Today was a day that won't happen again. We stayed with a Tamil family outside Paris in a commune (not like you might think. Commune means town in France) for three days and are now in the Marais. One of the truly phenomenal human beings on the planet, Cheran Rudhramoorthy, arranged our home stay with his friend Jeya.
I never thought I'd come to Paris in order to get in touch with my prejudice regarding cultures that engage in arranged marriages. Well the last three days I came up close and uncomfortable with my own judgement towards the people that engage in this practice. Within the first hour of arriving at this wonderful family's home, I discovered we would be staying with a very traditional Tamil family. I've never known anyone who was in an arranged marriage much less had been welcomed with open arms as virtual strangers into their family. It's easy to get complacent with thinking that we don't carry around prejudice living in a multicultural city like Toronto. But we all do to some extent as I discovered. After a while, I stopped paying attention to Jeya's continuous questioning regarding me not being married. For her, she was truly just expressing her concern for me while at the same time trying to understand how we are different from one another.
Although Neuilly sur Marne was a bit of a trek to Paris, seeing a suburb in France and knowing this family was probably the most eye opening experience I've had in the several times I've visited France. Their town was a huge melting pot of different cultures and languages, each moving fluidly with amongst one another. In the last three days, I was able to navigate our way to Versailles and back taking about four trains and one bus each way. The midget was a superstar and was a bundle of joy visiting the Musee Dorsay after that huge trek in the same day. Not one complaint despite the brutal heat that finally loosened its grip on Paris today.
Jeya's family treated us like we were family, no ifs ands or buts about it. Today, they took us out to the only Cuban restaurant in Paris where the father works 16 hour days 7 days a week.
Before saying good bye, I gave one of their daughter's something and she responded by giving me a sari she never wears. I come to Paris and am given a beautiful sari?
What? They don't have a lot and live in a small two bedroom apartment with four people and they wouldn't let us pay for a thing. They bought us gifts and then wouldn't even let me pay for lunch today.
After lunch we said our goodbyes and I left them feeling like I hadn't done nearly enough to show my gratitude. I am truly humbled by the amount of generosity they showed us.
Later in the day we wandered through the contemporary art galleries in the Marais and shopped a little. We even stopped at the Musee Picasso park and playground. I've found my heaven in the Marais.
After a quick nap I woke up first and worked out for 20 minutes. Only five days of no stretching or conditioning I could feel my ass tightening up in a bad way and my hips weren't happy. I can't imagine not doing anything for a freakin year like so many people! I could feel the difference in a few days!
We dressed ourselves up, me in the jump suit I bought. Yes, jump suits are happening here and I will be bringing mine back to sport in the big smoke. Then we headed to the Eiffel tower and went all the way to the top where I proceeded to cry a little absorbing the experience. I never thought I would be at the top of the Eiffel tower with my beautiful 6 year old and am so grateful to see such a treasure through her eyes.
After getting lost a little bit via the Metro on the way back to the hotel, we finally arrived at midnight. Now I'm writing this with a small glass of vin rouge by my side, the sound of cheesy american party music pumping out of the apartments across Rue Saintogne thinking about what I'm going to have for breakfast tomorrow. Cafe au lait bien sur. Croissant? Baguette?
hmmm....Definitely breaking my protein at breakfast rule.
Ooops. Almost forgot to report back on the French women don't get fat theory that is so talked about. I would say maybe Parisian women don't get fat. I just spent several days in the French burbs and can't say I agree with this theory crossing the urban suburban population. What about the Parisian men you ask? Well they aren't stinky, and aren't fat and often have a cute little belly. Nothing big but just enough to show they aren't perfectionists when it comes to their bodies. Now that's sexy.
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