Paris, Afro, and Easter...

After an freezing February, we ended the month in Paris. Paris is one of those cities that captures you into their culture and swallows you whole. I fell in love with Paris! The little café’s with amazing fresh bread and delicate sweets and all the beautiful colors of clothes and corky little trinkets brings you into the fairytale land of Pari!  The window shopping was a treat, not to mention the cute little French men and their laid back approach to girls; it was a nice change from the forwardness of Italian men.

Paris Treats:)

Paris wouldn’t have been the same if it wasn’t for my fabulous French Friends. This summer I was blessed to have a few of my girl friends visit, two from Italy, and one from England. On our road trip around California we meet 10 French boys; honestly, my first impression was that they were all gay. They were so cute with their tight collard shirts tucked into their skinny jeans and fabulous Euro shoes and Zara sweaters. They actually came down to Orange County on a Wednesday night and partied with us girls at La Cava on 17^th street.  It doesn’t get anymore local then La Cava on a Wednesday. We all ended our trip in Las Vegas, and finding out later that they were on a 10 day bachelor party, that’s what I call a last go at it. Needless to say, I was excited to reunite with my friends and see where we would end up that night.

 Friday night we met the boys at a club called ‘No Comment’, it was a new club opening and apparently the ‘hottest club in Paris’. The fashion was nothing more than hot. Girls in YSL tennis shoes with cut off jean shorts and long see-through collard shirts. All of their hair was a messy, Kate moss look, and red lips were a must. I felt overly Italian in my 5 inch heals and fancy party dress, but as posh as this club looked from the line of smoking ‘too cool’ trendy upper twenty something’s, the inside was unlike anything I have ever seen.



Paris



The club was underground, after walking down 20 steps or so and pushing back a leopard print curtain, there was the dance floor. Each light-bulb was red, and the walls had a cave like domineer. To the left was a giant bar and then a small dark hallway, it reminded me as if I was in a mine. To the right was a small room about the size of a walk-in closet, there was a rod-iron door that stood in the entrance and a six by four cut out window with rod iron bars. Entering inside this room was a round bed and on the wall were chains and hand cuffs. “What was this place?” I asked the boys as they watched our faces in astonishment.

“This used to be an old swingers club, for meeting and engaging in sex,” my friend said. This was the underground world of Paris and recently they had transformed the old vacant swingers bar into a hip new club, but leaving most of the artifacts and small meeting rooms as a component to the decor. It was fascinating entering the little rooms, some had bars of their own with different music playing inside, and others were large with full-size beds and couches. There were bras and panties in the trees as decor and feathery masks pinned to the walls. I knew that I would have never experience a piece of Paris’ history like this, if it wasn’t for my fabulous French friends I had met this summer.

Their hospitality was commending, buying our drinks and making sure we enjoyed ourselves. These guys are truly great friends for they expected nothing in return. They merely enjoyed our company as we did theirs, without hidden expectations or desires and for their sweetness and sincerity I am greatly appreciative.

We actually enjoyed Paris a bit too much, because we happened to mix up the airports and miss our flight home, which wasn’t such a bad thing. I didn’t mind spending an extra day in Paris.

March brought a few surprises such as an old friend named ‘Afrojack’.

Last October Afrojack (DJ) came to Italy; I somehow managed to get us back stage to meet him, simply because I have a loud annoying mouth, yes I know. This time we were going to the Afrojack concert a bit differently. My friend, shall we call her Samantha ;)? Kept in touch with Nick (afro) over the months, as he returned back to Rome, we were actually on his list to get in thanks to Samantha.  

We walked in front of about 500 people standing inline outside of the venue.

“Noi siamo la lista di Afrojack, possiamo entarare?”  I asked the guard who was obviously annoyed that we had just cut through the enormous crowd, gave us a laugh and said, “la lista di Afrojack? No non che.”

He said there was no list. Just then a man on his cell phone showed the guard an email he had received from Nick’s manager and said my friend’s name. We were immediately escorted into the venue, and then personally introduced to the owner of the venue and the production team. We were handed free drink cards and told if there was anything that we needed just to ask. The most amazing part of the night wasn’t just the VIP treatment, and spending the whole night on stage with Afrojack and his friends dancing, but my 15 year old boy that I live with was there! Yes, in Italy at 15 years old, my oldest kid and his friends bought a table with two bottles of Vodka and experienced their first night at a concert/club with their aupairs on stage partying with Afrojack. At that moment, I think my oldest saw me as a person and not just some annoying girl who makes him study English, and I saw him as a mini adult, enjoying life the same way I do. It was truly a special night for both of us to share together.

Easter brings thoughts of family and friends, and the sweet pictures I received of Ms. Milana brought a few tears. I find it more difficult this year to be away from home than last year. I feel like I’m missing out on the little things that truly bring a smile to my heart. Like my baby niece or seeing my sister-in-law’s tummy grow once again.

This year I wanted to be home, but being an impossible wish, my two best girlfriends and I made our own Easter celebrations. We had spent the weekend together going out and dinning out. For Easter Sunday we made a full five course dinner, with lamb and roasted rosemary potatoes. I also went to see the Pope on Easter Sunday morning. Standing in Saint Peters and seeing the devoted Catholics from all over the world, praising God and celebrating this day together was a moment that I will never forget. Having this experience and our glorious Easter dinner helped soften another holiday away from my family, and create new lasting memories that I would otherwise never have.



Easter dinner



I feel like this blog is such a cheat for the details of the true experiences we have here. I could write pages on just one hour of one of these events and I wish that I did. There is so much more to say, so much more to explain, and so much that I have learned. It seems that above all through this experience I have learned about people, trust, and simply growing up. When is it worth it to make a big deal, or when is it better to just let things be. I have had the chance to see the world, and experience the world in a way that opens my eyes to the realities of life, ugly and beautiful. Eternally grateful for my time here, and now excited but scared beyond imagine to return to a life outside of Europe; which leaves me at my 6 week mark, a post Barcelona trip, and enough love relationship drama to last us girls a life time!!