I know, I know, I never came back with Part 2 of our Aplomb lesson, which I’m sure you
forgot all about have been dying to hear! I’m going to make you wait a weeeeee bit longer, because before we get back to the serious matter of your precious spine — believe me, that thing needs Aplomb love — I wanted to share some things from precious Europe.
In the last 6 weeks we’ve been to Oxford, London and Paris, which
I know makes you hate us actually makes me feel like my parents. After leaving the center of the earth Manhattan and settling in the coldest place they could find Montreal, they spent a few years in London and Paris in the early 1970s. My dad worked in a French neurology lab and my mother learned to yell at the butcher cook à la Julia Child. They also made some lifelong friends.
So in London, as I mentioned before, we stayed with
hippies some of these oldest and dearest friends. This wonderful couple — who have lived all over the world, from Katmandu to Swaziland to Woodstock — have known my parents for over 40 years, since before any of them had children. This is their gorgeous Hampstead street. We contemplated becoming squatters.
They live right next to Hampstead Heath, which is a sort of like Central Park, but way more British, which I think means it looks like something out of
Bridget Jones’ Diary a Virginia Woolf novel. The rolling fields inspired David to jump, and it turns out he should quit linguistics and become a dancer audition for a Broadway show. This is him doing his best Gene Kelly.
I fell in love with Oxford. There are more
scholars bikes than cars.
They also apparently live in 1974.
Next time you go to Paris, you MUST GO TO THIS RESTAURANT. Here’s the thing: it’s not very French, but when you’ve been in Paris a while you might want to eat something
that won’t cause you to have a heart attack at 34 other than baguette. It’s more along the lines of Santropol (for Montrealers), Black River Cafe (for Oberlin folk), Doma/Community (for New Yorkers). The food is good and simple: eggs, salads, smoked salmon. We had the most delicious hot apple cider, which appeared to have been whipped with ginger and honey. Anyway. It wasn’t really about the food. The atmosphere was just so un-French friendly and relaxed. You’ll find it tucked around a corner somewhere near a Quai of some kind of another Hôtel de Ville.
hungry, thus quiet, David waiting for his eggs.
Here I am modeling
the thing I currently love most on earth my new rabbit necklace, while posing with some art.
When we returned to
the place where it sounds like people are making up words Munich, we decided we immediately needed a vacation. So we played hooky one afternoon at our favorite hangout, Gartensalon, which is also sort of like the above-mentioned restos. I swear, the women who run this place all live on a commune went to Oberlin (or some German version of it). They are always beyond nice and make the most delicious hot drinks: spiced blackberry and raspberry juice with honey (or something — I just made that up since I don’t actually have a clue what’s in anything most of the time. See: the place where it sounds like people are making up words).
This is how they do their coffee. I mean, a clothespin. What’s not to love?
And of course, we returned to the pool. Here’s the one I wrote about for The Millions, in all its glory. Beware the German ladies who decide that jogging backwards in the water, perpendicular to an onslaught of swimmers, is the best way to
cause me to lose my mind burn fat.
What are your favorite London/Paris/Munich spots? I could always use a good tip.