Full Circle

This is really weird. Just thinking about the fact that I'm going to be in the States tomorrow night. Today was a nice and mellow, yet also epic, last full day in Paris, before the shuttle comes to pick me up at noon tomorrow. It was oddly fitting, if you reread my first post from when I moved into Beatrice's. I remember desperately wanting to play with the kids, yet feeling really awkward speaking French to them. But this morning Beatrice left me with the kids again, and I played with them alone for about an hour or so. All day, while I was in and out of the house packing and buying gifts, the kids would run in and out of my room, using it as the most epic spot to hide in for hide and go seek. Right before my last dinner with the fam, Beatrice's son (whom I met earlier this semester, at the dinner party she held) and I chatted, and I also unusually ran into every one of her neighbors and relatives today. It's as if everything has come full circle. I'm serious when I say that today I ran into every single person that I've met over the course of the semester through Beatrice. Her house is like a revolving door, there are constantly people staying the night, or children staying the week. I'm going to miss this so much. I told Beatrice (along with her sister and the cleaning lady) that I'm planning on returning after graduation, and she made me promise that I'll call her when I do--I can even stay here again if I'd like. She has a heart of gold.

I also had my last meal at L'As--unfortunately it was pouring and my friend (the same guy who always serves me multiple times a week--we're BFFs now) didn't serve me my last pita of falafel, but we ate inside instead. It was also my last night at the Frat, and instead of leaving really early to catch the metro, I splurged on a taxi, which I was grateful for because it drove us by the Arc du Triomphe and the unlit Eiffel Tower--that's when I realized that it's going to be at least a year before I see this place again. But I'm telling myself that I'm for sure going to return--it's the only thing that's keeping me from ultimately freaking out.

I don't want to say goodbye yet, but I guess I should. It's only fitting, right? Thank you for reading so far, but it turns out that this blog was more for me than I could have imagined. I wonder what my blog for Florence would have been like. Certainly not like this one. There are too many lasts right now for me to handle. And a last blog post is definitely not something that I want to think about at the moment, but I guess this is it. My bags are packed and my room is bare. Tomorrow I'm perhaps leaving Beatrice's forever. But let's not talk about that. Or think about that. Lets think about the fact that this semester was one of the most amazing semesters of my life, and that as soon as I touch US soil I will be counting down until I can eat a real croissant and go to museums and speak French and drink café crèmes all day long. Maybe I'll never get to do that again, but shh, let's just pretend for now...

New places, favorite haunts, and to-do lists

It's the final countdown. I'm leaving Beatrice's (and Paris--both I think equally hard) in only five days, boarding a plan on Friday evening. In a way I'm getting anxious to leave already, only because the goodbyes to both Paris and to my friends have been long and many--I just want to get it over with. Kind of. I've taken advantage of finally being free from school and the amazing weather (the closest we've come to spring this entire month) and haven't been in my apartment for more than a few hours at a time. After saying goodbye to Meaghan and Alena, it's only Amelie, Maria, and me that remain, and we've been revisiting our favorite places in Paris (L'As, the Marais) as well as crossing off things that we have yet to see (various parks, museums). I've been hesitant about breaking out my camera (known to all as Betty) these last few days, and I've finally realized why: I don't want to think of it as my last week living in Paris, my last week to take pictures of my life here--I'm making sure, in a way, that I'm going to return.

Last week British Airways emailed about the possible strike that their crew is threatening to have--well, it looks like they're having it. Every flight from Paris to Boston on Friday has been cancelled except for mine. How's that for fate, or luck, or what have you? I guess I'm meant to leave after all. I've been saying to my parents this entire semester that I'm going to return, and I've asked as many people as possible to describe their expat lives here in Paris, but while writing this post I'm only a mere 80% sure that I'll actually live here after graduation. That might sound like a lot, but I need some definite answers to cling to as I board my plane to the States. There are a lot of options for me to choose from--there's being an au pair, there's working for NYU, there's getting my masters at the University of Paris...I've done my research. But the thought of leaving again for not a semester, but possibly years, is daunting. I'm thinking too far ahead. Hell, I don't even know what I'm doing this summer!

I went to Amsterdam with Amelie and Maria on Tuesday morning, and we returned to Paris Thursday night. It was amazing. I had the best pad thai in the entire world, ate a warm belgian waffle covered in chocolate, actually had to pay for my water at restaurants (I forgot that not everywhere is it illegal to refuse to give people tap water--it makes me love France and the US), bought tulips at the flower market, drank ICED coffee to go (both ice and "to go" are foreign concepts in France), went into every single cute bookstore we saw, went vintage shopping (something that I never do in New York but actually liked here), napped in the park under the sun, went to the Anne Frank house, paid the vultures at the Van Gogh museum a whole 14 euro to get in, and pretty much walked around the entire city. One thing that I refused to do though: ride a bike. You know me and bikes--I love them. I rode one for five days. I rode my bike with Ece in New York a couple times last semester. But I absolutely hated the bikers in Amsterdam. Never in a city have I felt so unwanted as a pedestrian. That might sound weird to people who have never been there, but you can pretty much walk the entire place, and yet I never knew if a sidewalk was really a street or a bike path or whatnot, and I was constantly in danger of getting run over by bikes or cars or trams. Every time I heard that little bell behind me coming from the biker, I wanted to throw that person off their bike. The first day I had no doubt that I would get run over on that trip. By day three I stopped looking before I crossed the street because I wanted to take back my pedestrian pride that I've gained in both New York and in Paris. I'm used to getting the right-of-way--taxis hate me in New York for demanding that right. But in Amsterdam, it felt like the bikers were an infestation. Of course I'm being overdramatic, but that's just why I stubbornly refused to ride a bike, something that everyone says you have to do if you visit.

The city is beautiful, though. I'll give it that. Amelie and I figured out how to describe it in two ways: the first is that every street looks like it could be Main Street of a small New England town. The second is that it takes all the perfect, quaint parts of Boston and puts them into one city. It's quaint but metropolitan. And the people there are just freakishly nice. Of course I loved it, and I had to admit that it was a drastic change from Parisians, but as Amelie and Maria were reveling in their kindness, I felt like I had to stick up for the French. Sure, they're not as bubbly as the Dutch, or smile as much, and they don't do as many outward acts of kindness to strangers, especially tourists, but that's just their charm. They're fun and combative and you have to get in their good graces. It's like the differences between Northerners and Southerners. Being a proud Northerner, you see why I'd choose the Parisians. But I want someone to live in Amsterdam so that while I'm in Paris I can go visit--I loved it enough that I'd definitely go back.

A lack of mimes, but plenty of duck

So. The program ended Thursday afternoon, somewhat anti-climatically after my last final, and then my friends and I had an amazing pre-goodbye dinner on Thursday evening at a fancy French restaurant, in which I ordered amazing escargot, duck, and apple crumble. Meaghan is leaving Tuesday morning, so we've been pretty much planning every single meal we're going to have until then--i.e. going to all the restaurants we've been meaning to go to all semester but for some reason never went to, along with David Lebovitz's newest recommendations. So far we've had delicious couscous at a Moroccan restaurant, the most fabulous duck confit you've ever dreamed of at a Southeastern French rotisserie, the best scrambled eggs in the world (seriously, you will never find better scrambled eggs until you come to France--no exaggeration), true French brunch, warm and authentic crêpes from a street-cart on rue Mouffetard, the freshest salad with loads of eggplant and avocado, and of course, lots of wine.

This week was probably the most relaxing finals week I've ever had in my college career. Having that week of hell (before spring break) literally paid off, because I was not stressed out in the slightest. Sure, I had a lot of final exams, but they seemed to be a lot easier than my final papers and projects and things that were due weeks before. Wednesday night was the last Wine Wednesday, as well as Beatrice's birthday (unfortunately we didn't know until that night! She's 67!) and our last dinner with her. It was fun because her grandchildren and her daughter were there (as usual), as well as her sister (who lives in the same building) and her neighbors. She made quiches, there were lots of cakes, and then everyone just hung out and talked afterwards. I've been told multiple times this semester (something that I learned) that I can't keep my thoughts from showing on my face, so I tried extremely hard to not look as confused as I felt, because they were all talking so fast and I was extremely tired from finals and wanting to leave to go to Wine Wednesday, but I'm glad I stayed. My listening comprehension, as horrible as it was when I arrived, has definitely gotten better while being with Beatrice. But then after everyone left I ran to Wine Wednesday, which has turned into watching Glee and drinking wine during certain parts of the show. Fun times. Sad times too, since it was the last one before New York (where the tradition will obviously continue). Thursday, like I said, was the last day of the program and our fancy dinner, and then Friday we went to the Museum of Natural History and saw a lot of animals with two heads in jars, as well as other creatures and bones. It was overwhelming, disgusting, and fascinating, all at the same time. There are still a lot of museums I need to cross off my list before I leave, but I'll probably get to those next week. When Meaghan leaves on Tuesday we're going to Amsterdam for three days, and then coming back on Thursday night to say goodbye to Alena and then I have about a week left in Paris--it's going to fly by! The weather I swear has gone from winter to spring (still not quite summer) in the past two days, but watch, I just jinxed it. Watch it snow tomorrow because of me.

I'm sorry I keep talking about the kids at Beatrice's, but seriously, I need to talk about Alix. I want to take her back to America with me. I'm not kidding. I walk in now and her face lights up and she just follows me to my room (walking now, along with the random dogs hanging out in the apartment--Beatrice has started babysitting animals as well as children) and plays with me in my room. She's adorable. And the sounds she makes are so interesting because they're not the same sounds that an American baby makes. Beatrice walked into the living room and wondered where everyone was, and then she saw that they were all in my room, hanging out on my bed. And ever since our last dinner I've been talking with Beatrice's grandchildren a lot more--I guess the fact that Julia left Friday and I'm leaving in two weeks makes us realize that we should be comfortable with each other by now.

I bought a Mini Diana + camera last week (a fun toy film camera) and I've been playing with it the past few days. Just ran out of my first roll today, so I'm excited to get it developed on Monday--let's hope the pictures actually turn out and I can post them here. In other news, tonight (Saturday) was Night at the Museum in Paris, in which most of the museums were free and open to the public until 1am, with ballet and music and mimes and things. I got to cross off the Orangerie off my list (Monet's Water Lilies, among others--so cool! Monet apparently designed his room himself), but we arrived too late for the mimes. Boo. I want to see at least one before I leave. And gypsies dressed in stripes don't count.

Is the program really almost over?

Final thoughts and memories before this week actually ends:
1. That first night in the FIAP, getting sent off in groups to go buy our phones and metrocards and meeting Emily (Amelie) for the first time.
2. Sitting at dinner at the FIAP with people I didn't realize at the time would become part of the Wine Wednesday crowd.
3. That first night out in Paris, getting a glass of wine at the restaurant near the FIAP, getting to know each other.
4. My first ride on the metro at night, hearing a man playing the soundtrack to Amelie on an accordion and realizing I was actually in Paris.
5. Going on a scavenger hunt in Passy during orientation, getting completely lost and taking some of the most awkward pictures.
6. Our first opera, which lasted for five hours and had an entire scene in which people, dressed in bunny costumes, came out and humped onstage for fifteen minutes.
7. Standing in the incredibly long line at L'As every Sunday afternoon, talking about the night before and salivating just thinking about the falafel we were about to consume.
8. Going to "The Yellow Place" (it just has a yellow banner, we never know what the name actually is) next to school every single day during the preliminary course to the point where we couldn't look at a baguette for days and couldn't imagine going back there...until we realized they sold amazing quiche.
9. Reading Oscar Wilde in the Luxembourg Gardens.
10. Discovering that French guys absolutely cannot dance (but dance hilariously), therefore taking dancing to a whole new level (i.e. imitating their dance moves). I don't think I want to/can dance any other way anymore.
11. Talking about David Lebovitz to the point where we've become worshippers (but not so much anymore, after we found out he dissed someone we love).
12. Becoming groupies to three certain staff members.
13. Learning the hard way that French guys look a lot older than they actually are.
14. Going to the Frat (Emily, Sara, and Maria's apartment) so much that it's literally a second home.
15. Meeting Beatrice for the first time, in which she served us macarons, orange juice, and cookies and introduced us to her grandchildren. We knew right then and there that she was going to be amazing.
16. Having our first picnic on the first beautiful day of spring after class.
17. Eating amazing brunch and digesting all that food while sitting along the canal, talking and people watching.
18. Buying a Petite Recolte (type of wine) and drinking it while watching Glee.
19. That first Wine Wednesday, that first Dinner Party, and that first Dinner With Beatrice. All my best memories are centered around food.
20. Realizing how loud we were in the beginning of the semester when we actually told our visitors to be quieter on the metro (Americans are really the loudest).
21. Speaking in British accents on the metro so that people don't think we're stupid Americans.
22. Becoming so close to each other that saying goodbye for our two week spring break was actually hard.
23. Going to the most amazing chocolate place in Paris, meeting Denise Acabo, and telling her how much we love David Lebovitz.
24. Realizing that I don't look as American as I used to (doe-eyed, among other things) when I sat across from some English-speaking people on the metro and they thought I was French.
25. Loving and learning to appreciate the brusque-ness of Parisians when they respect you for arguing and standing up for yourself (something that I've learned to do here), while if you did the same thing in New York you'd just get beat up.
26. Seeing the Eiffel Tower's light show (the finale, at 1am) from someone's balcony.
27. Learning to get our money's worth at NYU by taking any free food they offer, or cutlery they have. Best example: walking away with a trash bag full of soft baguettes and a platter full of cheese, only to make some pretty good fondue later that night with our spoils.
28. Sitting in the Champs de Mars (under the Tour Eiffel) speaking in gibberish to the gypsies who come by asking, "Speak English?"
29. Drinking a panaché under the sun by the harbor in Île de Ré.
30. Learning who makes the best frites (fries), croque monsieur, or the different types of steak (entrecôte, aligot).
31. Being able to drink good wine for under three euro.
32. Sitting for hours chatting and digesting, never being bothered by the waiter to leave.
33. Not having to deal with tax or tip in restaurants.
34. People watching while drinking a café crème (Parisians don't do café au lait) in the oldest café in Paris.
35. Sitting down and planning every single meal for our last week so that we miss out on absolutely nothing.
36. Running around the city on National Macaron Day in order to receive our free macarons.
37. Thinking Wheelie Baby was an absolute menace, only to have Amelie come over and meet her and show me that she is the cutest baby in the entire world.
38. Seeing Alix (Wheelie Baby's real name) learn how to walk. Seeing her face light up every time we walked through the apartment door.
39. Holding Cabbage Patch Baby (don't know his real name, but he's also known as Kitchen Baby, because she sometimes puts him in the kitchen to nap) and playing with him, realizing that he's actually cute.
40. Appreciating the fast-paced, yet joie de vivre that Parisians know how to experience.

Le dernier mois

Salut! I feel bad leaving you with such a long post that I'll try to keep up with shorter ones as the time I'm here comes to a close. One more month. I can't believe it. And I only have two more weeks with NYU--I'm staying with Emily at her apartment for the last two weeks of May. It only hit me this morning that it'll be summer so soon, I feel like normally the start of summer means going home. Not this time. The next two weeks are filled with finals, field trips, goodbye "mandatory" garden parties, wine and cheese at profs houses, last meals with Beatrice, a final Wine Wednesday (until New York), goodbyes (even though it feels like we're still saying hello), and...moving out of Beatrice's. That last one might be the hardest.

It feels really weird. Last year, I was counting down the days until I was flying home to the States. This time, I'm still not ready. Last year, I cherished and missed everything that was American. This time, not so much. The only thing I miss is a big mug of tea, and that can merely be solved by getting my lazy self over to IKEA. But we'll see. Perhaps once I'm forced to accept that this program is, in fact, ending, will I be ready to leave Beatrice's. And maybe once I've eaten L'As falafel so much that I can't stand to look at it will I be ready to leave Paris. There are still so many things I want to do, parts of neighborhoods I still need to discover. We'll see if I'll ever be content enough to leave. Maybe there'll be another volcano...I kid, I kid. There are certain things that I'm excited about--I'm just not letting myself think about them until perhaps minutes before my flight home.

Also, I feel like I don't talk about Beatrice enough. If, while reading this, you slightly disagree, just ask one of my friends here and they'll tell you that we talk about Beatrice constantly. Always good things of course. She said a gem Sunday night at dinner: she felt really bad (as well as amazed and proud) that I did my biking trip by myself, like I didn't have anyone to go on spring break with. But I assured her that yes, I did have many options (I even turned down an invitation to Ghana...let's just be real here), but I wanted to do it by myself. And then she said that if Natty's flight had been cancelled because of the volcanic mess and/or if she had known I was going by myself on my bike trip, she would have invited me to her country house in Bretagne (that would have been fun, but honestly I needed a break from the kids). She is too cute. She also came back from Bretagne with personalized bowls for Julia and I, as well as another bag of the cookies she brought back last time. I'm going to miss her. When (not if) I come back to Paris, my first stop, mark my words, will be to head on over to 56 blvd Beausejour.

WTF: Welcome to France

Oi. Sorry it's been so long since I wrote anything worth reading. Things have been a little hectic. As I mentioned in my last post, I went to La Rochelle with NYU and it was incredibly fun; it was the first time I left Paris and the first time traveling with my friends. All was pretty much free, and we got to ride bikes around this cute little island which fueled my plans for spring break.

Oh, spring break. As you know, there was a little volcano in Iceland that screwed pretty much everyone in the program over if they didn't leave by Thursday afternoon. What you might not have known, however, is that at the same time (I swear they were conspiring together) France was having "a grave social disturbance" (note: they never once said "strike"). So my overnight train to Nice for Thursday night was cancelled, and the woman told me to try and catch the 7am train the next day--well, I returned, defeated, to my apartment, and woke up early the next morning to try again. When I got to the train I was a little confused, since they said to just use my same ticket, but what would happen to the seat assignments? Well, I was soon answered as I saw people trying to pile into the train--people were standing with huge bags of luggage in the aisles and everyone was squashed into the windowless compartments between cars (you know, by the stairs), prepared to stop breathing for eight hours. I managed to jump into the compartment (I've learned a thing or two from the French in how to get to the front of the line) past a line of families, only to be greeted by a nice stench of B.O. and an old woman coughing up a lung. I could barely even last thirty seconds, let alone eight hours, so I hopped on out and went back to my apartment a second time, completely sure that there was no way I was going to be able to go to Nice. There was no mention of when the strike was going to end, and they were telling everyone that no more trains would go to the Southeast portion of France (which is a big portion, might I add, and contained two legs of my trip). When I got home Beatrice threw a hissy fit and started screaming Sarkozy's name in vain and would tell my sob story to every mom that came to drop off their kid. I spent the rest of the morning researching last-minute spring break ideas and it seemed like everyone in France had something to say about my story and took pity on the poor American who just wanted to go on spring break--the cleaning lady even dropped in my room for a chat to complain about France and Beatrice made sure to share with me some of the snacks she bought for the children.

The third leg of my trip was supposed to be spent biking around the chateaux in the Loire Valley. The weather was supposed to be great all week, so I just decided to lengthen my biking stay from one day to...six. I managed to find this book entitled Cycling France and the author gave some pretty irrésistible (spell check is now apparently in French on my computer) descriptions of trips that made it seem like I would be biking through fields of sunflowers past fairytale castles. I pictured myself on a bike with a basket in front with a warm baguette chilling there, laughing and slowly cycling in no hurry whatsoever.

HA. It was anything BUT that vision. But it was amazing, let me first put that out there. According to the book, I was supposed to start my journey in a little town called Saumur, so I decided to get there Sunday afternoon and start biking on Monday. I'm not going to go into much detail about the train, but let's just say I had many WTF (also known as Welcome to France) moments which include my train once again getting cancelled and missing the only connecting train. A bus ride and some nice French people later, I made it to Saumur relatively unscathed by 9pm (having left my apartment at 9am...it was supposed to only take an hour to get there). Welcome to France. Anywho, I spent the night in a relatively abandoned hostel in which I was the only resident and rented a bike from a guy who took one look at me and upon hearing that I was to be biking to Blois in five days, told me that should I need to, I could abandon my bike at another store in a town along the way and take the train back to Paris. I laughed at his condescending advice and put on my Raybans, mounted my bike in a simple jeans and t-shirt, and started riding along the Loire River on my way to my first town, Chinon. Let me also point out that the backpack I had packed a week's worth of stuff into was too heavy to put on the back of my bike, so he gave me something like a saddle bag to put half of it into, and I had the rest in my backpack which I wore the whole way. I didn't even have that much stuff, I only really brought like two outfits and suntan lotion, but man, that stuff is heavy. But let's continue with the story.

The author of the book provided me with some interesting directions that basically just read "follow the sign that says 'to Chinon,'" banking on the fact that there was indeed such a sign. He only meant for the day to be 45km, which would take somewhere between two to four hours, depending on how long you spent at the chateaux. But because his directions were worthless, I was forced to buy a map at the tourist office and follow the trail, which proved to be relatively easy (when there were signs for the trail, like shown) because I was basically just following the Loire River. Okay, no problem. Six hours and 65km later, I finally made it to the little sleepy town of Chinon. I may have circled the wrong side of the river (the town is divided in half by the Loire) three times before I finally found my hotel, but I was still relatively happy and upbeat when I called my parents to let them know I was alive that night. Chinon was my favorite village that I stayed in--it was located in the shadow of a gorgeous château and it was very medieval. I stayed in a fairytale building that had a huge garden and in the morning got to have a huge breakfast with their homemade jams and juices. That morning was definitely my favorite.

Day two was easier in difficulty of the ride because I was more prepared for the hills and the distance. Plus I had my ipod to help me keep going, because as beautiful as the birds and the rushing water of the Loire is, it got old by the end of the day and just made everything seem longer. I wasn't sure I was going the right way for the first hour of the day because there were literally no signs and I found myself in a tiny village (it probably couldn't even be described as a village, as it only had one street of houses) and had to call my dad to check Google Maps for me to see if I was going the right way. I invariably was, I just was never sure when I was so used to seeing the "trusted" signs. As far as I can remember day two was relatively fine, I had bought some bread at the boulangerie in Chinon but spent the entire day in search of some fruit. The only grocery store in Chinon was closed "indefinitely" so in every single village I went through I kept my eyes out for some sort of market or stand or whatever that would sell fruit--it was this strange craving that I had. And I learned that any sign for Carrefour or whatever supermarket that was supposedly "up ahead" just did not exist. I took a 10km detour to a cute town because I had seen an ad, but no, it was in vain. On the way to my destination, Azay-le-Rideau, I stopped in Villandry to see the château, but was only able to walk around the gardens and take random pictures because I was so incredibly exhausted and I still had 12km to go. Those 12km took forever because there were no "rolling hills"--more like mini-mountains I would say! I remember stopping halfway up the "hill" to take a picture and when I was done I was contemplating continuing on foot, but then two girls were riding their bikes downhill past me and one said in French that I couldn't quit now, I wasn't finished. So I sucked it up and conquered that hill and soon arrived at the sleepy little town that was nestled in vineyards.

I was then rewarded the next morning because when walking around after breakfast I found the weekly farmer's market and bought a gorgeous carton of the most delicious strawberries I have ever tasted and a nice big orange. Day three I spent taking little ten minute breaks to eat the strawberries and right now I am amazed at how high my morale was then, even after seeing the sign to Loches, with "80km" next to it. Loches was unfortunately not on my map of the Loire Valley trail, but located in the Indre valley, another river that runs south of the Loire, and luckily there was a similar trail with signs and everything to lead the way. I got lost a few times because the signs vaguely pointed between two roads, but with my ipod everything was fine and I rode at a much faster pace because I was nervous I wouldn't make it to Loches before my usual time. Normally I left the hotel at 11am and would arrive at my destination by 4pm. But as the days went on I found myself anxiously starting earlier and getting to my destination later and later, even though I rode faster and took fewer breaks. I didn't realize the distance was increasing so much every day. My arrival in Loches was chaotic and jarring because it was more of a big town than a village, like the others, and I found myself biking into multiple rotaries where huge highways would intersect--very European. By the time I arrived at the tourist office (I always followed the signs there and then would pick up a map of the village/town/city to find my hotel) my spirits were really low and I just resigned to walking my bike to my hotel. When I called my parents to check in that night I was contemplating giving up my bike and taking the train to Paris the next morning, but I didn't have internet access to find where the bike office (if it existed) was located, and I didn't want to give up, so the next morning I grudgingly woke up and began day four, in very, very low spirits.

Day four was complete and utter hell. It was the day I lost my sanity, the day I had to ride against the wind, the day my ipod decided to break, and the day I spent three hours riding between Loches and it's neighboring village (sur-Loches or something) completely lost and miserable. I was already nervous about leaving Loches because I really didn't want to run into any more complicated rotaries and I didn't really have complete faith in the fact that there was indeed an Indre River trail that was supposedly going to meet up with the Loire River trail. My eight euro map that I had bought in Azay-le-Rideau wasn't very detailed and my Loches map didn't help either--that was all the tourist office could offer. I tried following the Indre River signs (like the one pictured above) through the neighboring village that would take me to Chenonceaux, which was where the famous Chenonceau Château is located and where I would then pick up the Loire River trial to head to my destination, Amboise. But the signs just stopped appearing and the map didn't mention where they would go. I literally took every single road that the sign could have meant, but it led me to all the wrong places. I then went back to the Loches tourist office to start over and maybe try the guidebook's directions again, but once again his signs didn't exist. That morning I christened my bike Rudy, which was as close to naming a volleyball Wilson as I could get. In the neighboring village sur-Loches or whatever it was called, I literally passed the same mailman on his morning route eight times. He just chuckled every time I passed him. On my eighth trip through the town center, I stopped for probably the fortieth time that morning and took out my map and compass, utterly confused as to where to go. An amazing old man got out of his car carrying a shovel and walked over to me and told me in French that he was the best person I could meet if I was lost because he knew the area like the back of his hand. We then proceeded to speak in Franglais (he was traveling to India in a few weeks and wanted to practice his English...?) and told me how to get to the highway I wanted in order to get to Chenonceaux. By this time it was noon and I finally headed in the right direction, entirely grateful to this little old French man. A few killer mini-mountains later and I had to stop on the grass of the highway, still not completely sure where I was going, and wanting to give up right then and there. That moment, sitting on the side of the highway, was the worst moment of the trip. It wasn't the physical exhaustion that I felt. My body was surprisingly not sore--I was able to do every part of the journey, probably because the only part my butt didn't hurt was when I was on the bike. It was just constantly getting lost and realizing that I wasn't getting everything that I wanted to out of this trip.

A quarter of my trip was biking through really quaint villages that I would never have gotten to experience (most of them don't have train stations) otherwise. Another quarter was through beautiful forests. And half of my trip was through beautiful fields full of yellow flowers that I still don't know what they were (not wheat, but something that people farmed). But after three intense days of constantly seeing the same thing, albeit they were all beautiful, they started to blend in, and I couldn't really enjoy them anymore. I wasn't appreciating them as much as I wanted to. So then and there I decided that I obviously had to continue (what was I going to do with Rudy?), but that I would call the bike company and figure out if they had a store in Amboise, and end there. There was no way in hell I could continue on to Blois. After this decision I rode through one of the most beautiful villages I have seen that perked my spirits up a bit, and decided to stop for the night in Chenonceaux. I had initially parked my bike at the château, but I didn't want to worry about someone stealing my saddle bag while I was walking around, and plus I didn't think I could make the 30km to Amboise (it was already 4pm by this point), so I found a nice little bed and breakfast and set up camp there. I'm really glad I did that because Chenonceau was beautiful, definitely one of my favorites, and I got to walk around the gardens and actually enjoy myself, and not worry about the rest of the km I had to do to get to my hotel.

Day five was better, but still not as fun as the other days. I knew that it was a shorter trip, so that definitely helped, but by this time I was pretty jaded and totally not trusting the trail signs. The previous day, to add to the fact that the signs led nowhere outside of Loches, they also towards the end (when I eventually found the trail) just made up distances to Chenonceau. At one point they told me I was only 12km away, which made me really happy even though I was riding against the wind and the sky was looking like it was going to rain. But then 12km later, the sign said 20km. And 20km later, the sign said 15km. So you can see why on Friday I was a little hesitant to be so happy about the supposedly short distance. I got to ride through some beautiful forests and even had a short conversation with a ten year old French boy who was biking in the opposite direction with his family. The trail must have been longer than I thought, because I arrived in Amboise an hour or two after I should have gotten there, but the ride was uneventful and relatively easy. I parked my bike near the château and decided to enjoy myself, and so I walked around the cute town (probably a little smaller than Loches, it looked like) and walked to the tourist office and the bike store, not wanting to deal with Rudy anymore. I then dropped off my bike, bought some lunch at a cute boulangerie, and walked to the train station and took the 4pm train to Paris. And then just a few short hours later I was back home and didn't realize just how much I had missed it. My legs could barely support me but I had the house to myself (Beatrice was at her country home in Brittany for the week) and could finally relax. It was weird.

So yeah, that was my epic adventure. I still can't believe I biked that far. I don't regret coming home a day earlier in the slightest. And even though it was incredibly hard, I'm so glad that I did it. Maybe I won't get back on a bike for a month or two, but I can see myself doing something like that again...in the distant future...when I'll have a better clue about what I'm getting myself into. Sorry for the novel, but I feel like people can't understand what I actually went through with only a few words to describe it. So if you've read this far, congrats. And thanks.

Also: flickr's been updated.

A Past and Future (Brief) Hiatus

Wow. Sorry it's been so long. I guess the reason for that is the fact that I've been incredibly stressed lately. More so than in New York, and probably that's because I don't have Bobst to crawl into when things get hard, so I can spend an all-nighter and work everything out. Instead here we have a fake library, complete with horrible internet access (at least at school), which...actually closes. But whatever. All of my 230948 papers are done now (who said this is study abroad?) and I don't want to think about them anymore. So I went to La Rochelle last weekend with a big portion of the program and it was beautifully sunny and we actually got to see the ocean and eat really good food, try all different types of cognac at a chateau, rode bikes around a beautiful island, tried sea urchin and escargot, and came back incredibly pooped, totally not ready for hell-week to begin, which always happens right before spring break. Sorry, this is going to be a lame post because I'm incredibly tired from not sleeping and hopped up on lots and lots of allergy meds (as always every spring) and ready to leave for my 10:30pm train tonight to the French Riviera!! I'm going technically by myself the entire trip, but in Menton I'm going to meet up with a friend and hang out with her for a few days. So here's my itinerary: Menton to Annecy to Tours (I'm not really staying in the city, just setting up camp there so I can go biking to see all the chateaux)! I'm incredibly excited but also incredibly anxious at traveling by myself, just because I'll be by myself for a whole week! Haha, who does that?? And it's weird that I'm not going to be seeing my friends here in Paris for a whole two weeks, since we literally see each other every single day. But we had a nice goodbye over an amazing steak frites lunch. Okay, well I have to go pack, but next time I'll be back from spring break and hopefully have amazing things to tell!

an escape to sunshine

The weather has been so weird here lately. We've had a bunch of thunderstorms that'll make the sky get really dark and it'll rain for five minutes, and then the sun will come out. So it was nice escaping this crazy weather for a bit of sunshine and blue sky in Florence. I left Thursday afternoon and got back Monday night. But I can't even adequately describe how weird it was going back. It was really weird getting over the fact that I was no longer living there, but I was a visitor...I kind of compared it to going back to Indiana last spring after transferring and seeing everyone again, but this time I didn't regret my decision to leave (but that moment of regret only lasted a day, until I got a fabulous phone call from my amazing roommates back in New York) and I didn't leave anyone behind. Only Florence. It hasn't really changed that much. Some scaffolding has come off and there are less cars, but otherwise the Duomo was right where I had left it. Nina had a field trip all day Friday so after meeting her for lunch I wandered around the city, but not before: buying a whole chunk of dried mango naturale (from the same guy!) at mercato centrale, getting the same "ciao, bella" from the sweater-vest-wearing old man who always stands outside his gelato store on Via Ghibellina, passing the wedding dress store and looking at their new displays for the season, smelling the pizza dough through il Gato e la Volpe's open kitchen door, and walking down Via Della Burella, recognizing the window ledge we used to put our computers on in order to steal internet. After I had finished the route I took every day, noticing a few new stores open here and the same graffiti there, I sat myself down in Piazza Signoria next to one of the statues under the arches and an older man in a suit reading the morning newspaper. It was at that moment that it had hit me: I was in Florence.

I wish I had kept a blog while studying there--I didn't try very hard to even keep a journal. I left Florence in December yearning for Christmas and wanting to get rid of the Italian nuisances that I couldn't deal with while living there: the fact that everything shuts down for a few hours in the afternoon, having to take the unreliable 25 bus every day to class, constantly getting stuck in Pisa in the middle of the night with no way to get back to Florence, the creepy Italian men that would surround you in the clubs, the strikes, the lack of salted bread. By the time I left I was sick of seeing small Italian towns that ended up looking the same in my mind and traveling to so many other countries only showed me what Italy didn't have. Of course my experience was amazing and I wouldn't take it back whatsoever, but I'll be the first one to admit that I came back to Westborough a little jaded. So going back rejuvenated me and made me realize how much I missed everything there, even little old Pisa (we always toasted it as theworstcityintheworld, so you can you imagine me missing the airport?). And I realized how many amazing adventures we had there, stories that I still vividly remember and sometimes wish I could relive (although sleeping in the Malpensa airport on Thanksgiving night not so much). This program and my time in Paris couldn't be any more different than my semester in Florence--I'm both grateful and sad about that.

But I should probably describe some more about what I actually did in Florence, instead of reminiscing about it. Instead of giving a minute by minute, day by day (I just got the Step by Step theme song stuck in my head), I'll describe it like this: we bought pesto and cheese and bread and dried strawberries at mercato centrale, ate gelato, picnicked amidst (and climbed) the ruins in Fiesole, had penne gato e la volpe, rode the carousel in Piazza della Repubblica, sat on the bridge, made sangria, went into the Baptistry and tried to recount all the Biblical stories on the ceiling, ate pastries from the Secret Bakery at two in the morning (although it wasn't as adventurous as last year, as we just went to the same secret bakery we found then), walked around the Duomo a few times, listened to a woman sing beautiful opera in the archway of Piazza della Repubblica, hiked up to San Miniato al Monte for a beautiful view of Florence, walked behind a Palm Sunday procession up to said church, ate even more gelato, listened to Gregorian chants in San Miniato al Monte, walked through a recycle-themed crafts market, traversed pretty much the entire Oltrarno, walked through a park I never knew existed, lounged on the banks of the Arno in the sunshine, and tried desperately to say "Si" instead of "Oui," but it never caught on until I was back in Paris.


I miss it. I want to go back. But at the same time, seeing the light show on the Eiffel Tower just as the bus was pulling into Porte Maillot, listening to every 90s tv show theme song we could think of on youtube in the salon between classes, getting quiche at "the yellow place" for lunch, and eating dinner with Beatrice and her grandkids tonight made me happy to be back (as well as the fact that she made her glorious brownie cake again...).

A list of sorts

This past week I:
1. Had dinner with Beatrice, her daughter, and her grandchildren.
2. Attended an indoor picnic/dinner party.
3. Got fauned over and pampered at MaxMara.
4. Saw gorgeous doll clothes.
5. Ate L'As falafel for like the fifth Sunday in a row.
6. Finished all of my midterms--thank god.
7. Had a conversation with Martin (for the first time, even though he spends every weekend here).
8. Picked up and played with Wheelie Baby.
9. Took advantage of Parisian cafés.
10. Went to the opera.

If I remember correctly, Monday was Paris and my three month anniversary. Compare that list with my first posts and I guess you could say I've come a long way. After reading Abe's blog, I'm feeling a little boring not having an African adventure on that list, but I'd say I'm pretty happy with it anyways.

As to the dinner party. It was pretty epic and incredibly fun, but it feels so long ago that I don't really feel like describing it in detail (sorry Amara!). Let me just say that it was a potluck, so the menu consisted of: mac and cheese, wine, meatballs, salad with candied almonds, wine, zucchini, moussaka, wine, mashed potatoes, DL's compost cookies, ice cream, and more wine.

Meaghan and I made the moussaka, which I'd say was kind of a success--I'm only saying "kind of" now because I went home with a huge container of leftovers and now I'm kind of resenting the boeuf and aubergines that have been my dinner for the past few days. I don't think I can eat moussaka for a really long time. The bechamel sauce wasn't that great (I'll have to find a better recipe for it)--it looked like eggs and didn't have the anticipated texture. And also, let me just say that I got the idea to make it because I've been buying ino's homemade moussaka which is delicious, and even if I did something different or found a new recipe, I wouldn't have been able to recreate it. The compost cookies were amazing, might I add, and I'm definitely going to have to make them in the states. They did add some entertainment, though, because when we put them in the oven to cook after we'd eaten our 209343 course meal, Alena accidentally put the setting on "clean." So we're sitting there, in the makeshift picnic room, and Emily comes in asking, "Is your oven supposed to lock?" We couldn't open the door and it wouldn't unlock when we changed the setting. It had only been a few minutes since we put them in, but we could already smell them burning. Then when we finally were able to open the oven door, a huge cloud of smoke came out and we saw that the cookies were unrecognizably burnt. Thankfully it was only one batch, but it was still hilarious nonetheless.

Last night I went to the opera with Ashley, my philosophy professor, and a few other NYU staff/students. It was Zémire et Azor, which was based on the fairytale la Belle et la Bête--the original Beauty and the Beast before Disney came along and stole it. It was in the Opera Comique, the smaller and less grand opera, and there was little set and a tiny orchestra. All in all it was really good, but you could definitely tell it was a low-cost production. My class last semester came in handy (shout-out to Pat) because we read the versions of Beauty and the Beast, so I already knew the story. That definitely helped when I was trying to translate the French. It was interesting seeing how they adapted the story, but one thing that I really didn't like was that they used a lot of video in it, which just made it appear all the more low-cost. It was kind of clever using it as the mirror that Zémire looks into to see her father and sisters back at home, but they also used it for these weird, unintelligible artistic scenes that even confused my professor; as well as at the end, instead of having Azor onstage change into a prince, there's this weird, bad-quality video showing him walking down the street as a man. And then it suddenly ends. The first act, once I figured out that it was Beauty and the Beast, was good, but the second act was laughable. That's when they had the majority of the videos and even Zémire slow-motion running. But hey, it was free and an experience. Plus, that's one of my favorite stories. What was also interesting was that they all had accents. I didn't get a chance to ask, but it sounded as though they had Italian accents. I guess my two week stint in phonetics paid off after all. But it was a nice exercise to practice my French, and I'm glad I went.

So all in all, I'd say it was a good week.

Oh and PS: I'm staying in Paris until May 28th now! Thanks to my dad (thank you!) for staying on the phone with the airlines for two hours changing my flight. Now I'm going to be here a whole two weeks after finals end to enjoy the Parisian sunshine without having any class!

A Promise of Sunshine

Things are good. Things are in motion.

This weekend I went with my philosophy class to Versailles and our professor took us around the gardens--when I had been there before we didn't get a chance (or really, we just didn't know) how big the grounds were, especially concerning Marie Antoinette's Petit Trianon. Sophia Coppola's movie hadn't yet been made, so we didn't know her area of the garden even existed (totally my favorite part of the place).

But it was nice walking around with our professor, who really did know every single part of the garden--every single sculpture had a metaphor and political story behind it, every single tree was carefully placed to follow the plan. And what was so interesting was that almost every one of them had to do with Ovid's Metamorphoses, and he used those stories to convey some political agenda that, when the story was told, seemed so blatant that Louis XIV was practically shoving his warnings and ideas down your throat. My favorite fountain is the Encelade Fountain, which depicts the myth of the fall of the giants who were buried because they threw rocks at Mount Olympus, trying to dethrone Jupiter. These rocks were similar to France's Fronde (the word in French means slingshot), which was the upheaval of the nobles when Louis XIV was young. This caused Louis XIV to distrust the nobles and basically had them shut up in court, distracted, useless, and spending all their money on gambling. The message: If you try and overthrow the king, this is what happens.

Another fun fact, this picture is taken from the bottom of the stairs where Louis XIV would come down and reveal himself to the public. From the bottom of the stairs it would look like he's basically coming down from the sky. And on August 25th, Louis's namesake day, the sun is positioned directly above the canal, which shines into the hall of mirrors. The planners positioned the building and the canal, etc, just for this. Basically, so he can show that he controlled the world, as well as the sun.
This tour lasted a good five hours--at least. I don't even want to know how many miles we walked, but we pretty much walked through the entire garden. It was un petit froid, but the sun was shining and the sky was epic for pictures. I'm hoping to go back with Natty when she comes to visit because they turn the fountains on in April and the trees will finally have leaves.

After that adventure in Versailles, David came to visit! It was nice seeing him and having him meet everyone, and it made me miss New York a little bit. Not exactly miss it in terms of homesickness, but just realize some qualities about the city that I love and can't wait to get back to in September. His visit also made me realize that I can't leave immediately after finals. I have to be able to enjoy the sunshine and perfect weather without having classes take up the time I should be lounging during a picnic on the canal. I'm currently working with Student Universe to change my flight without spending a fortune--cross your fingers! I'm planning on staying with Emily in her apartment for the final weeks of May and try and soak up as much Parisian sunshine as possible before being forced to board the plane back to Boston. I want to go back to the US, I do (sort of...but only to see family), but I'm realizing that I have no idea when I'm going to be back here. Last year, as I was leaving Florence (was that really only a year ago?), I must admit that I had a sneaking suspicion I was coming back again soon (although of course my parents didn't know about that). But who knows if I'll make it here after graduation. Let's hope I stick to my new plan.

While David and I were wandering around the Marais, waiting for time to pass until we could go to our dinner reservation (more on that in a bit), we heard music coming from the Place des Vosges. We ended up walking in, curious as to what was going on, and found ourselves in this courtyard where French college students dressed as hipsters were playing live polka music. So random! The courtyard appeared to be part of a dorm of some sort, and they were selling homemade food and hot wine (one euro). So we grabbed a glass of vin chaud and sat down on a doorstoop and listened to the music. You can't plan these things.

Something that we did plan, though, was dinner. I had read about this amazing place called Breizh Café that makes amazing buckwheat crêpes on all the Paris food blogs (especially our idol David Lebovitz) and realized I had to try it. The owner is from Bretagne (the birthplace of all things crêpe), so everything was legit. But I read that I had to make a reservation, something that requires the use of speaking in French on the telephone. I caved to cowardice and had Beatrice make us a reservation. The restaurant was tiny and there was only one other waiter--the owner and his wife were the main ones who served everyone. I got a buckwheat crêpe with egg, onions, gruyere, and some mystery meat that ended up being delicious. The photo isn't of my actual crêpe, but taken from D.L's site. Then the four of us (Emily and Meaghan joined) split a dessert crêpe, much to the confusion and surprise of the owner who couldn't believe we Americans were only going to eat one. But hey, we're cheap Americans. A nice conclusion to the meal was when we were leaving the restaurant and Meaghan said "I love you" to the owner behind the door. She thought he couldn't see her, but he was smiling when we passed by. So we'll definitely be invited back there...

One thing that I do miss, however, is cooking. Okay, well maybe not cooking per se, because we all know I'm not very good at it, but I sincerely miss the idea of cooking. As in dinner parties. And looking on food blogs for recipes, and planning. So I'm basically using Meaghan for her kitchen (I don't exactly want to catch Beatrice's on fire), and we're going to host a dinner party this weekend. So it's starting to feel a little bit like normal. Except, you know, we're in Paris.

month 3

It's a new month. That means a new Navigo mètro pass, more minutes on my phone, and more space on my Flickr account. Because Facebook always botches the quality of my pictures, I've created this Flickr account. But it only has a limited amount of space, which sucks, and isn't very different from a lot of the other photo sites. So try and look at it about once a month or so to see my pictures! You can find them here.

my mistake...

Haha I lied. Literally not an hour after I posted that did I buy my plane ticket to Florence. I know, I'm kind of feeling guilty for going back to a place I've already been to, least of all spent four months studying in, but after skyping with Nina I felt really nostalgic and couldn't help but take advantage of the really good deal RyanAir was giving me. Plus my mouth is watering just thinking about going back to il Gato e la Volpe (and going back to the Duomo, and the Leather Market, and nutella gelato...except the only Italian words I've managed to retain while learning French are quindi, allora, va bene, grazie, and ciao). I'm going the end of March. And then for the entire day I pretty much got the travel bug and decided there were just a few places in France that I'll regret not going to. So my game plan is to hit up Marseille, the Loire Valley (specifically Tours for some chateaux-hopping), and possibly Bretagne this semester (even though it's almost half-over!). I still feel kind of guilty having that limit my already limited amount of time for weekends in Paris, but I'll have the entire week that Natty's here to visit me during the second week of my spring break to take advantage of the (hopefully) beautiful spring weather and picnic, etc--all the things I've been craving to do here. I don't mean to post so many posts, it's just that I felt like a hypocrite after just posting that...

a desire to become Parisian

I have no interest in leaving France, whatsoever. Or even Paris. Is that weird? I find that a little bit weird...I mean, apart from one week of my spring break WWOOFing in the south of France (more on that when I get more confirmed details), I don't have any plans to travel (also aside from the free excursion to La Rochelle in April). A couple weeks ago I planned on going somewhere in France the second weekend of March, after David comes to visit, but now that I'm thinking about it I can't imagine being away...But I've already done the Euro-trip experience, I've already traveled across Europe, and I think I'll be just as content having wacky stories about my encounters with Parisians than adding to my collection of crazy airport stories, or getting lost in a random country. The latter sounds exciting and all, but I've realized that my main goal is that when I go home and someone asks me if I've been to thisplace or thatplace in Paris, I'll be able to say, why yes, of course, I've been there five times! Or something like that. Because I have classes all day from Monday to Thursday (and these are no "study abroad" classes, either. NYU in Paris unfortunately likes to be quite academic) and an incredible amount of reading, I don't have time to go and explore until the weekend. So how can I even consider leaving?

And after thinking about it (even though it doesn't really take much thinking...) I've decided to add more pictures to this blog, to give you a break from my incessant venting or droning or whining or whatnot. So I'll end this post with this pretty picture:

"Je m'baladais sur l'avenue le cœur ouvert à l'inconnu"

This is why I don't want to leave Paris: (among many, many, many other things)
1. I was walking through the Marais, a warm and delicious falafel sandwich in my hands, on my way to eat it in the Place des Vosges, and a man started to play "Les Champs-Elysées" on his saxophone.
2. I came home to find Beatrice finally home from her vacation, and a mountain of cookies and salted caramel from Bretagne on my desk.
3. On one of my many trips to Shakespeare and Co, possibly my favorite bookstore yet, the guy working remembered me and we chatted. Probably because I've gone there almost once a week, and I'm secretly fascinated with the people who work there, and when I return after graduation I want to work there...is that weird?
4. I got conned by a fake-deaf girl into giving her five euro. When a group of them first came up to me I said no thanks, but then when I found out they were deaf I felt bad, because it looked like all they wanted me to do was to sign a petition. But then I realized I was being forced to give the girl money and I felt my moral values plummeting when my poor student-self argued with her into not giving her my twenty, but asking for change...(does this not sound familiar to my taxi argument?) I kind of felt like it was a scam in the back of my head, but my suspicions were definitely confirmed when I was walking out of the Pompidou and heard her talking to her friend...now I don't feel bad for demanding change! This story may not particularly make me want to stay in Paris, but I like being forced to constantly be on my toes...
5. The ability to spontaneously walk into a world famous art museum for free, and only stay for an hour or so.
6. Views like this:

7. I am constantly falling in love with Paris over and over again. There are some things I miss about New York, like Mamoun's $2.50 falafel (I don't care if they say it's better here) and streets on a grid. But after meandering along the city and suddenly seeing breathtaking views like above, while a scoop of salted-caramel ice cream is waiting to be eaten...nothing can really compare.

catacombs, cemeteries, the sixth sense, and more

When my mom told people I was going to be studying abroad in Paris, a lot of people were surprised and confused. And it's not like she was really able to answer their questions, especially since I just studied abroad last year and who really knows if my concentration has anything to do with France. And if you look at the classes I'm taking this semester, you'll be even more confused. I'm taking classes on things that are so out of my element, and (as far as I know) are so far from my Gallatin concentration, whatever that might be. I do know that my concentration has something to do with "the Arts," although who really knows what that means, considering the fact that I'm reading texts on philosophy, policy, economics, and politics. I still shudder at the idea of these topics (although less at philosophy now), but it's been surprisingly interesting learning about these things from a European perspective--it kind of adds a more interesting light on things that are so boring to me in the States. But enough on that now.

This weekend, if you think about it, has been a "death-filled" one. It may sound morbid and horrible, but it was pretty successful. After a mandatory and slightly boring field trip for class to the new Immigration Museum on Friday, I went to the Catacombs, which were so cool and so incredibly creepy.  I didn't bring my camera, unfortunately, because it was an unplanned trip on my part, but here's a picture from Wikipedia:

It's this underground city, where they stacked the bones of people that they had to dig up to make room for the city's expansion and the growing population (i.e. the higher number of people dead). It's been a tourist attraction since the 19th century, and it took 45 minutes to walk through. You just see rows and rows of stacked bones and they aligned the skulls in certain ways to make patterns (like a heart, or the outline of a church, etc). It felt spooky and disrespectful in a way. But cool. In the beginning I didn't want to add pictures to this blog, but the pictures of this place are so unbelievable.

Then Saturday we continued the death-filled weekend by going to the Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise (my accents aren't working today for some reason), which is that famous cemetery where everyone is buried, particularly Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison (remember that episode on the first season of ANTM, when Adrianne tried going there?). It's incredibly huge and eerily beautiful, and we literally spent the entire day there, up until the guard yelled at us to leave. I was able to find Sarah Bernhardt, Edith Piaf, Victor Noir, Moliere, and a few others. The picture is Alena and I kissing Oscar Wilde's grave (we brought lipstick for the occasion).

Oh, and to cap off the death-weekend, we even watched the Sixth Sense Saturday night--in French! I don't even think it was a conscious decision to make that the theme...

I can't believe it's almost the end of February. I've been here for a little more than a month, yet it feels like we only have a little bit of time left. During dinner with Beatrice last Thursday we were talking about that, and she commented on how much our French had improved. I'm really going to miss her, she's so incredibly cute. I can actually have full-on conversations with her, and they're no longer restricted to the dinner table. Although sometimes the screaming babies are too much after a long day of classes, the kids are getting braver and we play with them now. Beatrice is gone for the week, I think to her country house, but it's weird not having a full house anymore. She even left us two dinners in the fridge because she said she wanted to keep her promise of two dinners a week. And on the phone, she calls us her "American daughters." I don't want to leave!

La Dame Aux Camélias

I don’t even know where to begin. Last night, NYU gave us free tickets to go to the ballet, and I can’t even describe how amazing it was. Let me just preface with the fact that it was at the Opera Garnier—the most beautiful opera house I’ve ever seen. We went to see La Dame Aux Camélias, which is an adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’ (Jr.) novel. It’s your basic Moulin Rouge story, about a courtesan, Marguerite, who has a heart of gold, as well as tuberculosis. She falls in love with Armand, but continues her old lifestyle, rushing from ball to ball and from admirer to admirer; all this time Armand waits for her at home. Marguerite’s main admirer and “client,” the Duke, takes her to his country estate, where she brings her friends as well as Armand, and lavishly spends the Duke’s money. When the Duke grows jealous of him, Marguerite publicly declares her love for Armand and in doing so repudiates wealth and security. On hearing about his son’s lifestyle, Armand’s father visits Marguerite at her country house without Armand’s knowledge and insists that she should stop seeing him. Marguerite agrees to this sacrifice out of her love for Armand. She writes a letter to him, telling him that she has gone back to her old lifestyle of admirers (which is the only thing he will believe), and everyone is unhappy. In the end, Marguerite dies of tuberculosis and Armand only learns the truth after she is dead.

 The afternoon before the performance, a professor held a “preview” where she showed us clips of the opera, film, and ballet adaptations, and told us the entire story in detail. What was also extremely helpful and interesting was that she described the choreography that conveyed all these emotions and plot-points. So that when it was time for the ballet, I was able to see the certain movements she had described and really understand them.

And I actually cried. I never cry at movies, I think the last one I cried at was I Am Sam in sixth grade. But the choreography was so incredibly beautiful and the costumes…I can’t even describe how beautiful they were (Marguerite made ELEVEN costume changes!). Do you ever think about if you could choose one thing to be in your life, what it would be? I would totally choose a ballerina. It’s this inner fantasy I have that keeps me going back to the Nutcracker every single year. This might sound stupid, but do you know what my five-year goal is? To see a production of Swan Lake. And I’m completely serious. But come on, it’s not like I know what I’m going to be doing with my life in five years, and I have a concrete idea of at least something that I want to do, no matter how miniscule of an event it may seem. But I learned that we can get student-rush tickets to ballets and operas here for something like €7—that’s less than a movie ticket. Guess who’s going to see La Dame Aux Camélias again? That’s right.

Food, food, and more food

Friday the entire program went on a celebratory field trip to L'abbaye de Royaumont, after finishing the preliminary course and the first week of classes. There we were given a tour of the grounds and then had a gourmet meal, which was nice. Our first course was bruschetta with goat cheese wrapped in eggplant; then we had mashed potatoes with veal or pork (still unsure); then a cheese course with camembert; and then an amazing dessert (still not sure what it was, but it was some sort of flan/custard on top of chocolate ganache); and finished with espresso--all while having complimentary wine, of course.

This weekend was basically full of exploring and wandering--probably the best thing to doing in Paris, besides discovering amazing food. I walked around the Marais, which I read in a guide book is the "Greenwich Village of Paris," but it's got a different sort of charm. I had been there with Emily the weekend before, and I went back to this cute cafe to sit and read. The next day I discovered one of the outdoor markets of Paris--I can't wait till it gets warmer out and other produce gets to be in season. And then that night we had our usual dinner with Beatrice (she cooks us dinner every Sunday and Thursday nights). Must I say, though, it was amazing. We always have all the courses, so last night wasn't any different, but we started with a Croque Madame and some sauteed vegetables. Then we had a cheese course with cheese I can't remember (but were delicious nevertheless) and we ended with a peach pie. Thankfully we only eat like this twice a week--I usually have to skip eating that day to prepare.

Tonight I went to the cooking workshop they were having and we all learned how to make crepes--I must say I didn't actually mess them up! (Because you all know how many cooking mistakes I've made whenever I try to cook...) They were absolutely delicious, and we made sweet and savory ones as well. My favorite combination was a cracked egg with sauteed onions and mushrooms. We cooked in the communal kitchen of a dorm, so we were able to meet some French students while cooking and eating alongside them.

Oh, and an update on the children at Day Care Beatrice: they're actually cute. There was this one annoying baby who was actually terrifying (says the babysitter) and who never smiled. There's a photo of her on Facebook, and I swear you'll agree. But today, when I brought Emily by to see the apartment and to drop off a Valentine's Day care package, she wheeled herself to my room (she's never out of this wheelie thing she sits in) and I swear she smiled...I actually played with her, if you can believe it, if you've been hearing the stories concerning her. Tomorrow I just might liberate her from the wheelie prison. And Cesar, the one-almost-two-year-old is incredibly adorable, and when he sees either Julia or I walk into the apartment he runs over to us and hangs out with us in our rooms. He doesn't talk yet, but makes unintelligible French baby noises. But they prove to be better ways of practicing our French, versus just talking to the dogs. While I might complain about being woken up early in the morning on days I don't have morning classes by the babies, I'm starting to kind of like them.

So in response to a suggestion, I've started posting some pictures on Flickr, but supposedly (and stupidly) it only lets me upload 100 MB a month, which is ridiculous (each picture is at least 3 MB), so I only have a few pictures on there now. Hopefully that will change. A ton of people are going to Amsterdam this weekend, so this might give me the excuse to really explore Paris while they're gone. Here's the link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/45724198@N06/

NYU meets football

Just saw this ad from the Superbowl. Not putting it up because of the short NYU-plug in the fourth second of the ad, but thought it was cute, and obviously....Paris.

love letter

Dear Paris,

I am utterly and devastatingly in love with you.

Love,

Your not-so-secret admirer.

birthdayness

Today was a really great day, even though it's freezing outside and I'm dead tired. It's the first week of classes, so things are a little hectic, and I think I've finally figured out my schedule--after going to five classes yesterday--never happening again. I surprisingly moved up in my French class because I wanted more of a challenge...which is surprising because I suddenly feel kind of confident about my French. Sure, I still need to learn a lot more, but I'm not as worried about how I sound, I just try and get it out. It's weird not being so embarrassed anymore. And then when I got home after a long day of errands (we went to the elusive but famous Shakespeare and Co to buy our textbooks, but it took us a while to find it hidden on a tiny street--I'm absolutely obsessed with that place, I need to go back and explore it more), I was told that it's Beatrice's grandson, Martin (the one who stays with us on the weekends)'s 14th birthday, as well as National Crepe Day (such a good day to have your birthday on), so the whole family was over and they made crepes. At first it was really awkward for Julia and I to sit in on the family festivities but everyone is so nice, and hey, free crepes. Then Beatrice's friends came to pick up their kids, and they were really friendly and spoke to us in Franglais. Beatrice and the husband joked around a lot, and they made fun of each other's accents when speaking English, and I just kept thinking that I would never have been able to do this if I had chosen to live in an apartment. And last night Julia and I cooked (as in boiled water) in the kitchen for the first time, which at first felt really awkward, but now it feels like no big deal--I guess those are the cons to living in someone else's house.

When I was walking home from the metro today I was thinking about how I could actually see myself living here later on. I forget how we got on the subject, but last night all of a sudden Julia and I realized that we're graduating next year. Only one more year of school and then it's the real world. I'm refusing to let myself actually realize this fact (instead of just numbly thinking about it), but it might make it a nicer reality if I imagine myself living here...

A Summary of Sorts

First I should set one thing straight, because apparently my venting in my last post was taken a different way than I meant it to. I am starting to dislike the fact that there seems to be bunches of children here 24/7, but it's in no way making me hate my homestay. I love the location, I love my room, and I love Beatrice. It's just the screaming babies, who scream for hours on end without anyone picking them up, that I hate. But I still love my homestay. Julia and I just like to complain about the children a lot, but they also provide us with a lot of entertaining stories to tell.

Something that I learned that I thought was interesting was that you're not supposed to bonjour the same person twice in one day. I think once it turns night you can get away from this rule by saying bon soir, but then you just smile at the person and maybe say cou-cou instead. I just found that really interesting, since I've been bonjour'ing Beatrice tons of times in one day (I'm constantly coming in and out of the apartment). I don't know, just a little fact I thought I'd share with you.

I've already told Amara this (sorry, Amara), but something that I thought was really interesting with trying to speak French as much as possible, and the ramifications of it, was that one night when I was over my friends Alena and Meaghan's apartment, Alena was saying something that I totally agreed with, so I wanted to say "me too" or something along those lines but I ended up saying some really awkward phrasing, like "me also" which is the literal translation of "moi aussi." The NYU in Paris staff sometimes do that, which I always thought was funny, but it's kind of cool because it means this French is actually sticking. I find myself speaking a lot more of it, and then around my friends we all try and speak "franglais," which now only means inserting a word or two of French, but will hopefully progress into more. And then when we go out on the weekends we speak French to each other and to the people we meet. I'm getting a ton more confortable speaking French, and I can even hold a conversation with Beatrice now! I still don't always say full sentences, but that's because by the time I'm halfway through the long sentence in French, she knows what I'm getting at.

Yesterday marked the last day of our Preliminary Courses and we were all too excited to celebrate. We had a god-awful final exam in Phonetics that was probably the most ridiculous thing ever. She would read out loud two sentences that had one slight difference (as in there was a singular or plural noun, but the only difference is the slight pronunciation of le and les). They all sounded the same to us. We had to give evaluations of the teachers and the courses, and one thing that I think we all complained about was the fact that in only two weeks, they expect us to speak perfect Parisian French. They throw all these terms at us and we spend only one day on each sound, only to be actually tested and graded on something that we're completely unprepared for. But oh well, it's over. I'm actually really interested in Phonetics and trying to achieve a better accent, so I'm auditing the semester-long Phonetics class, luckily taught by our other teacher that I really like.

This is kind of random, but I've been thinking about it a lot, and I don't think I like the term culture "shock" very much. Of course landing in a strange country for the first time is shocking, but I don't think I've experienced the "shock" part of it really. There are a lot of surprising and frustrating things about a different culture, but I think I'm just taking it one day at a time, and I'm loving the little surprises. Maybe it's because I'm slightly older, or at a better place in my life (after having an amazing two semesters at NYU), or because I actually know the language, but I'm experiencing a significantly less amount of frustrations than I did in Florence. Or maybe it's because I truly belong in the city. I don't know. But those frustrations and surprises never go away, no matter how long you stay in a different culture; some of the NYU in Paris staff who are Americans tell us they still are experiencing these things, and they've been here for years. Another example: I just met a girl last night who has been here for three years learning to become an interpreter (so cool, right?), and she still got stuck on the metro (the metro closes during the night, and no one really knows when the last train runs, so sometimes you transfer to a station and wait for the train for a while, realizing that it will never come until 5:30am). I can't exactly say I've assimilated yet, only because there's just too much to learn, and I've only been here for three weeks (and yet that feels like months). I don't want to be able to say I've assimilated, I still want to experience the surprises, like learning the bonjour thing. And I like keeping up this blog to share with you the differences in culture that I find so interesting, and this experience is so different from Florence (I feel as though I'm actually experiencing a new culture*) that I love sharing it. Sorry if some of the anecdotes in here are boring, or mundane, but I guess the writer in me is coming out (even though this blog shows zero writing capabilities), and I just want to write about anything and everything. It helps me experience it more--once again, the writer in me is dying to come out. But I'm just taking this time out of writing this blog to thank you guys for reading it, and I miss you all, but writing in here makes me feel closer to you guys.

*I just want to say that I'm not dissing the Florence program or the town of Florence or hating on my time in Florence--I absolutely loved it and I learned a hell of a lot. I'm just getting a totally different experience here, and trying to explain those differences.

On another note (sorry this is a long post again!): last night, as Julia and I were getting lost trying to walk from the closed metro station twenty minutes south of where we live (and like three metro stops away), we walked by this moped that smelled of smoke, and when we looked more closely, we could see a small fire actually inside it! So we decided to be good citizens of Paris and get someone to help, so we tried buzzing the "guardien" of the building behind the moped, but he wouldn't answer. Then we tried calling the France-equivalent to 911, but neither of us could remember the number! I remembered there being a 2 and a 1, so we just kept dialing 211, 212, etc, but nothing worked, and so we hailed a cab to ask him the number, but he was so apathetic. He gave us some random number for the police, but then it was hard explaining in French that the moped was now literally engulfed in flames. But Julia was able to get someone on the phone who spoke English, who told us that the fire department would come, but by that time the fire was pretty big and there were loud popping sounds, like the engine or something, I don't know what finally caught fire, and it felt like we were in some movie. The helpless taxi driver (he was really nice, not rudely apathetic, but kind of just sat there, not freaking out or anything) then just drove us away, even though we wished we could have stayed to make sure the fire was put out. I kind of feel guilty about that now, but at least we called and did something. It was just not how we expected our night to end!

(one more paragraph, I promise) I kind of just write these posts without realizing what people think of them afterwards (like not realizing my dad thought I hated my homestay and wanted to move out...or so what my mom then later thought as a result of what my dad told her...) and so maybe the generalization you get from these posts about my life here in Paris is that I'm not doing much in terms of exploring...I hope not! I haven't really been including all the exploring and workshops we do, etc, just because then there would be fifty of these long posts, and that wouldn't be fun. But anyways, long story short: I'll include some now. Today I'm going with my roommate Julia and my friend Emily to explore the Marais, which is a really cool neighborhood in Paris. After going to the "Eating in Paris" workshop yesterday that they gave, Emily and I are determined to have steak frites at a legit Parisian bistro or brasserie tonight. It's actually sunny out for once and not raining, so we're going to take advantage of that!

Happy Wine Wednesday!

So my initial obsession with the children at "Beatrice's Day Care" has definitely died down. They're cute, I'll put up with them running around the hallways every.single.afternoon, but I'm getting sick of hearing a screaming baby in the background. I guess my inner-babysitter feels slightly bad and makes me feel like I should go help Beatrice out, but hey, I'm not working here, I'm paying her to live here. So I feel slightly less guilty closing the door to my room and taking a much needed afternoon nap.

Monday afternoon was unusually sunny, and relatively warm, so I decided to use my rare free afternoon to explore the other side of Passy, towards the Bois de Boulogne. I think the Bois de Boulogne is a huge park (like complete with country club, etc) but I'm still not sure. I found a really nice stretch of a pedestrian road that was lined with trees and it reminded me of the Hudson and the West Village, and I only got to go into the beginning parts of the Bois de Boulogne because the sun was about to set. It was nice to get a little lost, and I took a few pictures. The area (outside the park, when I was meandering home) oddly reminded me of a mix of Columbus (IN), South Carolina, and Barcelona. Don't ask me why. The combination didn't exactly make it seem beautiful, compared to other parts of Paris, but it was very home-y (if that makes any sense...probably not unless I showed a picture).

Yesterday we had some mandatory "cultural activities workshop" where they told us about the free events they're planning throughout the semester, and then a chef came in and taught us about bread. What was the most interesting part though was that at the end they served us a feast-sized smorgasbord of every type of bread imaginable, along with anything that was possible to put on it. From honey to smoked salmon to pate to brie, it was all there. Delicious. And then we were led on a free boat-ride tour of the Seine, which was nice because it was freezing out and there were indoor seats. It was nice to see Paris from that view.

I haven't really talked about this Preliminary Course, have I? It's by far the most annoying thing about Paris so far. It's two weeks, Monday through Friday, from 9:30 to 1pm, of written, oral, and phonetics. The written and oral parts are complete review, and meant to be, and aren't that annoying because at least it's getting us to speak French every day. But then phonetics. Where to start? It's probably one of the most annoying/impossible classes I've taken, certainly as a language class. It's like we're learning French all over again, and I swear I don't hear people speak like that on the streets, much less Beatrice. We're learning the Parisian accent, which is literally to mash everything together. Like, if I were to say, in English, "I'm going to the store today," the English-equivalent to Parisian French is "I mgoi ngtoth est or eto day," spoken really fast. Obviously, showing you the English-equivalent to it makes it seem really really ridiculous and incomprehensible, but that's exactly what it is. Our teacher will say something and none of us will understand a word she says, even though we know the vocabulary she's using, and we would understand what's she's trying to say if she spoke it normally. And it's really hard to add on the fact that all our questions to her are in French, and so if you don't understand something, it's really hard to ask in French about vocabulary (phonetics vocabulary) that you don't even know in English. Basically everyone is really frustrated and as soon as she told us what the final test on Friday is going to be like, I swear everyone just shut down and couldn't do it anymore. And I know we all have American accents and we can hear what a French accent sounds like, but to throw at us all these things that Parisians do...it just makes it impossible. We learned about liasons in New York, but this Parisian accent thing is a completely different matter. Hopefully by the end of the semester we'll be pros, but that's debatable.

Anyways, a few friends and I have officially dubbed Wednesdays as "Wine Wednesdays" (as in, today we went around to each other saying "Happy Wine Wednesday"), where we all get together at someone's apartment and have wine and cheese, and just hang out. What with everyone living in different areas of the city, and classes starting (where we'll all be on different schedules) it'll be nice to meet at least once a week.