It’s another rainy day here in Paris. That’s January, and typical French winter weather.

Class went well yesterday. We all had to record ourselves reading two pages of text and send the file to the prof via email. I received good feedback. She said I pronounced everything very well, with little exception. The exercise involved words with the vowels: i (pronounced ee), e (pronounced eh), and a softer e (pronounced aeh). Each sound requires exaggerated mouth movements.

In addition, we’re learning the rhythm of the language – when to go up, and when to go down. And then, there are the liaisons, which I actually love. That’s when you link words almost as one sound – usually because one word ends in a consonant, and the word that follows starts with a vowel. There are 4 categories of these liaisons.

We also had a new student in class. She’s from Saudi Arabia, studying law at Le Sorbonne. No slouches here. Well, just moi.

Today I decided to take a walk over to the 7th arrondissement to visit le magasin Sennelier. Some of you know that I’m an artist, and dabble in several different art forms. My medium of choice for painting is the soft pastels. (I won’t get into the discussion as to whether working in pastels is drawing or painting. It’s a bit of both depending on how you use the materials. But even when I did oil painting, I drew with my brush a little. But I digress.) My brand of choice? Sennelier, bien sûr !

First, I double-checked the Sennelier web site for their store hours, and took note that they do follow the old custom of closing for over an hour for lunch. The fastest route was à pied, so I mapped out my plan, and headed out into the sunless afternoon.

The walk was nice. I kept my hood up to avoid the drips from the ever-present bistro awnings on every block, and decided to take a few photos along the way, carefully tucking my iPhone away in between snapshots and droplets.

Before I knew it, I was in front of the store! It’s entrance was tiny and narrow, but I squeezed in and delighted in standing on hallowed ground. I mean, this is literally the same store where Degas, Cezanne, Picasso and others shopped. What? Yes, it’s true. I tried to inhale the air without seeming weird to other artists who were just shopping at their local art supply store. I circled the rue-de-chaussé level several times, and ventured up the tightly spiraled staircases to the other two small floors. I loved every inch, but only took a few photos, so as not to appear too American or otherwise obnoxious.

To be fair, when I had my shop in my home town, I delighted in customers taking photos in the store, or asking me to take their photo. But, that’s me. Not Paris.

While I truly, really wanted to buy something, I couldn’t. There was nothing there that I couldn’t buy in the States. In fact, I was surprised by all the brands of papers and art journals written in English. Nothing seemed unique in those items. But what was unique were the shelves full of jars containing colored powders. Pure pigment. You could create your own pastels? What? I was clueless, but intrigued, as I’m used to buying my sets of pastels already made. I may have to do some research and make a return trip.

This was the second store I’d visited recently that had this same old charm feel. The other store was a kitchen supply store – supposedly the one that Julia Child preferred when she was here studying the culinary arts. (My daughter had recommended this store.) I went there, and it was nothing like an American appliance store. It has good, solid, old bones, and was very serious. I picked up one small skillet, and couldn’t believe the weight of it. Nothing was colorfully marketed or packaged in any way, shape, or form. You had to KNOW what things were, as there were no descriptions. Smaller items were in wooden boxes or drawers on wooden shelves, mostly unlabeled, except for faded prices long ago written by hand in marker. I thought to myself, wow, Julia Child had GUTS extraordinaire. I braved asking a few questions, and survived. Everyone was nice, just serious. I don’t think they get many touristy types; this is where chefs shop.

I watched a man buy about 8 different pastry tips. So specific, and such lengthy discussions went on as he made the purchase. This place was old school. The merchant slyly took a measuring tape out of his pocket, opened and closed it with amazing precision (noting the size for pricing) and then proceeded to handwrite in pencil the item description and cost on a pad of paper. As the customer, he handed you this slip which you took to the cash register two steps to the right and behind the merchant. After you paid, you then presented your receipt of payment back to the merchant. He had kept your items by his side as you paid. After reviewing your receipt, he then proceeded to roll up each purchase in paper and handed them to you. No bags with the store name. No bags at all unless you asked, frankly. People walked out with their parcels wrapped like, well, wrapped like brown paper packages tied up with string.

They really fight plastic here. You see very little of it. Even the new coffee machines in the Alliance Française café offer very plain brown paper cups with almost no printing on them. Shopping bags are rarely plastic, almost always paper. No one carries around bottles of water or seems to fear dehydration 24/7 either. (I actually remember when the United States was like that; it wasn’t that long ago.) Alas, plastic = petroleum usage, and the U.S. is quite addicted to pleasing those types. I havent seen or bought anything here in those horrific formed plastic bubble containers. You know the ones I mean? You need scissors to cut them open, and then you pray you don’t need stitches after the opening process? Are they among the most unnecessary and annoying packaging things invented? Really? We need to envelope plastic products in more plastic? Moving on.

I stopped at a crêperie stand across from Les Deux Magots on my way home. I ordered a savory crepe (they always offer sweet and savory options). Late lunch. I ordered a chicken, egg, and cheese crêpe and enjoyed watching the woman create it with precision and art. The way they wrapped it to-go was perfection. My only issue was the rain. Hmmm… well, I was almost home.