A dreary-ish Monday. Then we had sun, then we didn’t, then we did. You get the picture.

Today’s mission was to get my hair cut and colored, or at least schedule a rendez-vous before the weekend. I have been walking to my former salon every week to schedule an appointment with Isabella, but it’s been closed. The animated sign is still on, and the furnishings and whatnot are all in place, but no personnel.

So, I ventured into the unknown.

I saw a few excellent reviews online for a place around the corner, so I walked over there and fumbled my way through scheduling an appointment. LOL! Some days are like that. And they were BUSY!

When I returned at the appointed hour, the proprietor assigned an English-speaking woman to do my hair. She was from Ukraine. I immediately told her I was sorry about the situation with her country, not knowing what else to say. Her name was Victoria and she spoke less French than me, so English it would be — with both of us throwing in French now and then to practice with each other. She colored my hair, and went to the next client while I sat. And sat. And sat. I was getting nervous. The owner at one point said to her, « Is her color ok? » (In French) which did not help my nerves. I mean, omg. What? But Victoria was as serene as anyone I’ve ever met. She nodded affirmatively, not even double-checking. The woman who washes hair came over and insisted I come back with her. I was really nervous now with this third party intervening. « Comment sont mes cheveux, sont-ils blancs? » Except, I don’t think I was as clear as I could have been. Nerves and all. She assured me « Ta couleur et des cheveux est beaux! » I wasn’t sure I could believe her.

She was telling Victoria in French that she must always apply cream around the hairline, « Toujours, toujours, toujours. » OMG, what did I get myself into? She didn’t know I could understand her.

When I walked back into the light and to the chair, I thought my hair looked way too light, and it was wet — OMG I panicked inside. Victoria said, you’ll see when I dry it; it’s ok.

I started thinking I might have to make a second appointment to correct things. My mind was racing, but I remained calm. Just like Isabella at the other Salon, Victoria had me stand for my cut. I was the only one in the salon doing that, so it seems only when your hair is long, do they ask you to stand.

I really wanted some wispy pieces/bangs — just a little — but she said, I don’t advise that with curly hair like yours. (Of course I knew this, but a girl can dream.) I agreed, and put my full trust in her at that point, still waiting to see how this was all going to look.

Sure enough, as she started drying my hair, it looked normal, like she said. Exhale. I told her it was very pretty, and thanked her. « J’étais tellement inquiète, mais vous êtes aviez raison! » It really did look great, and we both knew in a short amount of time in the rain, it would change, but for now, it was silky smooth and straight, and I was beaming.

The cost was more than fair, and I was more than pleased. I’ve learned that tips are appreciated here, even though every book, article, and blurb tells you that you don’t have to tip. It’s not a lot. They still call it pourboire, which literally means « for a drink. » So, a euro or two for cab drivers if they’ve gone above and beyond is all they expect. A little more for hair services, but not much. Their system is just different. I gave the woman who washed my hair a few euros because she didn’t know it, but she calmed me. She was overwhelmed with my tip, telling me I was « très sympa. » Then, I dashed around the corner to an ATM to withdrawal more euros so I could give Victoria her « pourboire. » She, too, was gracious and blushed. Deserved.

The temperature had changed, and I was now really uncomfortable in my tank top as I headed home in the drizzle. But I grabbed « une tradition » and a plate of pasta for dinner. I had a glass of red, and devoured the bread, which honestly, I could live on. I mean, when the people here couldn’t have their bread, we all know what they resorted to in the 18th Century!!! I kid, but seriously, this is delicious.

So when you order your baguette « une tradition, » that means there are no additional additives. (The French fought for this distinction/protection to make bread the old way, and they won!) They begin with a sourdough starter to make it, but the bread doesn’t TASTE sour, that’s just part of the process. The outside is crispy and thin, and shatters when you bite into it. It’s light and airy inside. And it’s addictive. Truly. I see people routinely leaving la boulangerie with 3 and 4 baguettes, and I assume they have little ones at home, but who knows!

Baguette is French for « stick » or « little rod. » And my Bench buddy David told me the reason for the shape dates back to Napoleon. He supposedly requested these long shaped loaves for his soldiers so that they could more easily carry them in their packs and pockets. I’m sure there’s more than one story, but that’s the one David told me, and he’s a gourmand.

When I first arrived, I would say, « Je voudrais une baguette traditionnel, s’il vous plaît. » In time, I learned they said, « une baguette tradition. » Oh, ok. And then I started listening, and realized no, they only say « tradition, s’il vous plaît, » and then they get into selecting the crispiness — literally picking out the exact loaf they want. I confirmed this with the woman behind the counter one day, so now I order like a Parisian. « Tradition, s’il vous plait. »

And on that note as to watching the French select which loaf they want… when I was buying my fruit last week, a woman ahead of me was fussing over the raspberries. I watched her. They merchant pushed the tiny cardboard box toward her, inviting her to « goûter, » which she did. She started chewing slowly, and nodded her head affirmatively… the merchant started to proceed with the purchase… then…. She changed. Her expression changed. Oh, non, non, non. She had liked the beginning of this raspberry, but not the finish. Fascinating. They’re very particular about their food. Needless to say she did not buy them.

I’m still getting compliments on my French, but I haven’t mentioned it because I’m trying not to sound braggy. I don’t want to be weird. Just letting you know I’m still doing well. It still makes my day to be complimented. Big time. When I return home and continue my studies, I know what I need to work on. Since I’m a visual learner – I need to listen to French radio. No TV. No books. No images. No words, either. If there are words, I cheat and READ them. Not the same! The only way for me to strengthen my hearing comprehension is going to be via RADIO and/or podcast. I know the French really mean it when they compliment me because they always make eye contact and add, « It’s very difficult isn’t it! » They know! They’ve had to study it, too! LOL!

Tomorrow, I tour Le Palais Garnier – Opera de Paris. Everything here seems to be a former palace. Château this, Palais that. I have a ticket to the ballet this weekend, so I thought it would be a good idea to tour the place, and learn its history before the performances.

• Wednesday I think I’m going to le musée d’Orangerie
• Thursday, le musée Marmottant (Berthe Morisot and Monet) with my friend Jennifer
• Friday, I’m touring Père Lachaise Cimetière with Alliance Française
• Saturday is the ballet.

I’m going to be busy, but I’ll post when I can.

It’s weird not having homework!!! I still study, but that’s different.

À tout à l’heure!