Cafe des Florez

I can pretend that I am French. In terms of my attire, I am giving it a shot. Sweaters, leggings (swapped out with patterned tights), and flat boots are my daily uniform. With my new Parisian chop, I swipe it messily into a barrette (the less work, the better, I have noticed) and head out to tackle the day. The only make-up I wear is my Burt's Bees colored chapstick, which gives my lips a nice bright red hue. My guise seems to be working, as I have been stopped frequently for directions (or at least I assume that is what they are asking me). With my mastered phrase of "Parlez-vous anglais?," they sort of look at me with confusion (and perhaps minor disgust) and move on.

It boils down to the vowels. Whereas I do believe I have mastered pronunciation of the English language, this makes reading and pronouncing French even more complicated. "A" is not that. "Ou", forget it. So, as I got ready for my coffee yesterday, I was only too excited to head to Boulevard St. Germain to sip cafe creme at Cafe des Florez. That is right, taking one of Paris' staples, and turning it into a Latin club. Or so my pronunciation to Matt led on. As in Matt's usual demeanor, he politely corrected me, while trying to do so in a way that does not lead me to act like a five-year-old in protest. Apparently (although I missed the memo), Cafe de Flore is one of the most well-known cafes in Paris (please note: it can't be that cool if I haven't heard of it). Matt and I went back and forth for a little while, luckily between bites of peanut butter toast, so that my bickering was minimized by sticky mouth, and I left thinking that of course I was right. He continued his reaffirmation over email, but as any good wife does, I ignored him. I was very busy trying to "play Parisian" on my walk over to the sixth arrondissement.

As I approached Cafe de Flore (or Cafe des Florez, for those of you who are sticking by me), I was in awe of its window boxes, hip clientele, and very "French" feel (I am sure the Latin flavor was upstairs). It was the "Welcome to Cafe day Floor" that won the battle. Of course, who is to say that the waiter was saying it properly, but I am going to trust him on that one (the 5.20 euro bill for a coffee, on the other hand, I am still questioning). As I sat there with some other American women, gabbing about French banks, talking about life in Paris, and catching up on their life stories, I couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit French. However, I sealed the deal while I was walking home (from the American Library, mind you), having just passed Cafe des Florez once again. After having just been stopped for Metro directions, I then was stopped by a lady who, upon my presentation of "Parlez-vous anglais?" asked in broken English, "How do you pronounce that?" She pointed at Cafe des Florez, and my smile grew awkward and wide. The irony was overwhelming, and in a proud, very certain voice, I gave my best rendition of Cafe de Flore. I swear Matt had paid her.

When I got home last night, Matt handed me Paris to the Moon, a book sent to me here by my fantastic friend, LMD. He opened to the chapter "A Tale of Two Cafes" and invited me to read. Earlier this morning I had no idea where I was heading (let alone how to say it). By the afternoon, I had become a guide to the "foreigners" on how to pronounce it. And come nightfall, I read, "Still, one of the things that you learn if you live as a curious observer (or as an observed curiosity) on the fringes of the fashionable world of Paris is that the Flore remains the most fashionable place in Paris..." As this nicely sums it up, I am slowly learning. If I keep it up at this pace, I may be able to show visitors the Eiffel Tower and pronounce it properly. One can only dream (while swallowing their pride, perhaps).