Let’s be honest: I haven’t been in France for most of August. I was out of the country, visiting home until the 20th, so aside from what I read on Substack, I have no idea what’s happening here. From what I can tell, it was super hot, then a little less hot, everything is still on fire, I missed a very epic eclipse, and la rentrée is next week.

But I’m back now, working on repairing my gut health, working through my inbox, so let’s do this.

Around Marseille

Instead of going straight home to Paris at the end of my LA trip, I took a pitstop in Marseille to make the transition back to France more festive. I freaking love Marseille, particularly because it reminds me so much of LA: unlikely, unfinished, discordant. For years, I had only heard bad things about the town from French and American people alike. Then, when I landed there for the first time a few years ago, was shocked at how interesting it was. Not to mention that people will actually make small talk with you. Plus, I just love jumping off a rock and bobbing in the water while gazing at those beautiful rocky islands and coastlines.

Now when I say “around Marseille,” I guess I actually mean “around Les Goudes” because that’s where I stayed, and I had no intention of wandering too far from there. In the name of relaxation, my friend and I kept it very local; we’d be heading back to a big city anyway, so city vibes were not the goal. Here’s what we got up to in Les Goudes and a tiny bit in Montredon.

• Had pizza and rosé to watch the sunset at 20,000 Lieues sous la biere.

• Enjoyed the odd combination of ceviche, pan con tomate, and nems on a bar-provided tapis on the beach at Le Cabanon de Paulette.

• Tried those new two-seater bikes by Pony. During our ride, my friend calmly exclaimed “something is wrong with this one” which we soon realized was a flat tire, but these new bikes seem very popular with the youths.

• Had iced coffee, sandwiches, fromage blanc and granola on repeat at Cécile Food Club.

• Kept missing the sandwiches and apero time at the much-patronized Boisonnerie, which seems to always have a line or be sold out. Almost gave up, then finally enjoyed a mortadella sandwich on my last day, whew.

• Yes, we went to Tuba Club. I know there is a lot of hype for hype’s sake, but I had a sashimi de seriole and carpaccio de thon that were highlights of the summer for me. Jumping off the rocks into the sea, my Campari spritz awaiting me at my seat, totally worth going to the hyped place.

• Had an okay enough paella and an extremely good bowl of chocolate mousse, drizzled with olive oil at La Marine. I did really like the vibe there; everyone I’d been seeing around town for days seemed to gather there.

• Hiked from Les Goudes to Calanque de Marseilleveyre (60-ish minutes, kinda steep at parts, not too challenging except for when it’s scorching hot). Lovely hike with gorgeous views, luckily ending in a little beach cafe, Chez le belge (cash only, no electricity or running water).

Around Substack

Sandwich Love: My review of the very good jambon beurre from Le Petit Vendôme saw second life over on Warkitchen’s new issue that is all about sandwiches. My love of sandwiches is profound and well documented, so I was happy to be included in their sandwich-focused issue.

Summer Reading List: Yes, yes, yes to this post, “Books for the European Summer of the Mind” by Elissa Goldberg over on Bokeh. I’m going to read a few of these to keep that Euro summer feeling going even as it begins to cool down and the sun sets earlier and earlier. Thanks for the inspiration.

Total Eclipse of the State: This must-read post by Phineas Rueckert on (Re)voir touches on something I’ve always admired about France (public funding of the arts and related), and a sad reality I’ve noticed (said funding diminishing with each passing year). By juxtaposing the state’s activities across two eclipse events, we are able to see a changing relationship with beauty that is becoming less for all, more commercial, more like any other country.

Around Franchement

Thank you for being a friend: Being back in my hometown caused me to meditate on whether or not I was a good friend, if it’s even possible to be a good friend when I’m always gone, what friendship is in the first place. Not my best work, but I think I learned something by writing this, so that’s nice.

My kingdom for a shower door: Back in July I wrote an ode to the small, clogged, and soggy Parisian bathrooms I’ve lived through. If you want to commiserate about tiny, doorless French bathrooms, you should give it a read.

Not my usual type of post, but visits back home tend to get me pondering bigger picture stuff. I thought about writing a step-by-step guide to making social plans when visiting home, except I have not been very good at it for the past few years, which brings me to the following. More Paris and France-focused content is tk.

I’ve been stressed as hell about visiting California this summer. Losing sleep for weeks ahead of the trip, and I wasn’t sure why. I did some mental health check-ins to discover the source: was it the idea of the eleven-hour flight with a toddler that was keeping me up nights? Was it the thought of client work on a new contract while nursing a nine-hour jet lag? Maybe the anticipation of digestive issues that always return upon dining in The States? Nah, when I finally was brave enough to admit it to myself, I was stressed at sorting through the social calendar, filling it with visits, sending the texts to say, “hey, I’m in town, wanna hang?”

This used to be the fun part, the whole point of traveling back home. The first few years when I’d visit from France, I would spend every lunch, every evening up in LA catching up with friends, old colleagues, anyone who wanted to hang. I’d post up at this patio or that beer garden and tell everyone I knew to meet me if they felt like it. I’d run myself ragged working by day, tanning by aprem, catching up with friends all night long. And this worked for those friendships, for a while. I felt connected, felt the friendships were being nursed with just enough face time. So great to see you, let’s do it again when I’m back next quarter.

Then, one year, it felt hard to do the connecting part. It could be that the pregnancy/baby/toddler era has kept me from my three to four annual visits, making those hangouts annual instead of quarterly. It could be that friends who were willing to show up for a friend who’d been gone for three years don’t care as much for one who may never come back. It could be that I don’t feel I have the right to keep taking up time in their calendars when I’m never around. Let’s be honest, it’s most likely the latter.

Part of my pre-vacation stress was the size of the social planning; I care about a lot of people, I want to spend time with them and my family as much as possible. But how can I possibly make it all fit while also working and exercising and sleeping? I tried a big party in my parents’ backyard last year, which helped get a ton of friends and family all in one place. Great plan, except I felt like I got about thirty seconds with each of them; not exactly friendship-sustaining quality time.

I was also stressed about how to choose which of my friends to try to make time with, which I have to do because time is limited. There are friends who I used to see every day, who I love deeply, but who I’ve barely heard from or seen since I left. There are others with whom I was a beloved colleague at best, but we’re now seven years bonded over exchanging Soprano’s memes regularly. How am I supposed to decide which of those two to get brunch with in the limited time that I’m here?

The final part of my pre-vacation stress was guilt; my primary torturess/motivator. Everyone here in California has their normal lives, work, schedules; what right did I have to ask them to make time for me, especially since I don’t even live here anymore? All I can offer is a night out or coffee every calendar year—is that interesting to people? It works for me, but I can see why some folks might not take the 5 to the 710 to the 105 to the 605 for that.

I tried to look at it from my LA-based friends’ perspectives. You’re minding your own business when someone you maybe get to see once a year texts you to see if you want to grab dinner or go on a hike. You text and text and text until you finally agree on a date and time and activity; do you want to do this? Is it worth it, considering this person lives so far away? What’s the point? This is what I’m worried they’re thinking when my message appears on their phone screen.

That anxiety begs the question: what the heck is friendship, anyway? Have you ever stopped and asked yourself that? Well, I just did, and my brain is kinda boggled.

I used to think that friendship was when there were people you liked doing things with; the people you felt happy around, and vice versa. Then, as I got older, I added to that idea that friendship was helping one another through hard times, having one another’s backs. Then I added that friendship was when people knew you extremely well, but still loved you, continued to choose you. Friendship is when you can spend every day together, or only see one another once every few years, and you’re still happy to do so. Friendship is when you can have every type of conversation, talk all night, or go a while without talking, and regardless, the love is still there. Recently, I’ve expanded my definition of friendship to be the people who support you as good as, or even better than family. Franchement, friendship can sometimes be as simple as enjoying natural wine as much as one another. I could go on, but this level of mushiness is not my usual comfort zone.

To simplify, maybe we can say adult friendship is effort + enjoyment + support, divided by time. Before you scribble your feedback, this is a metaphorical equation, not a mathematical one.

I thought perhaps my personal definition of friendship might be biased, so I looked it up. Merriam-Webster lacklusterly describes it as “the state of being friends,” a cop-out which has bolstered my confidence in my DIY definition.

This rumination on the definition of friendship, though meandering, was helpful, because it told me (as usual) that I needed to chill TF out. If I was able to see a handful of people, that was great. Better than none, especially if quality, not quantity, was the goal.

If there were some people I missed this year due to timing, lack of availability, family obligations, that’s okay too. We always have next year. I don’t have to twist myself into a guilt pretzel over it each time I visit.

This exercise also helped me realize how each of my friendships is so different, but that doesn’t mean any are stronger, weaker, doomed, etc. One isn’t clearly closer to the true definition of a friendship, because there isn’t one in the first place. There’s the friend I text memes to constantly about Martha Stewart and Taureans. The friends I lunch with every time they’re in Paris, and who I see on their back patio every time I’m in LA. There’s my sister with whom I go to shows and drink Hamm’s on the patio at Walt’s. My ballet friends who almost all moved away, so we send messages every now and then, but that’s all we can manage. The friend I hadn’t seen since 2012, but it feels like we hadn’t missed a day. The friend I didn’t get to see on this trip because she lives too far away, but who I know knows that I know that she knows. All extremely different, but all overflowing with the enjoyment and support parts of the friendship equation.

And not to be all good feelings and rainbows, let’s get real for a sec: there are plenty of friendships that kind of petered out, always with a whimper, which makes it all the more confusing. The effort part of the equation wasn’t there. People who stopped replying to emails, who said they’d text but didn’t. I disappeared—maybe they didn’t want to invest in someone who was gone. Maybe I think they dropped the ball while they, simultaneously, think it was me, and we’ll be trapped in a silent waiting-for-the-ball purgatory for the rest of our lives. By my own definition, this is perfectly fine as well; accepting that friendships have their season is the only way you can get back up on the friendship horse and try again.

So, is adult friendship, particularly when you live far away, just trying your best and hoping others will do the same, so you can keep enjoying one another’s company for as long as possible? That would make the equation: effort + enjoyment + support, divided by time, maybe all to the power of trusting good intentions. Like, we have to trust that we’re all doing our best and meaning well, and that the good feelings will be there the next time we’re able to make the lunch date happen, as infrequent as that may be.

That’s certainly a definition that I can live with, as I type from my childhood bedroom on the last few days of my visit to LA. Or, I’d better be able to live with it, because I had to return my rental car, so the social outings are done for this year’s visit. Despite jet lag, work, parenting, a death in the family, a sting ray sing, and a stomach bug, I managed to catch up with a baker’s dozen distinct friends/couples/friend groups, some of them more than once. Why am I beating myself up? Low self-worth, and because I feel like I still could have done better, and because I still wonder if living this far from friends and family is the right way to live. But we can save that for another time.

My perfect scenario for my next visit would be a variety of get-togethers throughout my whole trip, maybe every other night, some one-on-ones for my one-on-one friends, some bigger get togethers for people who can handle that. Sometimes its dinner, other times a hike, an art outing, music watching, beach going, park sitting. Definitely talking. And by the end we remember why we stay in touch; we feel the love, enjoy our time together, maybe help one another feel more seen or valid, less lost or alone. And we know we’ll do it again just as soon as we can. Preferably no wine outings, however, because wine has gotten too damn expensive in LA and French wine is better anyway, please don’t try to fight me on this.

I much prefer when the geography is reversed. I love when people come and visit Paris and ask if I’m free to hang out. I drop everything, recommend some spots, block my calendar, and enjoy the heck out of these dates. This problem could be easily fixed if everyone would just come to their senses and move to Paris.

Post Script: This rumination did me forgive myself for not seeing everyone I know on this trip. It worked for about 12 hours, until I woke up to a text from a dear friend asking if I was still in town and if we could hang out. Agh, the guilt. Trying to remind myself that I did my best as I pack up to head home. I’ll do better next year.

I think the most important thing I learned in July was that the meat and dairy aisles of grocery stores are not the coolest places to stand during a canicule. The coolest coolness I felt was in fact inside of Printemps, particularly the one near Nation that is usually quite empty. In case of a heat-related medical emergency, a Printemps might be a better solution than a hospital.

Anyway, between the heat, fires, France’s performance in the World Cup, and my mounting disillusionment with our elected officials, July, particularly the quatorze, felt just a bit meh. How could it not, with the adventures of August just on the horizon? I promise I’ll try to get my usual 3-4 posts out even while I’m visiting family. I’m stocking up the drafts folder as we speak, but we'll see what happens. It’s called vacances for a reason. Let’s get to it.

Around Paris

• Realized melon and shaved fennel go wonderfully together at Donna.

• Enjoyed dim sum and mapo tofu at SENSation. Would go back again just for the siu mai.

• Sipped orange wine and spritz on the hidden, off-the-street terrace at Griffon in the Marais. Shady and spacious, if you can cop a table. This spot is also a nice cozy hideaway in the winter if you want to sit and sip something but need some warmth.

• Had a lovely friend date at the new Folderol location on Faidherbe, with natural wine, mint and olive oil ice cream for dinner. I would gate keep this location if the word wasn’t already out/word wouldn’t inevitably be out on an ice cream game this strong. Cute bathroom, too.

• We frequently celebrate special occasions or avoid the heat via ice cream at Raimo in the 12th, a neighborhood institution. It’s not new—in fact it’s been there for decades. It’s not newfangled like so many other ice cream joints popping up in Paris. But it has a fun ice cream shop vibe, cute presentation, and actual banana splits. Staff capability levels depends on which angsty teen is assigned to your table.

Around Substack

• More than cherries: I had never heard the phrase “les temps des cerises” until I read this lovely post from Susanna Schrobsdorff. She illuminated a phrase for a feeling I’ve been having more often as of late, and also clued me in to a restaurant of the same name that I’ve walked by a thousand times on my way to French class, and thus far, neglected to visit.

• What’s Open in August?: If you’ll be in Paris in August, this extensive list of what is open in August in Paris from Paris By Mouth is going to be essential to your stay. I usually just roam around and find out that hard way what is open or closed, which is depressing. Keep in mind that not all businesses update their info on Google, so don’t trust what you see online.

• Gratuitous vacation planning: Speaking of thinking ahead, if you emjoy getting pumped up for vacation time, you have to read this post by my friend Maddy Odom where she explains her “borderline maniacal but chill” travel planning process, which feels like a soothing balm if you enjoy vacation planning. I used to be like her, then I slowly began to give up and just show up to places. Reading about her process inspired me to try again. Thank you, Maddy.

Slow Sailing

Inside My (Borderline Maniacal, but Chill) Travel Planning Process

I have been deep in travel planning mode the last several weeks, between planning two summer getaways, as well as a potential trip to Copenhagen for Halloween then back to Austin for Christmas. It’s been non-stop! In the best way possible though, beca…

Read more

2 months ago · 21 likes · 13 comments · Maddy Odom

Around Franchement

• CaniCOOL: I shared unserious advice for improving your comfort during the next canicule. The bucket and meat aisle were, in fact, sincere recommendations.

• Me on writing: Not on Franchement, but adjacent, I was featured on the How I Make Money Writing Substack, talking about the writing/ghostwriting/advising/coaching combo pack career that I’ve cobbled together.

  ---

But during my life in Paris, a life spent across three different bathrooms, three different showers, each shower is accompanied by a sprinkling of anxiety. It’s because none of these showers manages to shower the way a shower should.

Each of my Paris showers harbored a core weakness, a failure to function that undermined the very purpose of a shower (if it doesn’t drain, is it still a shower? If a human can’t fit into the shower, is it even a shower?).

And because it’s hot, because I’m feeling oddly untethered by the fires near Paris, the BS politicians are spewing about climate change, and the absence of my vacationing child, I feel the need to eulogize these bathrooms. Or maybe it’s a serenade? I guess we’d call this an ode. Maybe in pondering them, I’ll reveal a useful truth about Parisian living. Maybe not, but let’s do it anyway.

The Clogged One

My first apartment, the smallest, the most mold-riddled and odd-smelling, actually had the best bathroom of the three. It was spacious (for Paris), completely remodeled, with massive drawers for storage, a giant lighted medicine cabinet, and a big ass shower tiled in little smooth stones. This shower actually had a door, something I didn’t appreciate enough at the time, because I didn’t know how uncommon shower doors are in France. It was clean and well-grouted, with a new showerhead that made even Paris’s hard water feel soft.

The problem? This shower wanted to be a bathtub. It refused to drain. So instead of enjoying the clean aesthetics of this freshly remodeled shower, we had to keep a plunger in the corner to convince the water to comply with the laws of gravity. There is nothing sexier than plunging your own gray water down the drain, butt naked, a soundtrack of glurp glop noises announcing to the world that your shower is now complete.

Each shower was haunted by fears that the water pressure was too high, the drainage too slow to avoid a swamp. I’d constantly adjust the flow, check on the puddle level to avoid having to reach for the plunger. It’s hard to get lost in your shower when you’re avoiding standing in your own sediment for ten minutes afterward.

The Too Tiny One

The next apartment, the best apartment, the apartment of my Paris dreams, had the worst bathroom I’ve ever had in a rental property, dorms included. While the rest of the apartment was either ancient or brand new, this tiny stall of a washroom was probably last touched in the ‘70s. The vibes were Soviet utility, right down to the hideous, chipped gray and green tiles and exposed pipes. It was the size of a telephone booth, but somehow contained a shower, washing machine, and sink.

The shower wedged in this tiny room was necessarily small, and the landlord had the brilliant plan to affix a sliding panel door instead of a curtain or hinged door. Three panels would accordion open or closed across an opening that was already almost too small for a human to pass through, leaving a space 1/3 of that size to squeeze your dirty, hot corpus into.

This was annoying at most when I was regular-sized, but damn near impossible to navigate when I was pregnant. If I’d had a normal torso situation when I was pregnant, there was no way I’d be able to get into that thing. Luckily for me, my stomach stayed pretty small when I was pregnant; instead, the baby kind of ran out of room and set up camp in my ribs and spine, creating a painful situation for both of us. But on the bright side, I managed to squeeze into that tiny shower until the day I gave birth, in fact my water broke in that sliver of a shower. Who knows, maybe it broke as I wedged myself in there. The landlord joked that he wondered how I managed in there when pregnant. The answer, sir, is barely.

The Soggy One

As for bathroom three, my current bathroom, its first failing is that it isn’t actually a room, it’s an area partitioned off from the master bedroom by a demi-wall, no door. It’s a shower area. This means no privacy, no management of moisture, no way to keep the warm air in and cool air out. The shower itself is nice: brand new, fresh tile, modern shower head that, though it doesn’t match the style of the rest of the room nor apartment, at least is new. One could definitely do worse in Paris, city of inadequate showers.

And yet, this spacious, new shower causes my anxiety to spike each time I use it because, by using it, I have to resign myself to causing water damage to the rest of the room. The unsealed wood floors, which the proprietors extended from the bedroom into the bathroom, absorb the moisture from the shower like a sponge. And, as you may have already guessed, the shower has no door. No door. It’s just a flat shower floor, then a two-inch drop to unsealed wood. No trough, no rubber bumper, no polite incline to keep the water out.

I’ve learned to forgive France for a lot of things. Nay, I’ve learned that most of the ways that France hurts me are actually all my fault in the first place. But I will never forgive France for the no shower door thing. If it’s cold out and you want to blast the hot water, you have to accept having a puddle on the wood floors of someone else’s apartment, rotting wood and peeling paint on the baseboards. Be considerate of the wood, and be frozen, soapy, and sad.

There’s no way to win. My approach tends to depend on my mood. If I’m well rested, well caffeinated, not too stressed, I put an extra towel down and moderate the water flow so as to not soak the poorly planned floors. If I’m tired, grumpy, or had a recent run-in with a Paris motorcyclist, then I might crank up the water pressure and let the floors suffer the consequences of the landlord’s poor planning.

They also caulked the shower poorly, with clear caulking, so there is a strip of black that can’t be cleaned as it is beneath the caulking. I scrub it and scrub it, knowing that it’s impossible for even the strongest of chemicals to get under that plastic. I tell guests “Hey, see that strip of black there? It’s not because I didn’t scrub it, it’s just this poorly done clear caulking,” hoping they don’t mistake my landlord’s mistakes for my own slobbishness.

Part of me wants to rip the caulking out, recaulk with white so I don’t have to see the incurable mold. Part of me wants the landlords to have to deal with the consequences of their actions. I don’t know how to caulk a shower, so the latter seems the wiser option.

The Takeaway

So wtf does it all mean? Honestly, I think I learned you can be quite happy in Paris with a really crappy shower. Maybe my life is richer because I can’t linger in these awful, clogged, tiny showers. I have to wash up and get on with things, carpe that diem.

Maybe these showers are another Parisian lesson on making concessions. Paris is always reminding me that the path to a good life is littered with trade-offs. If I like being able to walk to the grocery store, then I’m going to have to live with a tiny, poorly caulked bathroom. If I like socialism, I may not be able to have a shower door.

No, I think the lesson is prioritization. In all three cases, I toured these apartments, I saw their functional if not fabulous bathrooms and decided they were good enough. All three apartments have had great kitchens and living spaces, clearly a priority for me as a host and cook.

Prioritize what matters. Use the rest as fodder for your Substack.

When I was being wheeled out of the delivery room after giving birth—hospital gown, disheveled hair, leaky everything—I remember doing a quick mental and physical inventory, then saying to myself, “Oh my, I think I’m a little traumatized. I’ll have to deal with that at some point.”

I had the exact same sensation while rolling out of Paris two Fridays ago, away from another 104F+ day, towards a beach, any beach that promised a livable temperature. As the cool of the train AC hit, I paused and assessed how I was doing: a lot worse than I had realized, and more than a little traumatized by that epic heatwave.

Whatever you’re reading in the news, it was that bad and worse. Like, “Kim, there’s people that are dying.” Even with the portable AC unit, even while drinking water and sitting in shade and misting myself as the government keeps reminding us to do, this shit was relentless, uncomfortable, and as the numbers have shown, dangerous.

Have your eyebrows ever been hot? I’ve never even felt my eyebrows before, but they were singeing during the short walk to the grocery store. I’m pretty sure my bike tires were getting sticky, which is good for F1 but not for the creche run.

Walking on the shady side of the street to run errands, I kept wondering why we weren’t protesting. Why weren’t my neighbors rising up in the streets against this torture? But, protest against what, and against whom? How should we direct our wrath? The men who got us into this mess with their fossil fuels and data centers and combustion engines? Taylor Swift and her MF-ing jet? Capitalism? Or maybe protesting our leaders for their inaction in taking measures to address the symptoms of climate change?

I’m mad that the world is on fire, and I’m also mad that not enough people in power seem to understand that we need common-sense infrastructure that addresses the realities of climate change, so that citizens aren’t dying on principle. Shutters and misters in extreme heat are like cardigans and slippers in snow; useless and kind of pathetic. I’m tired of politicians pretending that closing schools a half hour early is helping anyone survive this heat.

Okay, pardon the rant. But I needed to get that out there to set the stage for the LeArNiNgS. Ah, learnings; the silver lining of any struggle, even a dumb struggle we shouldn’t have to be struggling in the first place.

When I gave birth and wasn’t the biggest fan of my birth story, I reflected on what I would do differently and what I could have done better to have the delivery I wanted. I am now reflecting on the canicule, what worked for me and what didn’t. How could I do it better the next time around, knowing what I know now? Unlike giving birth, I don’t have much choice about whether or not I’ll be going through a canicule again. In fact, it looks like another one is locked and loaded. Hold on to your butts.

Here’s what I’m thinking might help my household to ride out the next wave of heat.

Bake cookies for everyone I know who doesn’t live in Paris: The only way I was able to make it through this recent canicule with low spirits instead of impaired health was because I was lucky enough to get out on the weekend, twice, thanks to the kindness of a few friends who have houses elsewhere. So why the cookies? I need to stay in the good graces of everyone who lives outside the city so that they’ll keep making those invitations to us. Especially because we are guests who come with baggage in the form of a highly charismatic but talkative toddler who eats as much as an adult, so being invited is no small feat. Baking feels vulgar at this junction, so maybe I’ll just invite them to a mostly raw dinner instead. Small cost, given what they saved us from.

Say no to long flowy dresses: You might think this is the move, especially since so many women on the street look so chic in their long floral dresses and espadrilles. But long dresses are the equivalent of giant tents over your heat-generating parts. The result is constant swamp. I had to tie my long yet light dress up to the side to get some air on my legs, which were overheating as I sat on a shaded terrace.

No metro: Before I knew that overheated metros were failing across town, I made a gamble on the most effective way to get my child home from creche, and I lost big. While biking is faster and more reliable, the metro is slightly cooler, passive, and less sunny. So I chose the metro. The metro overheated and shut down with us inside. I couldn’t make my toddler walk the rest of the way home when it was about 100F out, nor could I carry him all that way in said heat. The bus was too full, and completely unairconditioned. So yeah, no more metro in the heat.

Keep Bike Rides Short: If the metro is off the table, biking is the way to go. I learned last canicule that there is a sweet spot where biking is effective, before the sun exposure and energy expenditure actually begin to have diminishing returns. I think that threshold is 12 minutes. After 12 minutes, the ride is no longer refreshing or endurable; instead, it becomes another form of dangerous heat torture that is unwise to subject yourself to.

Hold Still: So if I’m saying no metro, barely any bike, and walking is a self-explanatory no, what am I saying? I’m saying hold as still as possible, doing as little as possible. It’s free! It works! It’s available to everyone!

Swap wine for pastis: My chosen drink when it’s hot as balls, pastis comes with water and ice cubes, costs almost nothing, and for some reason makes the heat feel festive. No, I’m not sweating all over a cafe table at my local bar, I’m pretending I’m day drinking and bronzing myself in Marseille. Author's note: completely ignore this particular learning and drink only water during the canicule.

Don’t look at municipal social media too much: I follow the mairie of the 12th arrondissement, Paris Centre, the official Paris Ville accounts, etc. so I can stay informed about our city. Reading their posts during a canicule was the most crazy-making part of the week. They post well-intentioned reminders to keep cool by having some water, finding shade, or thinking about the idea of ice cubes, as if anyone needed to be told that. They mean well, but something about seeing how little they can do with their misters and too-full cooling centers depresses the hell out of me.

Just use the AC: Knowing the French outlook on AC, knowing that our home faces into a shared courtyard, I was extremely reticent to use our portable AC unit. I genuinely didn’t want to bother anyone with the noise of the hot air being evacuated, and I also didn’t want to be perceived as a climate killer. I’d do the responsible thing and only use it to cool down the upstairs bedrooms starting at 18:00, but I’d do so feeling awful about it the whole time. Next round, I might keep that routine, but just let her rip with abandon when I do so. If it’s on, it’s on; feeling nervous and guilty isn’t going to save my soul.

Stop treating ice cream like a solution: It’s cataclysmically hot, so the brain and heart both rationalize ice cream as being helpful in cooling down and warranted by our ongoing suffering. If these heat waves climate crisis events continue at this rate, that type of ice cream logic is going to have some big consequences.

Stand in the meat aisle: The only time I felt good last week was when I took an extended spin in the meat aisle of my nearby grocery store. I was considering two different packages of steak hache, then, all of a sudden, I noticed that I was cool for the first time in days. Vegetarians: there’s always the cheese/yogurt aisle for you. Vegans: I’m sorry for your struggle.

Don’t be too productive: The two best days of the canicule were ones I spent holding still inside, avoiding errands at all costs. No groceries, no social calls, no cooking. Just TV and computer work, until my hands got too hot to type. Both days, I felt pretty good until I absolutely had to pick my child up or something awful like that.

Get a bucket: We have a bucket, more like a basin, that is used for non-cleaning purposes. It served as part of a water table for my son, who was excavating frozen animals from ice that his clever mom had prepared. It was also an ice bath for the day that the living room rug felt too hot to stand on. I guarantee you at least 30 solid minutes of happiness if you get yourself a bucket.

Romantacize it: Whenever I have to do something in Paris that sucks, I try to figure out a way to romanticize it instead of dread it. Long rainy nounou drop-offs with a baby, prefecture lines, almost getting hit by a motorcyclist; all of these things can be spun into adventures that are part of the amazing life I’m building. So there’s gotta be a way to do the same with the canicules.

Maybe it’s by remembering the beauty of the shared trauma that is bonding all of Paris together in solidarity. Or maybe I can feel grateful for earning true empathy for how a poulet roti feels when I walk outside and begin to feel my organs and skin rise to unsafe temperatures. Maybe it’s a newfound appreciation for the only moderate discomfort of a 32C degree day. Or being thankful that the canicule has bronzed my skin and multiplied my herb garden beautifully.

The way I did end up romanticizing this one was by re-re-re-re-rewatching True Detective season 1, whose scenes of dry, dusty lethargy helped make my sweaty living room feel poetic.

If leaning into it doesn’t help, I’d recommend complaining. That seemed to help do the trick last time.

If you’re here in France, best of luck to you and your family. Stay cool.

Too hot to think and work. Distracted by my ongoing frustration at global warming, capitalism in general, AND the over-principled vilification of moderate use of air conditioning. This will have to be quick and dirty because typing requires moving my hands, and that creates heat, and there’s too much of that in the world already. Let’s get into it.

Around Paris

• Probably DON’T go to Quai Sauvage Bercy. I’ve renamed it the “Porkless Pork Fyre Festival” because it’s in partnership with La Vie, but it somehow had barely any food, felt thrown together as a personality-less cash grab, and gave us the sense we were watching the World Cup under a freeway overpass, but not in a cool, edgy way. Also, what does a mediocre guinguette have to do with alternative meat in the first place? Brands need to think this stuff through.

• Instead, hit up literally any other guinguette along the Seine, or one of my personal Deep 12eme faves, Les Lionnes at Palais de la Porte Dorée, which is looking cute after a recent Aperol-sponsored facelift. While there, I danced to a blues guitarist with my toddler as the sun set, if you want a sense of the vibes.

• Had a tasty bottle of natural wine at Station La Cave, a wine store on the charming Rue Sainte-Marthe. The owner made space for us on a busy night, explained the wine, didn’t get flustered when we had trouble deciding. Definitely going back soon for orange wine in a lovely spot.

• Had the quickest of verres, cheese, and olives at Le Blainville but want to go back. It was one of those chill, drinks and small plates spots that has plenty of character without being over-engineered. Also, the cat in residence was kind enough to sit with us.

• This definitely isn’t news or a hot take, but gaddam Parc Floral is amazing. I’ve been there for the jazz festival and to hang out as an adult, but just took my 2.95 year old there for an adventurous morning, and I was astounded by how much fun we BOTH had. Biggest playground in Paris, by the way. Very low crowds the day we were there. Cafe with ice cream on-site. Tons of shade and places to picnic.

Around Substack

• Too Hot: Need to understand wtf is going on with these heatwaves? I felt like my reality was acknowledged by Lindsey Tramuta’s “Story du Moment: Paris is Boiling” on The New Paris Dispatch. As always, she made clear the who/what/where/when/why of it all, in the middle of a situation that is, unfortunately, complex and political. My favorite sentence: “So while air conditioning isn’t the solution, it will ultimately be one tool among many to modify the way we live and work.”

• Une Biere: Understanding why it’s so freaking hot won’t make it less hot. That’s why beer is so important. I really enjoyed this crash course in how to order a beer in France on French with Timo. Because it’s not as simple as asking for “une biere.”

• Pastis, Please: I’ve personally been keeping cool via pastis, because it’s one of the few drinks in France guaranteed to be served with ice cubes. I also have a tested but hardly scientific theory that it prevents hangovers. That said, it seems that the taste is not for everyone. Alternate way to enjoy pastis: this pastis gimlet provencal from The Dinner Party Dispatch.

Around Franchement

Kinda Kid-Friendly: For my series of highly specific Paris recommendations, I created a list of recommendations of places to take your kids if you don’t like going to kid-focused places. Less baby cafes and family restaurants, more restaurants that happen to work well for children, if your child can handle their business.

100 MORE Tips for Living in France: I wrote my first 100 tips post soon after I arrived in 2019, and while they hold true, they are advice for beginners. The next 100 are a little more advanced; maybe more relevant if you’re staying longer than three months. Please allow my many mistakes and humiliations to shorten your learning curve.

Hold tight for a rare cross-promo: I’m offering coaching sessions to folks who have moved abroad and are navigating change in their new career, life, everything. My practice focus is typically executive or career coaching, but I thought it would be fun to throw the offer out there for any transplants who might feel clunky, lost, or frustrated, and who would like to work on feeling… not that. If that sounds like you or a loved one, feel free to reach out for a discovery call.

I revisit my list of 100 tips for living in Paris article now and then to ensure the tips are still relevant, and to see just how cringe I was when I wrote it in 2019. I can confirm: those were useful if not extremely newbie tips. We’ve come a long way since then, baby.

Revisiting the first list made me think “damn, I can’t believe I was ever so naive that I had to learn this stuff.” It also made me realize how many other niche insights I’ve amassed. If you’re going to do the good old three-month sabbatical, or if you’ve landed here indefinitely, you can have a smoother transition by familiarizing yourself with all 200 of my priceless and hard-earned if not succinct pearls of wisdom. You’re welcome.

I’m always reticent to write a list article because they are widely considered in media to be lazy click bait. But by now, y’all know that’s not how I roll. This will be useful, idiosyncratic, long, and of course, biased af. Might as well have fun with it.

So here they are, 100 MORE tips for living in Paris, the slightly deeper cuts, if you will.

1. Just walk. It’s always faster and more pleasant. If it’s far, then bike. You’re going to feel awful and probably touch something dirty on the metro.

2. If you are on the metro, give your seat to pregnant women, the elderly, folks with crutches, women with babies, or be a hero and tell people to give their seat to others in need. If you wait for someone to do the right thing and give up their seat, they won’t.

3. Same goes if you need a seat: just ask for it. Very rarely did I get offered a seat as a pregnant woman.

4. If you see someone with luggage or a shopping cart or a stroller trying to mount or descend the metro stairs, help them out. It will be you in that situation at some point, so rack up as much karma as you can.

5. If you’re in Montparnasse, first of all, sorry. Second, go to the Starbucks on the -1 level instead of the one that’s next to the train platforms; it’s way less crowded.

6. Also, never forget that all the Marks & Spencer locations closed after Brexit, EXCEPT the tiny M&S/Monop combo pack at Montparnasse. Shop accordingly. I literally went to Montparnasse two hours after publishing this and realized the M&S is no longer there. Devastated. We used to live in a society. Anyway, lots of other good options there, but not as good as the options we could have if it weren’t for xenophobia.

7. Speaking of Starbucks, if you must patronize one, say your name with a French accent so the barista can understand you. The anglo-sized pronunciation is irrelevant here. I’m “Shellllll-BEE!” Otherwise, they can’t understand what I’m saying.

8. Don’t forget that train station bathrooms are almost always pay bathrooms. Keep a few coins on you to pay for the privilege to pee.

   

9. Get to the marche before ten for an easy, breezy experience. After 10:00, everyone and their mom is out, the lines are long, and it seems that everyone wants to talk up the sales guy, which slows the lines down.

10. Yes, metro prices continue to climb. Also, yes, it’s a pain in the ass to keep loading up your Navigo pass with tickets all the damn time. Getting the Navigo Liberte+ allows you to just swipe and swipe and then get billed at the end of each month, PLUS each trajet is just €2.04. You do need to have a French bank account to apply, but at least you no longer need to bring a bunch of paperwork and passport photos to the accueil in the metro station. The website even allows you to take your photo via your phone.

11. Still can’t get a French bank account, but need a RIB for your Navigo Liberte+ pass or your gym or any other number of things that you can’t use a credit card for? You can create a European account with Wise that has its own RIB.

12. Even big movie theaters like UGC Bercy and Chatalet will not pump up the AC, no matter how hot it is, no matter how full the theater is, so don’t go on a hot day thinking you’re about to get a nice dose of cinema AC.

13. Yes, that theater has both sweet and salty popcorn. Make sure you specify your preference; I’ve had theater employees assume that, because I sounded American, I wanted sweet popcorn. La honte.

14. Even six years after I wrote that last list of 100 tips, it’s still not worth it to wait in line for brunch. There are other places to eat and (with a few exceptions), Parisian brunch isn’t quite there yet. I know of a few good places, but I’m not sharing them, sorry.

15. If you can’t find something at the grocery store, it will be at the small epicerie around the corner. Whether it’s Asian, Middle Eastern, or Mediterranean-focused, they have it. We’re talking brown sugar, actually spicy sauces, pickled jalapeños, BBQ sauce, more varieties of peanut butter, whatever.

16. Never order bottled water, just get the carafe d’eau. I should have mentioned that in Part 1 because that’s entry level. If you look at all touristy or speak English, the waiter might try to sneak the bottled water on you, but you can send it back and ask for a carafe.

17. If your French isn’t crystal clear, go ahead and hold up a finger to indicate the number of baguettes you need. That way, you provide the boulangerist some useful context, and you don’t experience ego death when they say “QUOI?” after you order.

18. If you’re waiting forever for the metro to arrive and it’s stuffed full of people, wait three minutes for the next one. Sadly, this doesn’t work for the 13 at any hour or the 8 after 10pm.

19. Don’t ever run a red light when biking. It doesn’t matter that everyone else does. Cops don’t ticket cars and motorcycles for this dangerous infraction, but they’ll ticket a biker because they can actually catch us, so don’t even try it.

20. If you’re a parent of a small child, don’t take them anywhere without a hat because French boomers will criticize you for your child’s cold head. Never mind that the child has more hair than an adult and has told you his head is too hot.

21. Everything here gets done via word of mouth. Job placement, apartment hunts, doctor/dentist/osteo recommendations, all achieved via le bruit qui court.

22. That reminds me, get a good osteopath and go once a quarter. Make up an ailment if you have to; the floating feeling afterward is worth it.

23. Ditch Google Maps for Citymapper. The wait times, Metro and RER outages tend to be more accurate, and I find the routes more logical. You can also optimize for step-less routes for mobility issues and strollers, simple routes without connections, etc.

24. Line 4 used to be busy and crowded and sad, but since I wrote my first list of 100 tips, they’ve automated the 4, and now it is always on time, every four minutes, and it’s now so fast, it almost feels dangerous. Dangerously efficient.

25. With that overhaul, the doors on Metro line 4 are extremely quick and snappy. Watch your extremities, and don’t try to squeeze through at the beep. (I got squished once.)

26. If you’re choosing a place to live or stay, make sure it’s within a five-minute walk of a major Metro line that crosses the city, preferably one that is automated like the 1, 4, or 14 (these stay on time and rarely get shut down even during strikes). The 8 is convenient, geographically, but has been voted the worst line because it is slow, infrequent, and kinda old and funky.

27. Find any excuse not to exit the metro at Chatelet. Even if you know which exit to take, you’ll still wind around underground for forty minutes, and somehow end up at either a pool or a subterranean Muji.

28. That reminds me, if you want to stay above ground, see the sights, and save a few cents, take the bus. I feel like people are always dismissing the bus as slow and infrequent, but this is only sometimes true. The bus is always there for you, as long as you’re not already late.

29. If you’re on the sidewalk and you see a kid coming at you on a little scooter, get out of the way. He probably doesn’t know how to/doesn’t care to stop.

30. If you’re lucky enough to be here long enough to get a Carte Vitale, get yourself a médecin traitant, aka a dedicated general practitioner. You then get better/bigger reimbursements for all appointments and prescriptions, and it’s easier to get appointments and referrals to specialists.

    Franchement is a reader-supported publication. Subscribe or upgrade to show Shelby you care.

31. If you’ve applied for your Carte Vitale, you can still visit the doctor, dentist, etc., and eventually be reimbursed for what you pay up front. Just save your receipts to request reimbursement retroactively.

32. A recent polling of friends has revealed that annual teeth cleanings in France tend to be very brief, thorough, reassuring, but also ROUGH. Like, wow thanks for hoeing the tartar fields of my mouth with a spiked mace.

33. Save all of your receipts, regardless of whether you think you need them or not. I don’t know when, how, or why, but you’re going to need them again at some point, especially if they have your address on them.

34. Learn what a garant is and get yourself one. Many renters need a garant or co-signer for their lease, even if they have enough cash or cash flow to cover the rent. It’s just a precautionary thing rooted in a country that is very nervous about entering into contracts. Even if you use something like Garant Me, you may still need a real human garant for your lease. I know a lot of people whose friends and peers are their garants; Paris is just a circle of the same people co-signing one another's leases. Sounds sustainable!

35. People might look at you funny if you don’t peel your fruit before eating it. Either get comfortable peeling a peach, or get comforrtable being stared at while you enjoy that fuzzy peach skin.

36. Identify your closest copy shop and stay on good terms with the owners. Grocery stores and post offices used to have printers/scanners, but they’re disappearing. Library printers are always en panne. You need those copy shop guys, especially if you’re going to use Vinted.

37. Also, build a relationship with the local cobbler, or“Cordonnerie Maroquinerie” shop. They can breathe life into your worn-out shoes and bags, and you might need them to make key copies, too.

38. Miss broccolini? I know I do. No matter how many marches I explore, I can’t seem to find a reliable broccolini source. The most reliable my friends has found is Monoprix.

39. Ordering a medium-rare steak here can be tricky. Your server will tell you (sometimes nicely, sometimes not) that they don’t do THAT here, madame, they only do saignant (rare), a point (medium well-ish), bien cuit (shamefully well done), and bleu (still mooing). I usually order saignant, which then arrives at any one of the four temperatures I just described. The key learning is that you can send it back if it’s too rare for you, and the staff tends to be more chill about it than at a US restaurant. Just ask nicely, and they usually re-fire it with little fuss, sometimes accompanied by “bien sur.” I’m quite timid, and I’ve done this more times than I can count.

    

40. Listen to France Inter and other French radio. They speak extremely clearly, so it’s easy even for beginners to understand what the hosts are saying, and the exercise is great for improving comprehension and vocabulary. Once you do fully understand, France Inter is some really good public radio you can enjoy. It’s also extremely eye-opening to hear news coverage from the perspective of a different country and culture. Like, sometimes they’ll actually use the word fascism to describe fascist stuff.

41. If you like a spot, go back often to become a known regular. The infamous cold French service eventually warms to include greetings, small talk, and bonus drinks.

42. Don’t expect anything to get done in May. There are so many public holidays, everyone attempts to “faire le pont,” or bridge the holidays and weekend with a vacation day. The result is that the whole city, nay country, is out of town, making business, school, and social gatherings impossible to muster.

43. Watch your use of “excitée.”

44. Batten down the hatches when there are big national sports games. Whether France wins or loses, there will be riots, destruction of property, tear gas, fires.

45. Fête de la Musique is the best day of the year, in Paris anyway. My main tip is to manage your expectations.

46. Lines move slowly because the person who is being served has the right to ask as many questions as they want. In fact, it’s expected that they ask the grocery store clerk or proprietor or whatever about their supply and wares. If you are the customer being served, take your time, ask your questions; it’s your moment.

47. If it looks like rain, bring your umbrella, and then it won’t rain. If it looks like a 50/50 chance of rain, and you decide to risk leaving the umbrella at home, it will rain.

48. Always be fifteen minutes late. Fifteen minutes late is on time. Early or on time is too early and also rude.

49. “Pas mal,” aka “not bad,” is actually a high compliment; maybe the most positive you’ll ever receive in France. Par contre, “pas terrible” or “not terrible” means “very bad.” It doesn’t make intuitive sense; you just have to believe me.

50. Paris public schools are half-day on Wednesdays. Private schools and the rest of France have NO SCHOOL ON WEDNESDAY. I still don’t understand why. If you have kids in your life, this is very critical information.

51. Do you know how most families deal with this Wednesday situation? Some send their kids to camps, with nannies, or to daycare those days, aka spend a lot of money. If they can’t manage that, mothers tend to take reduced salaries to not work Wednesdays. This, in a country that is literally mailing pamphlets to 29-year-old women, begging them to procreate.

52. I guess that one isn’t a tip, so much as it is something I learned recently that really pisses me off/impacts my life as a mother of a small child entering school. Wish I’d have known that sooner.

53. Since I wrote my original list of 100 tips back in 2020 (republished on Substack in 2024), plenty of great Mexican spots have opened. You can find them here, and it’s only gotten better since then.

    

54. Get yourself a friend with an old X-ray on hand. You know these French doors that close behind you and click, and then you can’t open them, even if they’re not actually locked? You can shove a credit card or X-ray in there to open it, without having to call an expensive serrurier.

55. Learn how to pronounce “serrurier” for when you inevitably lock yourself out.

56. Don’t put your feet up in the Paris metros, you risk a €60 fine or an admonition.

57. Don’t take your large luggage (or other big stuff) on the Paris metro (larger than 75 cm or 29.5 inches). You risk a fine up to €200. This one really irks me because it’s enforced even on line 14, which was just extended so that people can easily get to Orly.

58. If you’re going to see an American-made film that’s originally in English, make sure the showing says “VOSTF” and not “VF.”

59. The films with the original English will still show French subtitles, which is actually great for practicing your French.

60. If you hail from the US, check if your state does driver’s license transfers with France. If they do, you can easily switch to a French license. If they don’t (like my home state of California), you’re fucked.

61. If you’re trying to communicate in French at a restaurant, store, etc., and the person you’re engaging with switches to English, don’t let it get you down. I’ve learned that, most of the time, it’s their way of trying to accommodate you, not patronize you. Sometimes people will make this switch even if their English is weaker than my French. If you really want to practice your French, just keep going regardless of the switch. This gets easier with practice.

62. If you’re trying to maintain a convo in French and feel out of your depth, just keep asking questions. Then you’re saying things you can handle, and being a generous conversationalist.

63. No matter how acclimated you get to France, you may still need to smuggle your preferred deodorant in from home. Here’s why.

64. The key to progress towards what you want in France is to learn to compromise. Here’s why.

65. “AI” is called “IA” here, which sounds like “EEE-AHH.” This is important for French conversations and news-listening. Also, “ChatGPT” sounds kind of like “Chat je peh teh,” which to the French ear translates to “Chat I farted,” which you should probably be aware of.

66. The best Ziploc-style bags I’ve ever found are at Muji. I used to recommend Ikea, but Muji is actually where it’s at. They aren’t always available at supermarkets, especially in the sandwich/snack size.

67. If you’re not sure what is in season at the marche, just look at what the neighborhood elders are buying. They know if it’s time for apricots or not. They’ll know if the asparagus on display is too early or if it’s time to buy. They’ll also tell you which stall has the best produce.

68. Your life will be richer if you find a kind butcher who will grind turkey and chicken for you.

69. Even if you find corn at the marche, even if you’re deep in the beautiful, fertile countryside, even if you grill the corn and slather it with the best French butter, it ain’t going to taste right.

70. If you see some hype videos saying that Trader Joe’s products are available at Aldi, don’t get too excited too fast. This myth is technically true because Aldi is the parent company of TJ’s, and they sell a few items there. But it’s usually just a few packages of nuts and dried fruit. It does make me happy to see that logo, though.

71. If you’ve never tried a Kouign Amann, do so immediately and never stop eating them.

72. No matter where you are in France, make sure to attend the Salon de l’Agriculture.

    

73. For weekend trips find a go-to rental car company near the edge of Paris so you can always get out of town quickly. Whatever you do, don’t use Europcar.

74. Not all eggs are created equal, and they’re not always available. The best egg sources will always end up selling out the fastest, leaving you grabbing eggs from Franprix or Carefour, or worse, not being able to find any eggs at all (it’s impossible to find eggs in my nieghborhood if I shop on a Monday). Identify all possible egg sources, as well as several backups. I call this my plan oeuf.

75. Everyone is always chasing sunny apartments. During a heatwave, you learn that dark apartments are where it’s at.

76. Speaking of heatwaves, during summer you have to choose between opening the window for coolness but risking mosquitos, or keeping windows closed against mosquitos but being too hot to sleep. Luckily you can add a cheap and easy-to-mount temporary screen that Velcros to the window frame. It’s ugly as all hell but it keeps mosquitos and flies out.

77. Keep a hand fan in your purse for hot metros and parks. They’re extremely effective, and it’s fun to pretend you’re an old-timey lady fanning yourself so you don’t faint in the heat.

78. Don’t keep your phone in your coat pocket.

79. Call 15 for non-emergency medical stuff, or if you’re not sure if you need to see a doctor or not. You’ll be given advice on if you need a regular appointment, or if you need to haul ass to the urgences. If you need a standard doctor’s appointment, the hotline will also book it for you, or pre-authorize you to visit the maison de garde on the weekends.

80. Download the L’Officiel des Spectacles app or frequent the website to easily view every play, performance, museum exhibit, concert, etc. happening in Paris on a given day.

81. Did you know you can get free sparkling water in Paris? Find your locacl Eau de Paris location, bring your bottles, and load up on sparkling water. Or just refill your water bottle. I once saw an older gentleman bring a wagon full of glass bottles to fill up at the souce in the 12th.

82. Always get a cafe gourmand if it’s on the menu.

83. Canal Plus usually has a lot of HBO and Apple TV+ shows and films that are hard to watch in France because, even with a VPN, the HBO app is glitchy abroad. (Are they back to calling it HBO, by the way? You know which studio I mean.)

84. Sometimes Netflix or Amazon won’t have the same content available in France as in North America, or vice versa. This is where a VPN comes in handy.

85. Mail your US ballots back as soon as you possibly can. The post between the US and France has apparently resumed, but it’s still slow.

86. Hear a super loud siren, but no one seems to be alarmed? Check to see if it’s a Wednesday. Major cities in France test their emergency alarms every first Wednesday of the month at noon. This used to freak me out until I got used to it. If it’s not Wednesday, I don’t know what to tell you.

87. Ask for you what you need, then follow up until you get it. There are a lot of benefits and services that you have a right to in France, but you usually have to push to get them. For example, I was eligible for the two year visa at one point, didn’t realize it, and was issued another single year visa for no apparent reason. You’d be surprised how effective a little gentle pressure, a few follow-up questions can be.

88. The speed cameras in France are no joke. Because it’s all handled by radar instead of copy hiding behind bushes to leap out and catch you, it’s not always clear that you’ve been “flashed.” Sometimes, you don’t know until the ticket shows up in the mail. Slow down.

89. Every apartment building has a little old lady who is grumpy about everything and likes to hassle residents about things like mailboxes or normal volume levels or how loud you close the door. Just humor her.

90. Read the minutes from the public meetings held at your local mairie! There’s useful information about services, construction, events, and more. Plus, civic duty, etc.

91. Finding a third place where you can read and just chill out on your own has obvious benefits. One benefit I hadn’t counted on was the ability to practice French comprehension through eavesdropping. You can learn new phrases, and see how much you’re able to follow a conversation that isn’t being catered to a non native speaker.

    

92. Finding a spot that’s open for a late lunch can be tricky, but there are options out there.

93. When I arrived in Paris, no one was taking reservations. It was the wild west out here every Friday and Saturday night, trying to snag a table. Now, everyone is taking reservations, either online or via phone. If you’re not sure, just call the place, they’ll probably find a way to accommodate you.

94. It never ceases to amaze me how chill restaurant staff here are about splitting the bill, even amongst, like, 12 cards.

95. If you’re getting something important delivered, just stay home. It doesn’t matter if you left detailed delivery instructions. It doesn’t matter that they have your phone number and door code. If you need that package, camp out on your front door step.

96. Make sure you try to make it to the Foire de Chatou if you like antiques, lunch, or eating lunch amongst antiques.

97. It doesn’t always snow in Paris, but when it does, the city kinda falls apart because the metros are too full, and the ones that go outdoors have issues with ice on the tracks, and everyone is slipping and sliding and falling. You’ve been warned.

98. No, I don’t know of a good US/France accountant or immigration attorney. No one really does. If they’re good, they’re not affordable, and if they’re affordable, they’re not good. I’ve enjoyed using ExpatFile for my taxes; I’m not sure if they’re being done correctly, but they’re done.

99. If you don’t have any plans, don’t know what to do, just go for a stroll.

100. When you’re having a bad day, too many errands, locked out of your apartment, missing package, biker almost maims you, relationship drama, toddler narcissism, run-of-the-mill male narcissism, etc… just remember that you’d be having a bad day no matter where you are, but you’re lucky enough to be having that bad day in Paris.

     ---

Hold tight for a rare cross-promo: I’m offering coaching sessions to folks who have moved abroad and are navigating change in their new career, life, everything. My practice focus is typically executive or career coaching, but I thought it would be fun to throw the offer out there for any transplants who might feel clunky, lost, or frustrated, and who would like to work on feeling… not that. If that sounds like you or a loved one, feel free to reach out for a discovery call.

A while back, I polled y’all to see if you were more interested in bars or kid-friendly spots, and it was a tie. I just haven’t had time to get to kid-friendly spots just yet, especially because I over-complicated it by specifying that I’d be focusing on kind of kid-friendly spots.

What does “kind of kid-friendly” even mean? It all goes back to me being a kind of selfish parent. Extremely kid-friendly places and activities make me uncomfortable and unhappy. It’s because of all the kids. Okay, okay, not all of them, of course; sometimes, kids are cute/cool/interesting. But if you get a bunch of them together, much like their adult genetic contributors, many of them are not. Especially in Paris. Also, the more kids around, the more Parisian parents will also be there, ignoring their kids who are probably pushing or knocking down my child. So that’s even more people for me to dislike.

The kid-friendly settings themselves can be quite interesting, but once the initial awe has worn off, you are left sitting in a weird simulacrum of fun, which tends to get me down. The Maison des Histoires in the 11th, for example, is quite impressive, a revelation really, for about 20 minutes. But after a while, all I hear is the wave of screams, all I smell is the faint odor of a diaper that needs to be changed, all I see is every square centimeter of germy surface my child has touched. Because these places are intended for kids, their parents tend to think it’s okay to stop paying attention and let them run amok, leading to a loud and injury-ridden social experiment that isn’t fun for anyone.

Instead of learning to like the kid-friendly torture domes that I have exposed myself to by deigning to procreate, I’ve decided to favor kind of kid-friendly places instead, as a middle ground.

These are places that are for humans doing human things like eating or hanging out, but where a decently behaved child can still enjoy themself alongside their caretakers. Some of these places are restaurants that happen to be spacious or considerate of the fact that children have unique needs. Some are fun places for adults to hang out that happen to remember that children exist. All of them are not children-first, however, and still require parents to monitor their kids, and demand a level of comportment from their kids (sit still at the table, use a fork, etc.).

That’s why I like these spots; I can enjoy them with my child, there are usually not an overwhelming amount of kids there, and if there are, they tend to be pretty well behaved, otherwise their parents wouldn’t have brought them there in the first place. The vibe isn’t child-at-the-brewery, either. I don’t really like that vibe. Just as kid-friendly places aren’t really for me, some grown-up places aren’t for even the most well-behaved kids.

The trade-off is that, because these aren’t spaces specifically for kids, you have to be on your A-game, both you and your child, to enjoy them. If I’m bringing my kid somewhere that isn’t kid-specific, then I try to ensure he can manage his business well enough to be there and not ruin everyone else’s time. That’s a lot to ask of a toddler, but if he wants to run with the big dogs, he needs to know how to sit through an hour+ dinner. If he isn’t in the mood, isn’t in a resourceful enough state to be there, I quietly extract us, and I take the blame. It’s my fault for putting him in too soon or when he’s not in the right mental state.

I actually can only think of one time that this happened, at a guinguette when we were both jet lagged, and he wanted to run amok behind the stage. I wanted to yell and scream about how we’d just arrived, I wanted to dance. Couldn’t he please just behave for like 20 minutes? But instead, I scooped him up, wrestled him into his pousette, and pushed home the screaming bundle of rage.

It’s with this level of discernment that I provide these dining recommendations. Give them a try, knowing you are somewhat set up for success because these places are somewhat hospitable to children, as long as your child is somewhat up for the challenge.

Read more

I can’t believe I had to bundle up and even dig out the scarves from storage at the beginning of this month, and twenty days later, I’m organizing my social life around temperature and shade availability. What happened to 75 degrees? What happened to a few weeks of 72 and sunny before we launch into heat warnings from the government? Oh well. At least the summer vibes are finally here (for a few days, before we go back to a chilly, rainy first week of June). Regardless, it’s the season where Paris is the most beautiful place on earth, the season makes the long winter worth the wait.

Read more

In a taxi home from Orly, the first thing the driver asked me was “How is the air flow?” He was adjusting the height of the windows a bit, and wanted to know if the air was on me too much. I didn’t quite know how to answer, but the way he worded the question was a sure sign I was back in France.

He didn’t ask me how the temperature was, if I was too hot or too cold (it was too hot). He wanted to know if the flow of the air was okay for me. In fact, I would have appreciated even more wind. Blasting in my face as it was, the taxi was stifling, and I prefer the air to move if it insists on being warm. I told the driver that the flow was fine. He was surprised, because most other passengers would have told him it was too much airflow, because most other passengers were French.

Why is having air in your face a bad thing in France? You might ask. That’s the thing; I wish I could tell you. After orbiting the culture for nearly 12 years, sometimes asking French people point-blank why they don’…

Read more

I panicked last week when I logged into my ANEF account (that’s Administration numérique pour les étrangers en France). Or, I would have panicked if I were still capable of being surprised about anything to do with citizenship or visa applications in France, specifically the villainous ANEF website.

You see, I submitted my request for French nationality in early 2024. After some back and forth, I had my interview in February of 2025, and have not heard a peep since. Still, I log in every month to see if anything in my account has changed, if the little tracking bar that shows what stage my request is at has advanced or not. It only changed once, this past November, after being stuck at “entretien” for the eight months after my actual entretien. I’m assuming my dossier has been sitting for 14 months in the inbox of the woman who interviewed me as a passive-ag…

Read more

When I used to visit California from France, I’d bring back all manner of creature comforts and what I deemed “necessities.” Body wash, razors, hot sauces, ground chilis, incense, Crest toothpaste, more hot sauce, tortillas, Trader Joes stuff. I don’t have to keep bringing back Costco bottles of Ibuprofen or Zyrtec, because the ones I bought in 2020 are still kicking; expired, but kicking.

As the years went on, the list of stuff to smuggle back got shorter and shorter. I had my ways of finding hot sauce and ground chili peppers. I’d abandoned my millennial razor subscription. I even found a few resources for decent tortillas.

But there remains one thing I have not been able to give up on, that my body literally will not let me forgo. That thing is American-made Dove deodorant, because yes, it is different, and yes, it is better (if by better you mean it prevents odors more effectively, which isn’t always preferable to…

Read more

Blah blah, something trite about spring, rebirth, newness to show that it’s the right time for a Franchement refresh. When I first designed the word marks and headers in 2023, back before I told anyone I was on Substack, I figured I’d just whip something up in Canva, then do it better later. We all know how that goes.

Luckily for me, a work colleague from a past life, Bobby Solomon of Horstman Studio, offered to refresh the Franchement brand identity as a fun creative exercise. I gave him a pretty annoying wish list: it had to feel both vintage and new, polished and unserious, timeless but kind of edgy, oh and for some reason I’m super into this particular shade of arsenic green. He created the perfect brand refresh, and a header that allows me to rotate the art regularly; this month, I’m feeling cows in a pasture.

Anyways, please enjoy the new look of Franchement. You have to open it via email or on the site to really appreciate the new style. Should I make totes? I think I should ma…

Read more

Thank you to everyone who voted for this topic when I polled you. Full transparency, it was a tie between “bars I’m not cool enough for” and “almost kid-friendly spots,” but I’m starting with this one, as Paris's going-out places have been on my mind recently.

Ya see, I’m reluctantly planning my 40th birthday party, so I’ve been prowling Instagram and the hundreds of saved locations on my Google Maps for the perfect chill, fun, delicious, yet effortlessly aspirational place to commemorate my age. It has to be a spot that is ever so slightly uncomfortable and just a little bit too cool for me, to ward off the imminent decline into complacency and uncoolness that can come with age, but that I’ve decided will not come for me.

This research has surfaced many an intimidating wine cave that I will now share with you.

As with any academic endeavor, we have to unpack our assumptions, starting with the obvious: what does cool even mean? For the purpose of this article, cool signifies places that are interesting, audacious, rigorously aesthetic (or intentionally not), all-consuming, that do what they do (either a great deal, or very little) with intention, and whose flame tends to attract moths whose fashion does the same. As you’ll see, some places are cool in a good way, whose general effect is greater than the sum of their parts. Others will achieve this cool, but just end up being kind of lame because they insist upon themselves too much. You know the difference when you walk in.

And why am I qualified to determine what is cool or not? I’m not sure that I am, which is why this list is tense with FOMO, self-consciousness, and caveats.

I also want to clarify that these aren’t all bar bars; many are small plates places, wine bars, and wine-forward restaurants. Going out in Paris is still very food-forward, something I’m not mad about. I guess a better title would be “Paris Going Out Spots I’m Not Cool Enough For,” but it’s too many syllables for me.

Let’s get to it, Paris bars I’m not cool enough for, even though I still frequent many of these.

• Cendrillion was the location of one of my favorite nights out last year. It’s actually a restaurant, not a going-out spot, but if I had to go out for a fun night, it’s the spot I’d choose. The small plates were some of the most imaginative I’ve had, the wine was great, and the bathroom is one of the most interesting in Paris. Thank god my friend reserved a table outside so we could enjoy the spring sunset.

• Delicatessen Place: I know I’m not cool enough to be here, because the one time I went, I accidentally went into the wine cave and not the wine bar, then when I got to the wine bar they were like, “Uh, kitchen is closed and you only have time for one verre,” and the tween working the bar looked mad that I deigned to enter the room. Take me back. There’s also frequently a hoard of youths drinking on the sidewalk, so I never know if I’ll even be able to snag a glass or spot if I’m brave enough to show up here.

• Desordre: The first time I came here, I felt very welcome and had more glasses of natural wine than I can count. I like the pretty glasses they put their cocktails in. I made the mistake of trying to come back for their anniversary party, which was a huge mistake. Impossible to get a drink unless you were a female friend of the owners. I’ll probably be back because I want to win them over, and I want one of the T-shirts they sell with the tigers.

• Cave Canaille: I think this is part of that Chambre Noire group, but it’s hard to tell because their marketing is always a little murky, which adds to the cool effect. I always see this place devolve into dancing on tables by the end of the night (via their Instagram stories), and I wonder, how does that even start? Who gets onto the table first? Does everyone want to dance to such loud music? Why does this never happen when I’m at a wine bar?

• Septime La Cave: You know this place is going to be good because, Septime. Despite the fact that this wine cave is smaller than my kitchen, you can usually snag a spot UNLESS it’s fashion week, in which case, you should probably just sip wine at home.

• I regret to inform you that Bambino is too cool in the uncool, less functional way. Yes, it’s beautiful, yes, it seems cool, yes, that’s a lot of records on the shelves. But it’s too well-known and impossible to get into anymore. Last time I went, I was stuffed into a weird corner table where staff kept hitting my butt when they passed. Awful experience. I also found the food kinda mid. So I guess we could say this one is so cool it circled back around to not cool again, and now you won’t catch me there.

• If you don’t feel like waiting in line for Bambino, just cruise west a block to local cafe/bar/tabac L’etincelle, which is so uncool that it is cool. The intersection of Amelot/Saint-Sébastien on a Friday night is overflowing with young people just gabbing and enjoying cheap beer and wine at this corner spot. I always wonder how anyone finds a table, is able to order a verre, but somehow they all just seem to make it work.

• La Patate Douce is a tiny cafe and bar with an intimate, retro vibe, like four tables, and always has live music and DJs. Every time I see their stories, I wonder how the people who are there knew when to come, who was playing that night, how they even managed to grab a table. I also wonder if they do privatizations. I’d love to rent this place out for something.

• L’Etoile de Montmartre: I used to frequent this spot when I lived up in the 18th on the north side of the butte. I liked it because it was just a cafe/brasserie not trying to be anything. For lack of any truly hip spots, many of the bar/cafes in this quartier get flooded with youths who want a place to congregate, L’Etoile de Montmartre being one of them. Now people talk about it on TikTok like it’s the place to be. Cave Cafe across the street is also a nice little nook to haunt; it’s so unassuming, chill, and not trying to be anything but an old room with some chairs. I think they might do brunch.

• Au Reve around the corner on Caulaincourt used to be a divey little spot with a cloud of cigarette smoke around the tiny terrace. Then they did a cheeky little rebrand (in my favorite shade of green) and classed it up a bit. I haven’t been to this new iteration; I think I personally will enjoy it, which might mean it’s slightly less cool because I am old and like to hear my conversations when I’m out.

• Montezuma Cafe was way ahead of the vinyl bar trend in Paris, and is one of the few that seems to be authentically about what it’s about, vs. just hopping on the trend. I still have never been, because I first learned of this spot when I was pregnant, and then ever since giving birth, have not had the patience to travel more than 10 metro stops to go out. The food always looks amazing, maybe I should have my bday here.

• Mish Mish: You know I have some thoughts on this place. The line around the

Read more

I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon at the Musée du Luxembourg last weekend to see the Leonora Carrington exhibition. I never cared much for surrealism, but the show ended up knocking my socks off. It embodied the version of the sublime that I learned about in art history classes; awe-inspiring, invoking both wonder AND terror, but like in a good way. Plus, it was feminist as hell. You should definitely go see it; the exhibition is on until July 2026.

But if you do go, I should warn you of something else that was on display that invoked both wonder and terror: the manners of almost everyone in the museum. I don’t know if it’s the internet, the boomers, the Gen Z, Paris, or what, but humans don’t know how to exist in three dimensions in social spaces anymore, and it really chaps my ass. I could blame the Musée du Luxembourg for overselling the tickets for each timeslot; …

Read more

For about half an hour this Sunday, all was right with the world. It was about 17 C outside with a beautiful sunset over Paris. Rachida Dati did not win the Paris mayoral race. Traffic from the countryside back into town was surprisingly manageable. My hair was doing something good. My toddler was being sage at apéro at one of our local spots. I had not yet realized that we were out of trash bags.

This is my version of a poem about the impending springtime. Don’t rotate your winter coats to storage yet, though, you’ll scare the sun away.

Let’s look at what was up in March, and a friendly reminder, the terraces in Paris reopen for the Spring/Summer season on April 1!

Read more

It was a pretty scary moment; I mean, you were there, you remember. I was particularly nervous because I had just moved to France, only had a basic grasp of the language, culture, and government, and now had to spend a crisis here, information constantly whizzing over my head, far from my family, with no clue when life would go back to normal, or if it ever would.

And this is when Europcar walked into my life.

Sunday afternoon, before the confinement was announced, we started to hear rumors from friends who worked in or around the government. You might want to get out of town, they said, or be stuck spending a lockdown in a tiny…

Read more

I’m riding ligne 14 clear across town from the deep 12eme to Saint Ouen. It’s a Sunday afternoon, and the metro is filled with people lugging large shopping bags and chariots with them; market day. The metro car is filled with an aroma that everyone present immediately recognizes. Arguably one of the best smells in the whole world: roast chicken.

I usually hate the smell of food on a metro, also the impulse that would lead anyone to bring strong-smelling food into a confined public space—rude. But roast chicken gets a pass. I watch the faces of my fellow riders to see if anyone is bothered enough to make a fuss about the scent; everyone seems to be at peace with the odor, no scrunched noses or grumpy glances. I begin to scan the bags and baskets of those aboard to try to identify who the lucky luncher is going to be, but whoever purchased the chicken has it well hidden from view.

As I search for the fragrant poultry, I realize that I’m not loo…

Read more

Read more

If you’re anything like me, lunch usually happens around meetings, if it happens at all. In my old life, it was a Starbucks grazing box at 2pm while I did emails, while also in a meeting. On Thursdays, it was a sushi bowl at my desk at like 11:20 because I wanted to get my sushi bowl before the line got long. So when I arrived in France and found that the entire country eats lunch strictly from 12:00-14:00 and not a minute before or after, I felt kind of trapped. And hungry.

What if I was busy and forgot to get lunch? What if I simply wasn’t hungry until later in the day? I found out the hard way that that meant I went hungry or ate a croissant or a box salad from Monop’. This is especially tricky when I have American guests visiting, as they may be jet-lagged and hungry at odd times. They also are not usually used to the odd and oddly-enforced rules of France that make it difficult to get lunch after 14:00, sometimes even as early as 13:45 pm.

And don’t get me started on lunching during vacation. At about 10:30, you need to start watching the hour, making sure you’re at the village lunch spot by noon to get a table. Otherwise, you'll be relegated to the secondary village lunch spot. Otherwise, you’ll miss the lunch window entirely and be super hungry because the supermarche will also be closed. I’m now hardwired to eat no later than 12:30pm when I’m anywhere in the Hexagon.

Over the years, I began to take note of safe havens for late lunches, spots I could count on if I waited until I was hungry to eat instead of eating at the same time as the entire country. In Paris, lunches are getting a bit more flexible than they used to be, and this is less of an issue than it was even as recently as six years ago.

But just in case, I decided to share with you my go-to spots for when I need to eat off-schedule. Specifically, when I want to eat something not sad, off-schedule.

First Of All: Get Familiar With Your Local Boulangerie

If we’re talking eating purely for function, then get familiar with the inventory habits of the nearest boulangerie. For example, I know one of my favorite boulangeries in my neighborhood has sandwiches I like, and that I can probably grab one as late as 15:00 before they run out. The other good boulangerie will have nothing after about 13:00, so no use walking there if I forget the hour.

Do not try this on a Wednesday if you live near a college or lycee; those teenies get out of school before lunch on Wednesdays and will eat all of the food in a three-block radius.

Same For Your Local Bistros and Cafes

If a boulangerie sandwich or quiche won’t do, but you can’t get out to lunch before 2:00 pm, get to know the kitchen capabilities of your nearest bistros and cafes. Some will serve food around the clock, and others will absolutely not.

This used to be more cut and dry; everyone knew that no bistros served food all day except for the few that explicitly had big “SERVICE CONTINU” signs all over the place. Recently in Paris, this line has been blurred, much to the benefit of late eaters. More and more bistros are serving food continuously, but they don’t always state it plainly. If they aren’t officially a service continu spot, they might squeeze in a neighborhood regular, then tell a tourist that the kitchen is closed.

If this is the case, find yourself a “service continu” resto, then you don’t even have to ask if the kitchen is open or not. Some of my favorites that may or may not technically be “service continu” but seem to be “service continu” or at least “service well into the afternoon” in practice include Pause Cafe, Cantine Diderot, Le Pure Cafe, Cafe du Coin, Lezard Cafe, Sunset, and Cafe Cosmos. Yes, hard bias towards the eastern side of Paris, sorry, it’s just where I live and hang out.

Coffee Cafes With Light Food

The entrance of the modern coffee-focused cafe, as opposed to the classic French cafe, has many benefits for clients. The first and most obvious is the very good quality coffee that comes with them, as opposed to the classic French coffee pod. This good quality coffee comes with things like oat milk, ice, cookies, Swedish buns, and other accoutrement that I need to maintain my will to live. Many of these also boast light food that will do the trick if you happen to miss lunch.

Read more