*Risottonononooodangit…

[Okay, okay. I went a bit overboard with the Michael Jackson thing. I did care and still do, but I am done hearing about it. There. Retraction printed.]

So, I’m blogging daily. Today was Sunday, thus church. So tired from loads of newlywed talking that we almost didn’t go, but it was good that we did because who turned up but the Hathaways! I met Heather and Heidi in preparation for our London study abroad in 2005, and now Heather’s finishing up as a missionary, so the family’s here to pick her up. Chatting about what to do and where to do, then dinner with Heidi at the Cafe Vavin near the Jardin du Luxembourg. (Drs. Lee and Olivier have slipped recommendations onto numerous pages of the BYU guidebook.) Super good salads, sesame salmon & mushroom risotto, and chocolate fondant and apple crumble deserts (with creme anglaise and egg-vanilla ice cream, bien sur.)

It was cool to introduce Margot to Heidi and vice-versa. They really have too much in common to not end up being friends, what with the doctor dads in common, etc. etc. We took her walking around the St. Sulpice, around St. Germain-des-Pres, St. Andre-des-Arts, St. Michel, over the Seine, through Chetelet and back to her hotel by the Louvre. As it was such a nice summer night, Marg and I decided to hoof it happily up past the opera, St. Estienne-d’Orves, and to our cozy little flat in the St. Georges neighborhood.

It feels good to be at the point where we can walk all the way across Paris without needing a map. Our BYU history walks were often like little parachute drops (except the opposite of a drop, since it’s up from the metro) into around around neighborhoods prior to another subterranean self-extraction. If you only get around via the metro, you don’t develop a very good sense of the proximity between landmarks and neighborhoods and Paris (or Lyon or London or New York) could very well seem 10 times bigger or smaller than it really is. I haven’t really caught up on our Lyon and London trips, yet, but in order to get the cheap train fare you have to leave super early – before the metros and buses even run. So our Lyon trip began with a 5-miles-in-two-hours luggage-hefting twilight jog literally across 6 arrondissements. Sweaty and stressful, but remarkably empowering. So we did a similar walk today, only this time at our Sunday night leisure (say “lezz-shur”).

Home. Lifegiving shower. Pear juice. Apricot juice. Skyping Margot’s parents. Blog. Typing this sentence. Typing this next sentence. Gosh, I need to get some more picture on here.

Oh, I need to talk about the Balzac!!!

Jean-Jacques Schpoliansky is a total dude and exactly the sort of moviehouse proprietor I’ve been hoping to encounter. He inherited the direction of his cinema from his father, who took it over from his grandfather, each of whom seems to have gone to great lengths to keep the public attention by investing their own pride and personality into the happenings of their theatre, making of it a cultural institution and a lively community space in addition to showing flicks.

Upon our showing up, one of the employees referred us to the projectionist who showed us round the main cabin and discussed some of the ins and outs of subsidies and community support that he’s observed in his 20 years of working there. Then we hopped down to catch the British film Looking for Eric (a prostressful story taking on some very timely familial, social, and psychological problems) which I’d highly recommend.

As we were leaving, the director, Mr. Schpoliansky himself, was outside handing out flyers for the upcoming activities, warmly greeting each person in line. We attached ourselves to the end of the line and, when he got to us, explained what we were up to and how much we’d love to talk to him sometime. He was delighted and informed us that his daughter is traveling through Asia and the Americas this summer doing a very similar project.

He whisked us into his office, not minding my camera at all, and explained quite a lot about the cinema and his devotion to it in the few minutes he had before the next film’s beginning. Then he bustled us out, shoved some tickets in our hands, and invited us back into the theatre to witness that night’s cine-concert. Every Saturday night, he invites musician(s) to come and perform as an appetizer for the evening’s film. Last night it was a husband/baritone-wife/pianist dup who delivered 5 or 6 magnificent pieces from Saint-Saens and friends. The various clients murmured to each other “Wait, this is the showing of Departures, right?” and then got the idea… settled into it… then succame to the movement. The woman immediately behind us even broke into major tears halfway through the mournful Victor Hugo lyrics.

Then M. Schpoliansky was back on the stage, mic in hand, to assure us that tonight’s film was a handpicked chef-d’oeuvre and that he was grateful to them for choosing the cinema Balzac – “the only truly independent art cinema on the Champs-Elysees”, because he works hard to keep it interesting and welcoming for them. A quick handshake and an invitation to call the number on the classic business card he’d palmed me, and it was time to enjoy one of most beautiful Japanese films I’ve seen.

Gosh. It was so good going down, but if I don’t fight it, I have a feeling this risotto is coming back up. Gosh dang it. First the one in Sardinia and now this. When will I learn? Seafood + risotto + me = intensely concentrated stomachular malararial nastygitis syndrome. …guiiieesh…

* Not the name of a village in India. Or Sri Lanka.

~ by John and Margaret FORBYN on 29 June 2009.