my good friend Hannah. 

Meanwhile I have said goodbye to the last of the 6th floor sisterhood as one by one each of my friends in Paris left their au pair duties behind to begin the next chapter in their lives. Grad school. Big girl jobs. New countries. Old cities. It's a mix and a blur and hard to keep up with. And it somehow feels appropriate that I should be the last one standing in the end, like a guardian of a memory saluting off the final vigil. The one who sees Paris after the party leaves, who sees her for who she really is. 

The past two days, alone in Paris, has been a déjà vu experience, a strange almost out-of-body experience, like walking through a museum of your life, the life that you just had yesterday. The places are all the same, but the voices, the laughter, the memories drift through the air like thin paper ghosts. Paris is a shell of itself in August, emptied of locals fleeing the summer heat to holiday houses by the seaside. I am blown about in the herds of tourists, watching them watch my city with glassy-eyed looks, not knowing this is where I ate my favorite croissant with a friend just a few weeks ago, not knowing how many nights we spent sipping cheap, delicious French wine and talking about the purpose of life on the Left Bank near Pont Alexandre III. There is something particularly strange about watching the life you built over the past year unravel one character at a time. Each goodbye froze another frame in time, put another block of the city into wax for me to later walk by and remember. After a year of wandering the museums of Paris, the last one I expected to walk through was my own––the former life of a Parisian au pair.

I have three weeks left in Paris, three weeks of precious time I know will fly away before I want it to. I am eager to go back to the States, and yet afraid of losing everything I have gained. I am afraid of how I will fit into my old world, when I love my new one so much. I am afraid of how people will accept me, and afraid of changing so they will accept me.

But I'm learning that home is not a place, because a place without your people is just a jumble of buildings and streets. They say home is where the heart is, but now my heart has been scattered all over the world... 

It's a precious time, this week especially. Alone in Paris, with no one to answer to, no expectations to meet or agenda to keep. This will likely be the last time in my life where I find myself so wholly independent, without responsibility. I should relish in the days. But somehow I can't find whole satisfaction in this state of existing to myself. I think there is an integral part of our human being that needs to exist for others. That while it might be nice to have a break from responsibility and people for a while, it is the people that gives us a reason to live. It's the ones we love that make us get up in the morning and stay up all night. That bring us home again after a year abroad. So while I am afraid and willful and independent and going home sometimes feel like defeat, I am listening also to stronger longing to be amongst my own again, and a longing to be home, where my heart is, where my people are.

Look for my posts coming up on my summer travels, and in the meanwhile, know that you are someone's reason for getting up, whether you know it or not. Blessings and joy to you my readers, on this Sunday morning.

Bastille Day, Cousin Caity, and Other Short Stories

Hello blogger world, my name is Ruth, you probably don't remember me, but I'm that small town Ohio girl hanging out in Paris?

I know you haven't seen me for a while. I've been MIA for the past month playing hostess in Paris and knocking a few bucketlist destinations off my list. July was my big hosting month, with my cousin Caitlin coming for a week, followed immediately by my sister Sally for 10 days. Now I have a little pocket of rest before the adventures recommence and I head off to Italy for two weeks. So I am taking these precious moments of rest to get my life in order and try to tell you about all the silly mischief I've been up to during my leave of absence.  

Where to begin?

Let's start with my cousin Caity coming to Paris! Caity and I are the same age, so we've always been natural playmates at family gatherings. It wasn't until recently that we really started hanging out outside of holiday events, and wow! What a delight to find out that the family you are stuck with happens to be amazing and people you would want to be friends with anyway. Both fresh out of school and unattached, we share that "anything could happen" light in our eyes and are determined to make the most of our 20s. 

So you can imagine my excitement when I got a last minute call that she had a week before starting her new job and wanted to spend it in Paris with me! Planning and preparations began, and before we knew it, July 10th had arrived. It gives me a chuckle that when receiving guests from the States to my apartment in Paris, it never feels strange or surreal, like, I can't believe you are in Paris! It feels as natural as it did having the same people over when we lived in the same city. I guess that's because Paris is my home now, and I've lived here long enough I forget it takes a flight for these people to get here. 

After an explosion of American-style squealing and squeezing on the demure sidewalks of the sixteenth arrondissement, we made our way up those dreaded 6 flights of stairs to my chambre de bonne on the top floor. I always warn people about the climb before they come. Without fail they shrug it off, "That's okay, it will be no problem!" Without fail, after the first climb they are stunned. After the fourth of fifth climb they are enraged. By the end of the stay, they are too exhausted to care. Does it ever get easier? they often ask. Well, some nights yes. Some nights,  no.

We spent the daylight hours trouncing around Paris in a whirl of touristy activity. Our nights were spent lazily on the River Seine, sharing bottles of wine and drinking in the atmosphere. Thursday nights are for le Pont Alexandre-III, the most beautiful bridge in Paris, where the business men and women of the right bank venture over to the left to loosen their ties and let down their hair at the bumping quai-side bar scene. Its the perfect place for a riverside picnic and people watching.

Friday nights are for the summertime tradition of the guinguette; our favorite is La Javelle in the 15th arrondissement, and outdoor riverside party on the docks where local food trucks bring different fare from all around the world every night, and live band music warms up the dancefloor before a DJ drives home the party til midnight. The best part of La Javelle is the "fishbowl" as we named it, which is too wonderful and weird to describe to the world of Internet, and can only be experienced by visiting the guinguette and experiencing it for yourself. Look for the restrooms.

This particular night we met a swarthy Mexican named Edgar who was fluent in French and salsa dancing. And we were offered a midnight tour of Paris by a private speedboat. But while my friends were jumping up and down with excitement, I kept replaying scenes from Taken in my mind and took the role of Liam Neeson. We politely declined.

Saturday we spent at the Chateau de Vaux le Vicomte, my favorite secret chateau in Paris. After hopping the train to Melun (it wouldn't be a complete trip unless I made you break the law at some point), we arrived on a perfectly sunny day for a tour of the chateau and a picnic in the shaded hill overlooking the estate. 

Saturday night we got ready for our weekend getaway in Brussels! That trip deserves a separate post.

We returned to Paris just in time for the national holiday, the 14th of July, or as Americans call it, Bastille Day (no one in France knows what you are talking about if you say this). We got a late start to the morning and missed the fighter jets painting the sky a patriotic blue, white and red. But we did ride Velibs down to the Arc de Triomphe in time to see all the handsome French soldiers in uniform posing with kids by massive tanks. Heart. Melting. Oh, I guess there was a parade too, but we got a bit distracted.... 

After riding down to Musee d'Orsay for a quick hit of some of Paris' best art, it was time to celebrate. We cornered a patch of grass on the Champs de Mars and staked out a five hour picnic that ended in a magnificent fireworks display. When we arrived at 5:30pm, the grassy area was completely packed; there would be half a million people filling the space by the end of the night. 

There was a free concert for the loungers; in true Paris style, it was opera with a full orchestra. At the end of the night it was a mad dash for home as all the metros were shut and some streets blockaded. Some of our group peeled off for the Firemen Balls, the after-parties that boasts dancing with half naked French firemen. But I was asleep before I hit my pillow, and we still had a few more days in Paris to go.

Our last couple of days in Paris were spent in dozing along the Canal Saint Martin, hunting down the best eclaires in Paris (L’éclair de Génie in the Marais), and seeking shade in the sweltering heat. Thank God for gelato. As a thank you for hosting, Caity treated me to a goodbye dinner at a beautiful candlelit bistro overlooking the magnificent Place des Vogues, where we dined on roast duck and chicken marinated in ancient wine. We met a lovely elderly American couple sitting adjacent to us; she was a retired French teacher returning to France after all these years on a tour with her husband and other similar couples. We swapped secrets over the best places to visit in Paris, hers old, mine new, and marveled at the beauty of Paris over a delightful light tiramisu with raspberry filling. 

The perfect end to a perfect week of adventure and misadventure in Paris and beyond, I highly recommend traveling the world with your cousin. Especially if she happens to love walking and food as much as you do. Here's to our future adventures together, Caitlin!

And my adventures with my sister Sally waited only a day away.

Les Soldes: How to Own the Summer Sales in Paris

When I packed my bags one suitcase for Paris, I decided to pack bare minimum. Because, ya know, I would just buy more clothes in Paris. Now we can all join together in collective laughter at my naivety. The truth is, shopping for clothing in Paris is expensive. When I decided I wanted to make this year about travel, I had to get over my shopping addiction and chain store snobbery. I measured every clothing purchase against a travel adventure. New pair of booties vs. dinner out Vienna. New trench coat vs. plane ticket to Barcelona. Instead of a new Christmas dress this year,  I bought gifts for my host families in England. Choices became pretty clear.

I behaved during the winter sales in February (okay, okay, so I was in Austria and Germany most of those weeks). Then last week, summer hit, and a heatwave with temperatures the 100s rushed in with it. And I quickly, soggily realized that my closet was in desperate need of some breathable fabrics.

What luck, as it coincides perfectly with France's biannual country-wide regulated seasonal sale. Twice a year, the government allows sales of up to 75% off. Yes, the government. We can blame the minimal European wardrobe on socialism. But it's not just clothing. This is a stores opportunity to lay a discount sticker on anything from dish towels to drill bits. But let's not get carried away, Ruth. And if you think Walmart is bad on Black Friday, you've never stood between a French woman and bargain Chanel. 

So as with any real shopping, you need a strategy. And one of the best is to go in and try things on before the soldes begin. Because the lines for the dressing rooms get insane and trust me you do not want to deal with that mess. It's better to go in a few days before, try on sizes and outfits and know what fits you so that come the Day of Reckoning, you can rush in, grab what you need, and rush out. Some women swear by going in and setting clothes on hold until the sale date begins, but my French is not smooth enough in either sense of the word to attempt this level of bargain-hunting.

Don't have time for the pre-game strategy? Just Buy what you like and return it later. Sometimes they will allow you to return it at a later time in the soldes and buy it back at the further reduced price. Stores will often take a second and third discount,  so if you are a gambler you could wait it out to see if you could get the lower price. But keep in mind sizes. For girls on the curvier end like me, stores tend not to stock too highly in our sizes, so weigh the consequences of saving a few euros versus not finding anything at all down the line. The truth is, the stuff that is left at the end of the soldes is left for a reason. It is the lowest of lows, so you may want to bite the bullet and pay the marginal difference for something that fits well. 

So what did I come away with from this summer soldes?

1 fabulous Trench coat (50€)

2 tank tops (35€)

1 summer bra (7€)

1 pair of earrings (5€)

1 pair of sunglasses (15€)

1 pair of print satin pants (10€)

I'm still waiting to try out the price drop on the trench.

A Morning in the Mansion

I'm getting to the point now in Paris where I've done everything. Well, not everything. But if feels that way sometimes. That paired with this oppressive summer heat wave has absolutely wrecked my motivation to join the civilized world. July is here, and with it some blazing hot weather that will make you forget Parisian fashion decorum and reach for your pair of shorts. But time is ticking away on my countdown to my U.S. return. And since I either be hosting or traveling during my last two months in Paris, I need to really take advantage of every spare moment I have!

Initiate: Plan Get Motivated to Go Explore Paris Even Though You Think You've Done Everything. (It's a working title...)

Step 1: Live on the top floor of a non-air conditioned building during 100^ heat in a room with one window facing the sun all day. Can't stay in bed past 9 am or I am sticking to my sheets. Check.

Step 2: Get a good breakfast. Lately I have been obsessed with toasting whole grain bread loaded with seeds and topping it with fresh goat cheese and prune jam. Giving up coffee for a few days and sipping on some iced mint tea instead. All fresh points, taken!

Step 3: Have a plan. Every Sunday I make a list of all the places I still haven't been or want to see that week and make a point of scheduling them with other people to keep me accountable. I find having a schedule in place keeps me on track and motivated versus waking up and randomly picking a place. My list is majorly dwindling lately, so I have been turning to Timeout Paris a lot for ideas. Today's schedule only allowed me two hours in the morning, which isn't much, but I was determined! I picked Musée Nissim de Camando, a mansion belonging to Les Arts Decoratifs collections of Paris. It was close (in the 8th arrondisement) so I knew getting there and back would be quick and no-hassle (versus Luxembourg Gardens, which I love but is virtually a dead zone in regards to buses and metros from the west side of Paris). I guess a millionaire mansion with one of the greatest collections of interior arts in Paris would do.

Step 4: Research. This morning I was feeling the heat and thinking, maybe it's best if I just don't go. I only have two hours anyway. Is it really worth it? That's when I pulled out my best friend, Google Images, to breeze through some photos of the museum. This may not work everywhere, but in Paris seeing these gorgeous places online and knowing you are literally right beside them... There is no way to stay home now. Just look at this place! (My photos, not the internet's...)

Step 5: Get there, already. I love biking in the city. Sometimes it's the fastest route. This morning, it was in the 90s by 10am, and I knew I would melt away if I tried biking. So I have myself a break and rode the bus there, metro back. Normally I would scold myself for being a wimp, but better to get there fast and enjoy then arrive irritable and soaked.

Step 6: Lose yourself. Set a timer on your phone for when you have to leave, and then lose yourself in the scene. It wasn't hard at Musee Nissim de Camando. Note: free for those under 26 living in the EU! The audio guide was great at setting the scene, and there was a moment I almost believed I was a houseguest floating through the halls in 1930.

Julia Child would have died happy in this kitchen. The copperware! I have decided my dream kitchen would look exactly like this. Black,white, and copper, and huge.

After the museum, I had a bit of time left over, so I walked to the nearby florist to smell all the blooms and enjoy some AC. Then I took a shortcut through the ever fabulous Parc Monceau to my metro. Maybe it was the heat, but something set me in a heady daze after my museum visit. I remembered: I live in Paris. 

Everything was beautiful. Everything was worth shooting, everything begged to be adored, and I happily complied. Paris will do that to you, make you fall in love, even on 100^ days in July, if you only give her the chance.

10 Habits I Kicked in Paris

It's inevitable when you move somewhere new that your habits will change and you will take on a bit of the personality of your new home. But moving to Paris, France has had more of an impact on me than I would have imagined. It's taken me a while to recognize them, since some have come on gradually and others I didn't realize were habits until someone pointed them out. Here are the 10 habits I kicked since moving to the City of Lights.

1. Buying fast food.
I know, I know, this is one you would probably expect. Even before I came here, if I went to fast food joints, I usually tried to go for a healthier option. But now when you are surrounded with fresh markets and storefronts overflowing with fresh produce, a grease-soaked burger and fries lose all appeal. I have definitely joined team "non-processed."

2. Chewing gum. I didn't realize how very American this habit looks until I noticed only American tourists are the ones here chewing gum. And to be honest, I didn't even mean to kick this habit; I really blame it on my brand loyalty to Orbit gum, which is hard to find in France. A few months of being off the chew, and I didn't miss it. That and being told how disgusting it looks when a girl resembles a cow chewing her cud. Oh, you honest French people....

3. Snacking.
In Paris, snacking is for les enfants. Adults limit themselves to three meals a day, and maybe an espresso or two to tide them over. This is still hard for my American brain (or stomach) to understand, but since my job is to watch children, I try not to be mistaken for one by partaking in the gouter (the official name for the children's afternoon snack in France).

4. Wearing sweats in public.
There used to be days when I would roll into a supermarket sporting the season's latest look of lazy-and-didn't-feel-like-changing. But when everyone else dresses to respect both themselves and others, it makes you feel like a slob. A basic rule of thumb is, if you would sleep in it, then don't leave the house in your PJs.

5. Smiling at strangers
How I knew I had made the transition from small town Midwest girl to a cold, aloof Parisienne: when an fresh-faced teenager American tourist walked by and proffered one of those starry-eyed smiles only Paris can cultivate. And I wrinkled my nose and thought, Why are you smiling at me? There's nothing to happy about. You don't know me. I hope this is not a lasting impression, since I love smiling! But now I'm more a fan of smiling for a reason.

6. Leaving room between cars while driving.
I used to be so crazy about leaving that one car's length between cars that you learn about in drivers ed. Now if there is any inching room, I'm liable to lay the horn on you. Because free real estate is lacking in Europe, and you just cost me an extra 20 minutes in traffic. Besides, everyone drives like that here.

7. Driving at all.
With Paris' fantastic metro system, bus system, shared bike system, and completely walkable layout, who thinks of driving anymore. The traffic, the cost of parking, the insurance. Living in Europe has completely revolutionized how I look at getting from point A to point B, and let me tell you, none of it involves the pride of car ownership.

8. Caring about salmonella.
When the grocery stores leave eggs and milk on the shelves, and last night's dinner could be sitting out for a few days, you realize food poisoning isn't really a big deal anymore. Besides, a stomach flu may be the only thing standing between you and your goal weight. (Kidding! Kind of...)

9. Being loud in public
Seriously, my fellow Americans, we are loud to begin with in the States. But set us next to the docile murmur of the French language, and we are absolutely earsplitting. If you can hear someone two cars away on the metro, they are hands down American. I love us, I really do. But seriously, shut up. You are setting yourself up to be pick-pocketed or worse. And plus, it's just not very considerate.

10. Styling my hair.
Of course, I gotta be a girl for a moment and ring in on this miracle of miracles. Thank God for the French blasé attitude toward hair, where frizz is actually a good thing. I rarely touch my hair with heat or even products anymore. Not only is it healthier, cheaper, and easier, but truly makes you feel sexier. As one very stylish Parisian friend of mine said, "The concept of a 'bad hair day' doesn't exist in the French language."

What habits have you kicked since moving to France? Or if you are States-side, which ones do you think you could never give up?
Tell me in the comments below, I love comments! Or if you have a question about the French culture, email me through the link above, I read and answer each and every email from you!

World Music Day, Paris

It's one of the only days a year where Paris shrugs off her chic trench coat in exchange for cut-off jeans and a fringed t-shirt. This weekend, to welcome the Summer Solstice, Paris joined hundreds of cities worldwide in a little festival called World Music Day aka Make Music Day, aka Fête de la Musique. All across the city, free concerts celebrate the simple beauty of music. From jazz to electronic, from rock to African, calypso to marching bands. Solo acts set up shop alongside riverbanks and from balcony windows. The whole city lets her hair down and sways to the beat.

I spent my night along Canal Saint Martin and République, which I would argue is really the heart and soul of Paris nowadays. This is the grittier side of Paris, only recently cleaned up enough for the adventuring tourist. But this is where you can amble through streets of graffiti and find good coffee for under 5€. It's considered the common people's place, with blue collared prices. I love it. I feel at ease here, not worrying about being judged for not sporting a pair of Gucci sunglasses. It also promises to have the most varied and lively concerts.

A group of friends and I gather together along the crowded banks for a long evening, the longest evening of the year, in fact. Recently the sun has been setting around 10pm, while twilight lingers until nearly 11. We spread out our fixings of baguettes and cheeses, chips and chocolates, and a few cheap bottles of wine. There are seven countries represented in our little group, but everyone is united under the French language. The sun and food slowly disappear, and we can hear the hum of distant bands drumming up a crowd. It soon becomes too much, and I disappear with my Macedonian friend Olgitsa into the masses.

We encounter a marching band dresses  a myriad of different countries, a big brass band of young men wearing sheepskin vests, a huge calypso band, and finally an African dance group. I try to take a picture with the beret-ed and Breton striped trumpeter, but, although I'm no psychologist, his body language tells me he was not interested in a photo.

My favorite by far was the African dance group, set up right along the banks of the canal and shadowed by the overhanging trees like a jungle. The beat was furious and then non existent, and we all tried to dance to the beat, but it flew away and was gone and left us all to our own measure. We were all mad and glad for it. The man who was leading the band had black shiny skin that shone in the dusk lights, so as the night wore on, only his cheeks that stuck out from his smiling face like fat summer cherries, his gleaming teeth, and his twinkling eyes were visible. I think I have never seen a man more happy to give people something to dance to.

When our heads were spinning from the rhythm and the smoke, we left and rejoined the group, still dawdling by the riverside. Perhaps it was the American in me, but the thought of just sitting there while musicians filled the streets made me cringe. The Spaniard in the group was the slowest, guzzling a wine bottle all by herself and happy to stay right where she was for the night. Finally, we split up, me unable to swallow the idea of staying and staying and staying. We waded through trash and crowds. A group gathered on the corner by a DJ stand jiving to "Twist and Shout."

We continued to République, detouring though a massive rave party a block from the square. Everyone was jumping to some French rap, which frankly is too beautiful to be considered rap. We then snaked into the heart of République and quickly were swallowed into the mob enveloping the rock concert stage (see above). There were thousands of people gathered and being trampled was not an impossibility as bodies crushed against each other. A fight broke out right next to us and the sea of bodies swelled and pushed to both get out of the way and see what would happen. It always surprises me how fast people move when a fight breaks out, like they are instantaneously transformed into wild African cats. In the end it quieted down, and we finally broke free and wandered further towards Oberkampf. Trying to get our bearings outside a McDonalds, we were drawn like a moth to flame to an outdoor club that was playing all the hits from when I was in high school. No better way to end the night of making music than dancing to the songs that sent you back to your teenage dream years. 

I think this was one of nights you always dream of having when you go abroad. Picnicking by the canal, partying with the locals, and forgetting for a moment that you are the foreigner. For a moment, we are all just little humans getting lost in the music and riding the heat of the summer solstice.

Peace and love, everyone.

Hey Ya'll, from Texas

Now listen up, ya'll. There is a new tumbleweed twirlin', coffee bean buckin' sheriff in town. Maybe not exactly new–Folks and Sparrow will be celebrating its one year anniversary this month. And it's not exactly Texan; its other two chains are in New York and Woodstock, Georgia. But still, trust me, this friendly concept-coffee-and-specialty-foods shop will make you want to trade in your beret for a ten-gallon Stetson. Folks and Sparrow, the laid-back, tobacco chewing southern drawl brother of the cafe lot found in the Republique-Oberkampf area. At first glance, F&S seems like a regular mix of table space and wifi with some light lunch faire and frothy coffees. But the second that Marshall radio whines out a wispy drag of country hits from yesteryear, your synapses snap to attention like the crack of a bullwhip: this little pocket of Paris is not so Parisian. 

 Maybe it's the Texas longhorn cattle skull framing the back wall that gives it away. Or the Navajo style rugs, the prairie grass bouquets, the... socks made in Italy?

Well, maybe this place is suffering from a bit of global disorientation... it is an American country boy trying to make its place in Paris, after all. And to make things worse, I ordered an Italian cappuccino when I visited... Now my internal world compass is spinning pirouettes. But my mischievous heart is happy having found a bit of Texas twang kicking up dust amongst all these highfalutin dandies and Parisian cafes. 

Be sure to stop by for a glass. Maybe if we petition, they'll add sarsaparilla to the carte des boissons.

14 rue Saint Sebastien, 75011 Paris, France

Tue - Sun: 10:00 am - 6:00 pm

Four Days in Paris

Spring has arrived in Paris, and so has the first wave of tourists. Of course, Paris is always full of tourists, but April marks the beginning of high season. And why not, with the trees in blossom and the golden sunshine melting the frost off even the chilliest Parisian. I've been getting lots of requests about what there is to see in Paris, other than the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, of course. You can't say you've been to Paris without seeing la tour light up with fairy dust every hour on the hour, or exchanging smiles with Mona Lisa. But if there is one thing I have learned during my time as a "local", it's that there is SO MUCH more to Paris than that.

Last month my college roommate Lauren came to Paris for four glorious days of exploration. We had three goals:

1. See the famous tourist sights.

2. Get a sense of the local scene.

3. Not go broke doing it.

There were a few contingencies that made this possible. First, I warned her we would have to walk––A LOT. We averaged 7-10 miles a day while she was here. Paris was made for walking, and I think it's so much more enjoyable to see it this way; we arranged our days with as much walking as possible and avoiding public transport when we could.

We also operated on student-level budgets, so our options as far as food were probably different than those Michelin-seeking stomachs coming to Paris to be wined and dined. But part of the charm of Paris is its markets and picnic culture, popular for locals and tourists alike. If you want other food suggestions, visit Time Out Paris or Paris by Mouth, both of which have lists for the specific arrondissements in Paris and make finding a good restaurant choice easy.

So grab your beret and striped Breton shirt for four fabulous days seeing the best parts of Paris, both famous and local delights:

Broken Arm

Having been nagged nonstop by my fellow expats about the glories of this cafe-meets-concept-shop in the Haute Marais, I finally made it for a brunch with two of my beautiful friends from French class for a midweek brunch. The first thing I notice is how unnoticeable it was. I almost missed it as I walked by distracted by the ever lovely Square du Temple across the street. This shop wasn't begging to be found by the random street bumbler; it reserved its charms for those whose seek it out.

Inside the cafe was beautiful lit from the windows that wrap around the corner building. There seemed to be more than one business meeting going on, but who could blame them for trading their cubicle for an airy, soothing cafe in the 3rd. The large window facing the park gives an especially gratifying view, with the latest newspapers and magazines in both French and English sprawled on the window seat.

After perusing the menu (and other people's plates), I ordered the carrot, pear, and celery juice. And I just couldn't resist a slice of their beguiling poppyseed cake. I repeated: Juice is healthy. Juice is healthy, as I stuffed my face with crumbling, moist morning cake. La vie est belle. We had really come for the famous blueberry ombre cheesecake we had heard so much about, but they weren't serving it at breakfast, for some reason.... We were delighted to find out it was sourced from another shop nearby, Rachel's Cakes, if ever we were in the cheesecake craving mood--and when aren't we? (The Broken Arm also serves brunch and lunch options cooked by Swedish chef Linda Granebring, but with the menu staying true to trendy Paris prices, I decide to save my precious centiemes for the rest of my coffee house ventures.)

Okay but here's the truth.
Much as I had heard this cafe praised, I really didn't care for it! It felt a little too, ummm... sterile? I like my cafes full of character, a little crowded, and with something remarkable about it, whether it's the barista or the history or the prices... This place, c'est nul. But if you are looking for a casual business meeting environment with plenty of natural light and quiet surroundings, The Broken Arm should top off your list.