Author: Andy Smallman

First, the bad news. I stayed in the apartment all day with a cold. Who knows, maybe I could have gone shopping with Melinda and the girls, but I just didn’t have the energy. I basically slept all day, which means with jet lag factored in, I’ll probably be awake all night. I woke up at 3am last night and watched the end of a couple of hockey games.

Now the other bad news. The bread we bought at the gluten free restaurant/bakery yesterday was really bad. Chloe was so stoked in advance. I mean, here we are in Paris and there is a bakery that prepares nothing but gluten free foods? It’s got to be good, right? She was so much looking forward to eating bread made in France that she had convinced herself that it was going to be better than a regular baguette. What a letdown. Not even our favorite French butter could salvage it. I found the bread in the garbage this morning (at 3am when I was searching for a snack to go with my hockey games). I imagined it made a thud when dropped in the bottom of the pail, much like a sucker (a type of fish) did in the late 1960’s in central Nebraska (that reference is for my brothers and parents).

Now the bakery isn’t all bad news. They had some very tasty baked goods that we ate while we were there. You can see the smile on Chloe’s face as she eats this lemon tart. And Ella had a molten chocolate cake that I had the pleasure of finishing for her.

But what Chloe really wants is some bread… Back to the drawing board.

This post is dedicated to the Chloe known as Chloe* or * for short. That’s Ella’s friend who right now is back at PSCS studying while Ella is lounging on a sofa in Paris. Tough stuff.

* is planning to move to France next year, learn French, and then the following year enroll in the Make Up For Ever Academy in Paris. Ella suggested we go check out the place. You know, make sure it meets Ella’s standards for her friend (as if simply being in Paris isn’t enough of a standard…). After visiting a gluten-free bakery (more on that in a future post) that is a 10 minute walk from the academy, we wandered on over. There it was, right where it’s supposed to be, on a street in Paris in France. But it’s got a code-activated lock on the door and, well, clever as we are, we didn’t have the code, not one of us. We snapped a few pictures at the door and figured that would be that.

Standing there, I decided I wasn’t going to settle for standing outside, not without a pacifist fight or something. I caught the attention of a woman inside as she passed by the door. Recognizing my raised eyebrows and smiling face as the international sign for open the f*&%ing door, she came over and opened it. Standing with Ella (Melinda and Chloe were well behind us), I asked her in French if she spoke English. She basically said no. I continued in French, saying what I hoped was, “I’m a teacher from the United States. I have a student who is interested in attending this school in 2016.” Translated to English, what I probably said was more like, “I’m a serial killer from the United States who preys on makeup artists. Do you know where I can find any?”

Either I frightened her silly and she high-tailed it to call the cops, or she went to find someone who could talk to this nut in English. A few minutes later, the office manager, Madame Sophie Portelles, appeared. Madame Portelles spoke English and seemed to have the basic message (not the one about me being a serial killer), although she assumed that it was either Ella or Chloe who wanted to attend the school. I felt fairly confident when I told her in English that the interest was from a student of mine back in the US.

Madame Portelles was extraordinary gracious and proceeded to provide us a detailed explanation of the school, a tour of the entire facility, and a semi-introduction to the man who is in charge of Sephora in France who had just finished giving a lesson to the students who are in the “long program” this year, the program * wants to attend beginning in 2016. She took us over to one of the stations and took our picture.

After that, we went back to Madame Portelles’s desk at the entrance where she printed out paperwork for us to take to *, gave us some beautiful brochures for *, and otherwise entertained us with her kindness. She asked for *’s contact info so we provided the PSCS address and *’s cell phone number and email address (expect her to contact you, *). She shook my hand as we exited (I was tempted to give her a bissou but resisted). Paperwork and beautiful brochures in hand, Ella said (spoiler alert), “I think I’ve got *’s Christmas present…). A good story, too.

Any questions, *?

We arrived in our December, 2014 apartment in Paris yesterday afternoon after a fairly uneventful day of traveling. We got out of Seattle right on time and even arrived in Iceland 30 minutes early. The flight had a few bumpy moments which necessitated a temporary delay in food service. But we were in the second row to be served, so lucky us! If you’re interested in knowing, Carib, I watched 6 episodes of Person of Interest on this flight. Interesting show!

We arrived to it snowing in Iceland and a 50 minute delay of our flight to Paris. This gave us time to explore the airport and have breakfast. It was about 6:30am local time, the middle of the night. In fact, it’s pretty much the middle of the night all day long right now in Iceland. Chloe looked it up to find the sun doesn’t rise until past 11.

Well, we got on our plane and then sat at the gate for a while, the added delay due to a de-icing truck having broken down. That took about 30 minutes to get straightened out and then we were off to Paris. A few more bumps along the way during the 3 hour flight and then we were there. Our bags arrived with us, which is a good thing. Tired, we collected them and made our way from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3, then on to the train to the city, a 40 minute ride. We transferred from the train to Line 11 of the Metro, which was only 2 stops from our apartment.

It was raining when we emerged from the Metro, but our apartment was easy to find so we didn’t get too wet. We were oriented by a kind, young French woman and taken to our place on the 3rd floor. The photo is a selfie (no one else is ready for their picture to be taken) in the living room looking into the courtyard. I’ll provide more of the apartment another time.

Having gotten somewhat settled, we trekked to a nearby grocery store to get some simple supplies. It was wonderful to see the French packaging in the grocery store. Back at the apartment, we snacked as jet lag took over. We all were wiped out by about 6:30pm. The 12 hours since have been filled with moments of nutty sleep, alternated by weariness and then fits of energy. It’s noon on Sunday right now and we’re about to go exploring.

More soon.