Shangri-Là Spa oh, la, la!!!

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Back to spa talk here. And still on the quest to get rid of that nasty blemish. Fortune was going my way when I received an invitation to sample the spa at the exquisite, the luxurious, the sumptuous Shangri-Là Hotel. Perched on a small hill near the Place d’Ièna in a no-man’s land between the Trocadero and the Palais de Tokyo, the Shangri-Là is a bit off the beaten luxury hotel path, which makes it feel all the more unique and extraordinary.

Past the imposing gates, the smiling valet and up the curved stone steps to the front door there is a welcoming committee to greet you at the door, ensuring you feel at ease immediately and that you don’t get lost. I was so overwhelmed by the splendor of this opulent mansion, that I am not sure how I got from the entrance to the spa.

As is my habit, I confirmed in advance that I could show up early and take advantage of their gorgeous, greco-roman tiled, blue tinted swimming pool with a wall glass wall to the outside. The answer was a thrilling yes. So I went into the locker room, stripped down and dove in, enjoying 40 minutes of lap time. The esthetician came down at one point and offered to post-pone my appointment long enough for me to really enjoy my swim, snack on an apple and really dry off before she came back to get me. A truly couture service!

The treatment room is lovely, like a large living room with everything you need to skip the locker room if you’re not using the pool. My esthetician joined me for a brief chat over tea, discussing which treatment would be best for me. The Shangri-Là uses the exclusive Carita brand of French cosmetics available only in spas, offering high tech beauty with a special emphasis on anti-aging solutions. They have a special, patented facial that does not include a vapor shower and would not help me out with my blackhead, so I opted for a relaxing massage with essential oils instead. It was lovely. The oils were the perfect texture and the esthetician used plenty of pressure, just as I had requested during my interview. She had listened to me which happens less often than you’d think in the luxury world where staff can sometimes work on auto-pilot assuming that they know better than you. This was not the case at the Shangri-La, where the impeccable facilities and attentive service made me forget my imperfection, if only for a day curled up on a lounge chair by the pool.

Treatments start at 90€ a 40 minute treatment with pool access is 250€

+ The gorgeous setting, stunning pool and super accommodating staff.//  – The steep price if you want to use the pool when coming for a treatment.

Shangri-La – 10 Avenue d’Iéna, 16e – 01 53 67 19 98

 

 

 

Eileen Gray at the Centre Pompidou

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Good morning! How are you all today? Me, I have a hangover. I have a hangover because last night the owner of The Girls Guide to Paris, Doni Belau, and I tried the latest restaurant by internationally reknowned sommelier Enrico Bernardo’s new restaurant Goust. A tasting menu in a luxurious restaurant run by a sommelier is bound to lead to a little excess. And excess we did, closing down the place sometime after midnight.

Which made it a little hard getting out of bed this morning. Even harder as I had to rise extra early this morning because Premier Tax Free had invited me, and a bunch of bloggers for breakfast at the restaurant Georges on the top of the Centre Pompidou to learn more about French-Irish business relations and visit an exhibition of the artist Eileen Gray.

Why was a duty free refund scheme sponsoring an art exhibit? Because its an Irish company doing business in France and Eileen Gray is the ultimate symbol of French Irish relations. She came to Paris as an art student and was quickly seduced by the local art scene. She quickly bought a flat on the rue Bonaparte, in the 6th and settled in until her death at the blessed age of 98.

The Georges is often too trendy for moi, but gorgeous none the less

Mlle Grey had several passions; lacquer furniture, which she elaborated in her atelier with the Japanese master Seizo Sugawara, textiles that she developed in a second atelier with Evelyn Wyld and architecture which she pursued with Jean Badovici. The exceptional quality of her work was quickly recognized by Parisian fashion designers and art collectors. She gained international acclaim when the New York Tomes cited her for having created “one of the most exceptional examples of 1920’s architecture” for the apartment of socialite Madame Mathieu Lévy.

The  show opens with her sumptuous Art Deco style, full of sensuous curves and deep textures before growing into a more stylized modern expression of  form and function, evolving very much like the artist’s work did throughout her career from 1906 to 1954.

While very few of us recognize her name, several of her pieces are modern icons, instantly recognizable. I had to cut my visit short to rush down the Pompidou’s series of escalators, disappear into the metro and get back to my day job, thankful that Mr French wants to see this show, so I know I’ll be back.

AND now a word from our sponsors… I was shocked to learn from Doni (from the Girls Guide to Paris and a disinterested third party) that a lot of visitors to Paris think the tax return program is just a scam and that lots of people opt out of recuperating their Duty Free Tax Refund. So as a service to all you visitors out there, I feel compelled to clarify that it is NOT a scam and that filling out the Premier Tax Free forms at boutiques where you’ve spent more than 175€ in a single day will save you €s. Be sure to have a photocopy of your passport on you and don’t be shy!

 

 

My left breast

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On any given day, if a man came up to me on the Pont des Arts and asked to take a photo of my left breast, I’d probably clock him one.

Yesterday was not any given day. It was the one week anniversary of the explosions as the Boston Marathon. Local marathon man, blogger, Phd student and over all good guy, Bryan Pirolli was inspired by events to organize a run, Boston Strong Paris, in commemoration of all those who could not complete their run, and others who will never run again.

Until recently I was very disconnected from the local expat community. My girls went to public school because I wanted to be an active member of my neighborhood. Blogging has changed all that and I am now aware of events that happen regularly across the city. Between my busy schedule, French friends and the very limited time I have with Mr French, I don’t attend very many events.

But Boston Strong Paris fascinated me. Here was a guy organizing a large event on the spur of the moment. In Paris!!! 130 runners with about a dozen paparazzi met at La  Bastille, as 19h last night.  Bryon had asked some friends to be our “guides” leading groups of 10-15 runners towards the Seine so that we wouldn’t stopping traffic, or getting run over by cars, as a large group. Then it was a direct line along the river to the Pont des Arts, where we stopped for a photo op before crossing over into the Tuileries gardens and ending at L’Orangerie where Bob’s Juice Bar had set up a table with refreshments for everyone.

In a refreshingly un-French way, we started our run on time, people respected their groups and there was no complaining. But there was a ton of yelling as a core group of French ran with shouting cheers for Boston. Running under the arch of bridge, along the uneven cobblestones with the Seine just metres from my feet, I looked up and there was Notre Dame, perfectly framed by the arc of the arch, a beautiful rosy gold enchanted castle in the intensely blue, dusk tinted skies. Breathtaking.

Tourist on the Bateaux Mouches cheered us on and after the photo op on the Pont des Arts another tourist stopped me, asking if he could take a photo of the blue and gold ribbons I was wearing in on of Boston.  On my left breast. Absoluement ! I replied, proud to have been invited by a remarkable group of people who get things done!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Working Girl

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For the next two months I will be working onsite. Instead of getting up each morning and rolling directly from my bed to my couch, where I sit with the computer on my lap writing through out the day, I actually have to leave my home, take the metro and talk with human beings. It thrills me to little bits and pieces. I love the energy of working on a creative team the dynamic exchange of ideas. And even more thrilling, I have to get dressed each morning.

Not only do I have to dress, but I have to dress to work with a room full of stylish Parisiennes, who even more interestingly work in the fashion industry. Each morning is a challenge putting together the right palette, matching my shoes and getting the accessories just right. Or wrong, because often I miss a trick or, three. I’ve lost practice at dressing to be seen every day. A few weeks ago I even slipped down to the convenience store wearing my plaid flannel pajama bottoms, letting my inner Californian out for a stroll. It was deliciously liberating, but I felt a little insane. Its is simply not the done thing.

Today, I made quite a stir wearing white jeans on a defiantly grey spring day. Eyes popped, comments were made. I whipped out my handy quotes of the unquestionably fashionable Inès de la Fressange, explain her suggestion that white jeans are perfect for warming up cold winter days and I am fairly confident that tomorrow no less than three girls will be wearing their whites, at least that is what they’ve told me.

Mr French lays out his clothing before going to sleep every evening. I have tried that, but invariably, the day breaks and I “feel” like wearing something different, So its usually a rather pointless exercise in putting away clothes I won’t be wearing for the day, while still hunting down what I will wear.

I start with a garment or accessory that has been calling my name. This morning it was a pair of cream colored suede Frye boots. Perfect with my white jeans, and then an off-white pullover. Notice a theme going on here? Monochrome! There is a rarely spoken fashion rule that reigns in this city; never wear more than three colors at once. It is a hint to their subtle elegance. I don’t always follow this “rule”, but knowing the rules helps a girl break them with style!

Because there is a huge leap from monochrome to tri-tone, I added my über practical military jacket for some green to bring out my eyes, threw on my grey coat with a white bulky knit scarf and I was good to go. I have the reputation of always wearing one thing just slightly off each day. Today it was E’s Lalique heart necklace (sorry E, it’s the first time I’ve borrowed it, I swear!) which was just a bit too bright for the rest of the outfit. But I don’t care. I had fun playing dress up and I look forward to tomorrow’s fashion faux pas.

 

 

 

Friday@Flore

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Friday@Flore is at work in the ‘burbs, but last Sunday was a gloriously beautiful day. The first of the year, and one of the few in the last 12 months. All of Paris was out reveling in the feeling of the air against their skin. It. was. glorious.

The photos are not great. I had left my camera at home but was so inspired by all the stunning fashion looks that I popped out my iPhone and starting tactile-ing away.

Everyone was seeking out the shade, making it even harder ot get decent shots, but proving how long spring is taking, as the trees remain bare!

I love this woman’s look. Mental note to self; keep an eye out for pleated khakis, ascooped neck indian blouse and a pair of orange shoes!

A un BON WEEKEND tout le monde !

Les Cent Ciels

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Still on my quest to find the best spas in Paris I decided to make up for the hammam I’d missed out on at the St James Albany After the Rain Spa by going for the real deal, a traditional hammam. I have a respectable hammam habit, but I’ve been suffering from something of a Goldilocks syndrome with Paris hammams. This one was too funky, this one too trendy, this one without a soul. I was looking for something just right.

And I found it at Les Cent Ciels en Boulogne. Getting out of the metro on a freezing cold winter night, I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea as I cross the bridge over the peripherique and started looking for the number 45. A welcoming light was the sign that I was on the right path. I push opened the impressively large wooden door and the warm terra cotta walls, with a candlelit stairway assured me that I had arrived.

A smiling hostess confirmed my reservation and took me on a brief tour. I had traveled to the Middle East by metro; oriental carpets lined the floors and the dressing rooms were in authentic wood with pierced tin lights over head, bathing the room in dramatic light.  Following a souk-like labyrinth led us to a small pool where they have aqua-biking courses mid-week and then we turned into the generously large hammam with tiled walls and benches, a fountain in the middle of the room, devoid of water, but bathed in candlelight. It was the perfect room for a group of girls to go and sit and chat, languishing in the heat.

In the corner, there is a second, domed hammam, barely visible through the thick mist of humidity and too hot for a long stay. I lay myself down on one of the heated benches, letting it all soak into the very marrow of my bones, as the city dirt came to the surface.

My masseur arrived and we headed into another domes room in a corner; the exfoliation room where she scrubbed away all the toxins that had been sitting there on the surface and prepped for a massage. We headed upstairs where she really got to work, rubbing and pulling and folding argan oil into every pore. It was delightfully invigorating and it felt like I was there for hours before it was over and I was invited to follow her to the rest room with deep oriental couches and a satisfying mint tea, so that I felt sweet inside and out before heading back out the door to brave the harsh winter elements.

Visits start at 40€ with treatments up to 220€

+ The warm ambience, clean, space and charming smiles.//  – Better with a friend

Les Cent Ciels – 45 bis ave Edouard Vaillant – Boulogne – 0146200701

Fashioning Fashion

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I have heard that there is a fantastic exhibition of Haute Couture at the Hôtel de Ville right now, and I can hardly wait to go, but first I wanted to see Fashioning Fashion at the Union des Art Decoratifs in the Louvre. Why first? Logistics. Sunday was the last day the show would be in Paris and the first day I had time to see it. Turns out this was particularly lucky as the show displays European fashion trends from 1750 until just after the era Mr Worth sailed to Paris from London and because the first Haute Couturier, ending in 1915.

Women were caged

Fashioning Fashion was in town directly from California, where the Los Angeles County Museum of Art has an extraordinary collection thanks to the generosity of two very astute, influential collectors, Martin Kamer and Wolfgang Ruf. Seeing the sumptuous fabrics, exquisite needle work and intricate beading made it easy to see why these men had been so passionate about the dress-wear. The details are captivating.

And so were the explanations. In totally un-Syvia like fashion I read every single one! They’d explain the subversive revolutionary messages in a vest, or nostalgically describe how the gold embroidery and moiré silk would reflect the candlelight at dinner party. You could almost see the effect.

19th century beach bunny!

And they discuss, or rather allude to the constraints of dress for women at the time. When you see those large Marie Antoinette gowns, you can imagine the cage that created that shape. What I’d never realized was that the cage was full of undercoats helping hold everything up, making walking something of a slog. I also learned why the ladies need so much help getting dressed. In period films you often see a lady being tied into her corset, but you never see the following scenes when she is actually sewn in to her bodice! A century later the frames that held out the hoop skirts took advantage of new technology so that Madame could move, at last. But not for long, because along came the bustle which seriously shortened one’s footsteps, make the tennis outfits and riding costumes of the time something of an oxymoron.

 

 

The Dress, part 2

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Then we really went wild, jumped into a taxi and headed off for the Faubourg Saint Honoré. We entered boutique after boutique; it was as if time had stopped and we were running through a frozen film set. People came to life as we approached, everyone else blurring into the background. I tried on a slinky skintight sexier-than-peeled-grapes dress that looked great on me, and I relished watching Mr French eat me alive with his eyes (thank you for that, Mr Raf Simons). Almost everything seemed to fit, and as sales person after sales person entered the dressing rooms, I quite pleased I happened to be wearing my very best purple silk lingerie for the day.

Then we arrived at Prada. I was never much of a fan, finding the large metal logos on her handbags such a turn-off that I never looked beyond to the clothing. But the shop was there, and we were having fun, so we walked in and I asked the burly, rather intimidating security guard to point us towards dresses.

Downstairs, a lovely lady named Magali, asked if she could help us. I explained our challenge and she set to work, bringing me dress after dress. I did not know this at the time, but Magali is an image consultant, and spends her free time helping Parisiennes learn to dress. It was as if a good fairy had waved her wand, each dress was more beautiful than the next. It is no surprise that Miuccia Prada was nominated for the Design Awards for her spring 2013 collection. And she designed the dresses for Baz Lurhmann’s The Great Gatsby, adding a little capsule collection for the event. I was spoiled with an exceptionally rich collection.

I tried on a sublime finely knit black silk tunic with 1920’s fringe on the bottom that swayed seductively with every step. Then came a silk taffeta princess’ dress in rich blue with large green and ivory dots, a tight bodice and full skirt. A fun, 1950’s inspired white-trimmed black dress with a full skirt, v-neck and sleeves that rested just off the shoulders, followed by a shiny black silk dress with kimono accents that ended about mid-calf. It all fit, and it all liked good, I could tell by the look in Mr French’s eye as he sat there patiently waiting for me to don one dress after the other.

Finally, I tried on a grey silk dress that had been cut like it might have been made for Joan from the hit show Mad Men. Steel grey and sleeveless with a long pencil skirt, a fitted bodice and a rounded scooped-back opening nearly to my waist. The fabric was airbrushed with a large patch of white that through the skirt and across the bodice where some mauve Japanese style flowers printed on to the silk taffeta. Seeing it on there was no doubt. We had found The Dress.

 

The Dress, part 1

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Last week I referred to a certain shopping trip for a special dress, but I was so distracted by the prostitute scene at a swanky hotel that I forgot to talk about The Dress. Or rather, Shopping for The Dress.

Between the two of us Mr French and I have five children (I know, this is an odd segueway, but bear with me). This is probably not the first time I mention this overwhelming fact. Five is a pretty big number, and it amazes me that we are responsible for all those little souls. They’re mostly grown, but we’re seven, so there is plenty of turbulence; emergency hospital visits, existential angst, growing pains and ski accidents are just a few of the bumps that have come our way in the few months. But right now, this week, everyone is doing ok. It’s amazing, and we are both savouring the moment, which is why Saturday was so damn fun.

We headed out the door to run errands; the cobbler, tailor, dry cleaner and the stationary seller were all on our list. As I Iocked the door, Mr French asked if I had brought the window dimensions along, we really should look into getting some curtains. I had not, but then again, neither had he.

Our errands brought us to the Bon Marche, and after getting ink for his pen, he suggested a visit to the clothing department for The Dress. I need a dress because we have been invited to a dinner party. In a palazzo. In Venice. Tenue de Soirée is what the very sober, elegantly engraved invitation read. I had called the hostess, and she had confirmed that she’d be wearing a long dress.

My first thought had been Yves Saint Laurent’s tuxedo jacket. I mean doesn’t everyone immediately think of the YSL tuxedo jacket when having a fashion emergency? No? Well, I’ve been thinking of this jacket for years, and this was the perfect once-in-a-lifetime excuse. I know it’s not a long dress, but it is THE Style Icon of my generation. I went to my nearest YSL and was quickly jolted back to reality: in my excitement I’d forgotten that the brand is now Saint Laurent. Again. After discovering that there were no jackets for me in all of France (yes, they took the time to look!) I complained to the manager about the name change, explaining that I was a traditional kind of girl.

“Then you should love it!” He protested, filling me in on the history of the brand and letting me know that Hedi Slimane, their new Creative Director, was taking the brand back to its origins, using the original name and the original logo. I didn’t leave with my smoking, but I did walk out that door convinced that Saint Laurent has some of the best customer service in Paris.

I would not be getting my dream garment. Not wanting to spend a fortune on a dress I’d have very few occasions to wear in this lifetime, I was determined to visit my old friends at Reciproque, a consignment shop that has a room of gowns. My friend Out and About in Paris had an even better suggestion: La Femme Ecarlate, a gown rental service. But everytime I’d suggest a visit to either shop, Mr French would simply grunt and head to an art exhibit.

So we were looking, but I was not shopping. Because the party is in Italy and there may actually be a spot of sunshine, I was hoping to wear a bit of color. At the Bon Marche, in an area featuring new, international designers we spotted a dress we both liked by someone from Lebanon. And then another, and another. Enough choices that it was worth disturbing the saleswoman to try on a few pieces. I went into the dressing room as she brought me the wrong dress, and then one that was two sizes too small, before confessing she didn’t have any of the dresses in my size. This made me feel fat and kind of grumpy.

Around the corner Alexander McQueen had a gorgeous tuxedo jacket with exquisite tailoring, the lapels integrated into the body of the vest. Even better, there was a dress version of the design. The designer, or creative director as they are now known, Sarah Burton, knows women and our bodies. I slipped into the dress, and it was a perfect fit. I liked they way it felt, they way it moved and the way Mr French looked at me wearing it. But it was black and stopped at the knees, and I didn’t really see the point since I already have something similar. At least I wasn’t feeling so grumpy any more.

Then we really went wild, jumped into a taxi and headed off for the Faubourg Saint Honoré…

 

Reciproque – 93 rue de la Pompe, 16e – 01 47 04 30 28

La Femme Ecarlate – 42, avenue Bosquet, 7e – 01 45 51 08 44

Felix ZIEM

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Its the year of Venise in Paris. Not officially, of course, but with the Canelletto show at the Musée Maillol a the same time as the Caneletto Guardi show at the Jacquesmart André, it knd of felt like it. There is no denying that the city is breathtakingly beautiful with all the elements of great art ; dramatic sky, water elements, extravagant architecture, beautifully dressed townsfolk. But to be incredibly honest you’ve seen 100, you’ve seen them all. And I feel like I’ve had my share of Venetian scenery on oil.

But we’d missed the Jacquemart André show and Mr French, a secret romantic, had not had enough When he saw that Félix Ziem was showing at the Petit Palais, he insisted we attend. Now. Before the show leaves town. Even if it is a rare sunny day in Paris. Not wanting to squelch the inner romantic I so adore and knowing that Le Petit Palais has one of the most pleasant courtyards cafés in the entire city, we were out the door before you could say, « An exotic voyage for two ».

I had never heard of Ziem. The son of a Polish immigrant tailor, Ziem set sail from his native Beaune to become an architect at Marseille where he is seduce by art after a chance encounter with the Duc d’Orleans in the early 1840’s. He heads off for Italy, Turkey, and Egypt exploring the area and reveling in its exotic light and colors. In France he becomes part of the Barbizon school of painters and buys himself an extensive atelier on the hills of Montmarte.

But what about the art ? As you enter the exhibition there is a long case with his notebooks insinde and his drawings are exceptional. I was frustraed that I could only see the page displayed, when I looked up and saw a slideshow of one page after the other. And these were only the skectches.

His paintings had the light of Turner, the palette of Whistler and richness of Caneletto and most of it was not in Venice. I loved the diversity of the paintings displays. Ironically, my favorite work of art in the show was not by the author, but rather of the author’s brother François, a stunningly modern portrait on bare wood by Adolphe-Joseph Monticelli in 1853.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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