The Long Post

Oh, man. Where to even start?

Let me begin by explaining why the posts starting lagging. 4 weeks ago - right, 4? - all of our lives changed in a pretty drastic way, and it didn't feel right for some time coming here to outline all the little details about my petty day. I also didn't feel like using the blog as an outlet for my grief or a means of distraction.

Now that some time has passed, I want to make so sure that everyone really knows how much the wonderful outpouring of love that you have sent my way has meant to me. It is hard being far away, surrounded by people who feel for you, but they just don't really know. My friends from home, Lucy B, McGahee, Pree, Aaron, Maddy and everyone else, have been so understanding and I really don't think that they truly understand how much it meant to me just to hear their voices or read their cards - because I know they knew how much Grandma meant to me, and how hard it has been for all of us to pick ourselves up and figure out where we are. It is a good feeling that, having to go through something like this, I am only reminded how lucky and blessed I am to have so much love around me.

So...taking a big, giant step back. Italy was really incredible. I'm sure I will remember more stories when I am sitting down looking through all my pictures, but for now, we were big, obnoxious American tourists all weekend. My friend Mariel was a totally gracious hostess and tour guide. I know she hated us by the time we left because we had been there for four days and she took us everywhere. My friend, Leah, and I couldn't believe we were in Italy the entire time. Leah didn't want to leave. And the weather was beautiful, except in the early morning.

At the Colosseum, I met up with some friends of mine from GWU - Marie, Nicole, and some of their friends from their program in Madrid. One of their friends brought their 35 year old Spanish boyfriend who didn't speak any English really. Awkward. We had a really nice dinner with them at a small Italian place that had 5 courses and was run by all these great little Italian people. Afterward, we went to Campo di Fiori, which is pretty much a big street party for everybody our age in Rome. Mariel says they get sick of it sometimes but I totally loved it. So much more laid back than posh Paris.

Earlier that day, we woke up at the crack of dawn and waited in line to go to the Vatican, where there was a special exhibit on the Apocalypse. My favorite part, personally. In the Vatican museum, we wandered through some cool rooms with maps, tapestries, and statues. I got hit on by a not-cute Vatican Museum Employee (Docent?) and beat the crowd for the most part because of our promptness that morning. The Sistine Chapel was not exactly what I pictured. I saw it as sort of...a chapel...away from the museum. In fact, it is connected to the museum and you get to it by a white, modern walkway. It is packed with people and they play a very loud announcement every 15 minutes in 7 different languages telling everybody to be quiet, which I found irritating.

Afterward, St. Peter's Basilica, which is, without a doubt, the most beautiful church I have ever seen. I can't really explain how gorgeous it was, and my pictures do not do justice. Big and crowded, yes, but amazing. It is also the home of the Pieta, Michaelangelo's statue that I've wanted to see forever, but it's far back behind some glass now because some idiot tried to attack it with a hammer.

We also mailed postcards from the Vatican post office, which is much faster than the Italian post and all mail is blessed by a priest.

So, onto Barcelona. You already heard a little about it. It was definitely the opposite effect of my touristy experience in Italy. I told Madison I didn't feel like wearing myself out and he didn't want to be my tour guide, so we just relaxed and had fun. Of the touristy stuff, we went to Montjuic and saw the old Olympic grounds - an empty, unused waste of a beautiful space - and the Sagrada Familia, which was BEAUTIFUL and so different from anything else I've seen before. Also went shopping and had a really nice dinner with Aaron at a place called Quinze Nits or something - which is run by student chefs, so all the food is terrific and really really inexpensive. The last day, I got a bad case of the "Barcas", which means a fever and bad cold, and I was pretty sick for about 3 days afterward.

And, the most important part, the Barcelona game! I don't really remember who they were playing but they won, which was cool. It was SO much fun and it all happened very fast. Ronaldinho scored and I bought out the FC Barcelona megastore. Poor Aaron must have carried around a million different things while I decided what to buy Trevor, because he would want everything. At one point, I think Aaron had a dog leash and some sort of bobble head. I did not buy either, I promise. On another note, there was a very large group of obnoxious friends above our seats and I told Aaron, "I swear they're American." He said the odds were kind of bad because there were so many of them, but none of them had on the typical Spanish FC Barca regalia. Plus, they kept trying to start a wave. Finally, they started yelling "Fight! Fight! Fight!" I totally win.

The next week, Madison came for 6 days, which was terrific, but I felt like a terrible friend and tour guide because I had SOOO much work to do and he ended up spending a lot of times with my friends here in Paris, who he got along with so well. I can't stop hearing about how in love with him they all are. Typical. His trip was pretty similar to mine in Barcelona, in that it was a pretty fair mix of tourist and fun.

My friend Aaron came to stay the weekend before Italy, and I wish he could have stayed longer. We crammed in a lot of tourist and he didn't get to meet a lot of my friends. (Hear that, Aaron, you need to come back!)

So, this is only a small sample of my life the last couple of weeks. The inbetweens are not interesting, because they are full of papers and studying - and believe me, you don't even want to know. I am flying home to the States tomorrow, YAAAAAAAAAAY, so tonight is all about packing and cleaning. It's already very late, but I'm not worried about it because I figure it'll be better to be dead tired tomorrow so I'll sleep on the plane. There is an AirFrance strike tomorrow, which will be interesting. Thank God I'm not flying AirFrance. My friend Kate is on my plane to Dulles, tomorrow, which will be awesome. Someone to pass the time with.

On a last note, I met up with Emily Moreland and her fiancé, Jeremy, last night. They have been here since Monday and it sounds like they had a great time. It was so great to see her and I like her fiancé very much. They both could not have been sweeter or more fun.

So, this post closes my first semester in Paris (and I'm not even half way through my year here). I said goodbye to all of my friends last night and today. I will miss them but I'm soo ready to go home. There is a whole new batch of APAers arriving when I get back to Paris - minus 5 of us who plan on sticking it out together. Believe me, there will be plenty more amazing stories to come. 21 new kids with no idea where they're going and no real language practice yet? Time to impart my wisdom. Expect sarcasm and a little criticism.

Ola from Espagne!

I just can't believe how much time has passed since I last wrote. I know it's only been a week or two, but man, what a crazy crazy couple of weeks it has been.

I think I can justify my absence pretty well with all the stuff going on at home and my suddenly very stressful approaching deadlines for very long French dissertations on books I haven't read. Anyway, I promise you have I haven't been deliberately slacking. I think of writing everyday, but that means taking up time I could be writing my eight-page dissertation on Flaubert, the most boring, verbose author in the French language.

Anyway, I have made a list of all the things I'd like to write, so expect a very long entry probably before the end of the week, now I've found some time to finally breathe.

But...it can't happen today because I'm in BARCELONA with Madison! It's a very different trip from Italy last weekend, though, because but I told Maddy I didn't want to be Miss Tourist America all weekend and he told me he didn't want to be my tour guide. It's perfect, even though I was exhausted from sight-seeing in Rome and that was perfect, too.

So, yesterday, I arrived at the airport and waited at the arrivals gate for an hour, without his cell phone number, when I finally decided to look for him at the other arrivals terminal. There he was, having forgotten my flight information. We could have stood there all day had I not used my smarts to actually look for him. We had lunch at a Chinese take-out place that he loves called Walk to Wok, which was delicious. I have so been jonesing for Chinese, cheap mexican, and groucho's for the past couple of weeks. Then, we got ready for an end-of-the-year mixer and presentation of his architecture program's final projects, which was really interesting. I am always shocked by the fact that he actually creates things in his major, while I....um....talk? in French? and write? I am also always shocked by his talent, but not in a bad way.

Afterward, his professor took all of us out for dinner (surprise!) at a great Italian restaurant, where I had people translate to menu for me because it was in Italian and Catalon. Afterward, we made our back to his studio and hung out, then home to bed. We slept in and today we are going shoe shopping and to wander around a cool neighborhood. Later, we are meeting Aaron, my friend from school, for dinner and probably going out to a place called the Fairy Bar, which Madison said looks like Disney decorated it to look like A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Ultimately, it is looking like I am being a very very bad tourist, but it is definitely what I need after the weeks of work and stress that are finally coming (sort of) to an end. It has been amazing timing that I am finally seeing most of my old friends when I really need them. Aaron was in Paris the weekend before last, and he couldn't have been any more understanding of my weepy butt while we lingered in tons of museums. Last weekend, in Rome, was an active, busy, and very welcome distraction with my friends Mariel (from home) and Leah (from APA). There, we met up with my friends Marie and Nicole from GWU. And this weekend, a really fun and more relaxing - read: therapeutic, maybe - weekend with Madison and Aaron (again).

I have tons more stories to tell you - but later. On Sunday, I am going to a Barcelona soccer game with Aaron, where I'm pretty sure I'll be spending lots of Christmas present money.

Love you guys and see you soon!

Everybody Hates the Man…or My Weekend in the North

There couldn’t have been a better weekend for us to get out of Paris. The overwhelming theme of the past week for me has been The Strike That Never Ends.

I spent Thursday night with a friend in Paris, and we all had our traditional strike-weekend, grown-up, poor people dinner comprised of scraps for Natalie’s host mom’s kitchen and our meager purchases from the Monoprix.

Friday we spent mainly in pajamas watching movies until my usual, and much-anticipated, weekly babysitting/English lessons at Louis and Paul’s. This week was especially fun because I brought my speakers so they could listen to American music and made them a batch of sweet tea. They had a hard time grasping the concept of cold, sweetened tea, and they hated it! Louis said it was too strange and Paul, the 7 year old, said tea was only for big people. The dad didn’t even try it.

I also played some Dixie Chicks for Louis because I have been trying to explain a Southern accent to him without having to mimic one myself. He listened to it for a minute and said he thought it was really funny, but did I have anything without an accent he could listen to?

Friday night my friend Natalie and I decided to head back to Arcueil because I live, for once, a very short distance from our meeting point for the bus to Northern France on Saturday morning. We made the trek to catch the bus out to my little suburb at Place d’Italie, and realized there was a good chance there wasn’t one coming. We wandered between bus stops, and got ready to order a cab, when the last bus of the night pulled up. We were pretty much the only people on it but it was a major stroke of luck!

8:15 on Saturday morning we left for the bus, which finally rolled away at 8:50. Only about 16 of the 23 or so people in the program went on the trip. First stop was St. Malo, a beach town in Bretagne where I have been before. The weather was cold, but beautiful, and I had not forgotten how stunning it is. It was the home of Chateaubriand, the resting place of Jacques Cartier, and was famous for pirates and corsairs. (I think the word in English is privateer. See: the French Sir Walter Raleigh.) We also found numerous references, in the form of dog statues and street names, of the old St. Malo tradition of releasing starving, man-eating dogs every night at midnight outside the city walls to protect the city and guard its curfew. The local church still rings a special bell at midnight to respect the tradition of the old midnight curfew.

St. Malo is surrounded by a high wall and a beautiful, boat-packed harbor on almost all sides. A more modern city has grown out around it, but hardly close enough to destroy the view. During WWII the city was occupied by Nazis and much of it was destroyed by American bombing. It has been rebuilt to resemble an 18th century style, but with much wider streets making it easier for tourists and boutiques. It has a rich maritime history, and some of the shops really use that pastime in a charming way. There was one or two that made me feel like I was in Myrtle Beach, though – so, a little less charming. While we were there, there were some old men singing French sailor tunes in the square. I also discovered its famous caramel that changed my life. Yes, I am bringing some back to America with me.

After our free roaming time, aka our “Eat all the candy you can stomach and buy some for your parents” time, we made our way to Maison St. Francois, for our room and board. The second we walked into the beautiful granite structure I said it felt just like our old church retreats – like Kanuga or the Gravatte Retreat. Everyone laughed at me and said that was ridiculous. Then, when we got to our room, what do you think we found over our doors? A crucifix! There was a statue of the Virgin Mary in the common room, and the whole place was run by nuns. I win.

The food was terrific, the rooms comfortable, and the nuns surprisingly easy-going.

Sunday morning we got back in the bus at Oh God Early and headed to Mont-St-Michel, another beautiful location I have previously visited, on the coast of Normandy. Mont-St-Michel is only about an hour and a half or so away from St. Malo, and is equally as beautiful. Built on a mountain in the middle of a flat beach along La Manche (the English Channel), Mont-St-Michel is an existing medieval town that has been renovated, but the heart of it has not drastically changed since it was built in the 11th century.

The abbey situated at the top of the mountain, once an ultimate and treacherous finale for thousands of Catholic pilgrims, has lost some of its original color, but does not leave any confusion about why it is such an important landmark for the French. The city itself, which develops around the abbey, existed during the Hundred Years War and the saga of Joan of Arc, so she is a major figure there, as well. The entire mountain, which rises out of nothingness almost, is sometimes viewed as a metaphor for heaven. Pilgrims must cross dangerous quick sands of La Manche to get to Mont-St-Michel with a guide (a journey led by St. Peter) to ascend up the abbey (heaven). The tallest point of the whole mountain, at the center, is a statue of St. Michael above the abbey, which I learned was placed there by helicopter kind of recently.

I had been praying for snow, which would have made the whole experience beautiful and surreal, especially since the town was not very busy, but instead we got rain. Really heavy, freezing, constant rain. It is difficult to take away the beauty of Mont-St-Michel, but it was almost miserable. We figured it didn’t help that in was November, in the North of France, in a medieval church. Last time I was there it was July – and still cold. Luckily, I brought an umbrella and big coat so I survived just fine.

We finally warmed up in the greatest restaurant at the base of the town, near the main fortified door, called the Mouton Blanche (the White Sheep). I had amazing salmon pasta and an apple tart thing for dessert.

Finally, the 6 hour bus ride home, extended by the heavy traffic coming back into Paris. My host dad picked up my friend, Leah, who lives nearby, and I, and we headed home. When I got home, I realized my host parents had done some serious work in my guest house. The linens were washed, the bathroom cleaned (again – I had cleaned it myself like 2 days before), extension cords added, heaters fixed, towels and washcloths restocked, and dish sponges aplenty. It was really sweet of them. On a weird note, I went inside for dinner with my host family, and to present them with the truly delicious present of St. Malo candy I bought, and my host mom said she’d put my favorite boots (the ones that Grandma bought me) in the basement. Why? She said she thought they smelt bad and I could keep them in the basement every night from now on if I wanted. She also said she thought my socks smelt funny and I should have her wash them all.

Here’s the deal, folks. I have yet to forget to give her a pair of socks I need washed, because I don’t have many, they don’t take up any room in the thumbnail circumference of their washing machine, and I always have dirty ones – and I still haven’t figured out why she wants me to keep my boots in my basement. But I seriously can’t smell anything in the room and now I’m paranoid. I’m also incredibly thankful that I cleaned up my guest house before the host ‘rents decided to do a clean sweep.

Anyway, it has been an eventful week and it’s only going to get crazier. This strike is NOT helping my insanely busy schedule. I had to leave for class 2 hours early, it took me 2 and a half hours to get home, and I had to skip out on a theater thing tonight because I knew it was too hard to do. It is the first cultural event I have missed and I’m not happy about it. Tomorrow is “Everyone Hates the Man Day” in Paris. Professors, students, the RATP, hospital attendants, and the Post Office are all on strike tomorrow. Why? Who even knows anymore. Why not?

The French (or at least those who oppose Sarkozy - including my host family) say they will support the strike as long as they have to. If they give in, then they will have to give into Sarkozy in the future, and the government needs to know its actions are unacceptable. The government won’t back down, so it’s just a stare down contest until somebody flinches. Official negotiations are scheduled for Wednesday, so I’m praying things will be back to normal by Thursday, because that is the big day of my super duper-important, un-missable carte de séjour visa appointment that makes the difference between me being a legal university student and an illegal alien in this beautiful country I am so lucky to live in.

Although, not everybody is disgusted with Sarkozy. My friend Kate (who has a strange knack for attracting angry French people), was discussing the strike with our friend, Sarah, while walking through Montmartre the other day. Kate, eloquently expressing her personal opinion, said to Sarah, “I am so sick of Sarkozy’s shit!” And a French woman walking ahead of them turned around, pointed her finger at Kate, and said in English, “You’re the only one here that is full of shit!”

So, on that note, that’s the end of this long post. I will try to put up some pics as soon as possible. And the best news, my friend Aaron from GWU is getting here on Friday!! I hope he feels like walking. A lot. Especially to Jeffrey’s, where we’re eating dinner on Saturday night.

Back in the Old Days...

Just a quick update on what has quickly become the bain of my existance: Strike Season.

This week, as I mentioned, there is another strike starting tomorrow night. All traffic on the RER B is suspended, as is the vast majority on the RER A (the other line I use to get to Paris X) and 1 in 10 metro trains are functioning. This is apparently supposed to go on until the 21st.

This means that tonight is my last night in my own bed for awhile, and I have to no steady place to stay for the next week. I assume I'll be hopping around friend's houses.

My friend Natalie and I were talking earlier about the first day of our first strike, when I had a steady place to stay. I remember waking up at Natalie's with a couple of other stranded friends, we all wished each other a Happy Strike Day, make a terrific brunch, and awaited the exciting, class-free weekend. (Pardon the pun.)

I don't know if we were just innocent, dumb Americans or what at that point, but I really wish we could get back to that place. Because it was a lot more fun than imagining my future as a temporary bag lady.

That's all I wanted to say today. At least this week will definitely be an adventure - and this time I'll be prepared with toothpaste and a change of clothes.

RATP (Rentrer Avec Tes Pieds)

Again, I wish I were blogging more in the last couple weeks or so but honestly it hasn't been that exciting. However, the next few weeks until Christmas break are quickly turning into a roller coaster of exciting adventures, so I'll hardly be strapped for material.

So, a little update on my weekend.

My friend Natalie had friends in town for all over the continent, so I got to meet new great people on Thursday and Friday night. Once again, I am at the mercy of the metro system (which closes very early). On Friday night, we hung out on the Pont des Arts, overlooking the Institut de France and the Eiffel Tower. In sort of a less glamorous Cinderella way, I knew it was midnight and I had to go when the Eiffel Tower started to twinkle. That was pretty great, as party-killers go.

Last night, my friend Koa and I decided to have a very French afternoon. It all started because both of our parents have been giving us a hard time about taking our Christmas card photos in front of the Eiffel Tower, so we made it our mission yesterday evening. In the end, we ended up taking some great ones. Afterward we had a relatively expensive dinner on the Champs-Elysees and then decided we would see a movie. After purchasing tickets, we realized that the zany French sex comedy we chose would be in French, without subtitles.

After buying really reasonably priced movie snacks at concession (who knew?) we got settled, expecting to be a little lost during the film. In the end, we had not only understood the movie, but we got the jokes, the slang, and recognized one of the actors in it from another French film! Actually, the true story is that we stood up and I said, "Hey, we understood the whole movie without subtitles!", we high-fived, and the Parisians behind us laughed at us.

On another interesting cultural note, the whole movie was about infidelity. Two couples know each other, and everybody knows that the husband of one couple is sleeping with the wife of the other. The rejected spouses get together to win back their loved-ones, and end up falling in love. In fact, not once was there a scene along the lines of "I can't believe he/she would ever do that to me! How awful! I'm leaving!" Not one time! It was immediately, "The love has gone out of our relationship. What can I do to win them back." Infidelity was totally portrayed as just something that happens when someone is bored in a marriage that you have to deal with. I don't think that would have flown in American films. (or would it?)

Along that line, my friend Koa is an aspiring writer. Her French friend, Cedric (or Castle Boy), recently asked to read some of her work, so she sent him a piece she wrote about an older man and his much younger girlfriend walking together through the street. Much of the piece is his thoughts about his fears of being seen with her by his colleagues, and the effect on his reputation. When Cedric read the peice, he emailed Koa and said that he liked it, but he just didn't understand what the big deal was. Why was this a bad thing for the old man to be seen with his young girlfriend? Anyway, I'm still laughing about it.

Oh! AND -- the big news. There is another RATP strike! Yes, the 14th until the 21st. This means that I will be an outcast for a week. A poor, homeless wanderer, bouncing from friend's home to friend's home. I have already started planning my Greve Emergency Kit Bag and I think I'm going to stock up on unrefridgerated food. (The loose translation of Rentrer Avec Tes Pieds -- You're Walking Home.)

AND, the University students are on strike this week. I actually don't know what they want, but all the students at Paris IV and, I believe, Paris I just aren't going to class. Something makes me think that my Portrait class is still on, though.

Before I go, a quick breakdown of my exciting European life until Christmas (by weekend):
Weekend 1 (this upcoming): St.Malo and Mont-St-Michel
2: Aaron (good friend from GWU) is in Paris! Also, dinner with Jeffrey on Saturday.
3: Roma!
4: Barcelona!
5: Madison (no introduction necessary) in Paris all week!
6: Free weekend to study for finals. Goody.
7: Home for Christmas!

Oh jeez, the Mama Drama is starting again downstairs. Gotta go!

Sleepless in Paris

I know, I know. It is Tuesday, which means I haven't written in almost a week. I promise this is not a let down or a deep slide into blogging obscurity. You guys just don't know my struggle.

I'm probably being dramatic. But, still. After the Halloween party on Wednesday night I knew I didn't have anymore time to play around and got to work on the four papers, project, massive miscellaneous homework, and Flaubert novel that I am supposed to have completed this week. Normally, it would be all my fault that I didn't use the three weeks in between receiving the assignment and doing it, but this time it is different. Every one of these papers and projects (save one...ok, two) were assigned only a week ago. Starting with the 7 page theatre paper, single spaced, in French.

Anyway, there has been many an occasion this week that I have pulled up the blog and begun to write, and then realized that I am only using it as a means of procrastination. Then I have a verbal war with myself, and get back to work.

Plus, the only interesting update pertaining to this week is probably that my room is a natural disaster area, I have very prominent black circles under my eyes, and my hair is a catastrophe. Tonight, I have a large packet to read on religion, a 4 page paper, and a project on the layout of the Courbet exhibit at the Grand Palais. Ironically, after Thursday, the dust magically clears and I return to some form of normal human existance.

Last night we went to the Salle Pleyel again, which is always such a really wonderful experience. It is modern, but the classical music peices are beautiful. We sat behind the stage again, which I love because I can watch the conductor the whole time. This particular concert, though, was played by the Los Angelos Symphony Orchestra, so almost every one of the musicians was American and probably over half the audience. Every voice I heard was American. Ironically, two of the girls in our program are from LA and the conductor is my friend Caitlyn's neighbor in Laguna. She was so excited, and kind of exasperated, that she really had never talked to him but sees him all the time, and here they both were in Paris.

A quick story about before the concert. I can't remember if I've really talked about it on the blog, but my host sister and host mom tend to fight a lot. It is an awkward situation because I never quite know what to do. It usually happens at dinner, and is usually contained to just Francoise (mom) and Camille (sister). The worst is when the dad gets involved, which is when Quentin (brother) and I just stare into our plates.

Well, last night, I ran home and had half an hour to change and eat dinner. So I'm raiding the kitchen when my host mother bursts in and tells me that there are extra tickets, and they are going to! So, she starts an impromptu dinner, calls the family, and all is well. I alert them that I am going to change, then I'll return and we can leave together. I'm gone 10 minutes. When I come back to the house, Quentin and Francois (dad) are sitting at the dinner table, quiet and awkward. Suddenly, I hear mass hysteria happening upstairs. Crying, yelling, screaming, stomping, some choice profanity that I understand clearly - a particularly bad mother-daughter face-off.

Francois told me to go ahead to the concert, which I did, and had a lovely time. My host family actually sat behind us in the concert hall and all seemed well. Afterward, I ran into my host mom and dad coming back from the metro. When I asked where Camille was, they said that she had left for a friend's house and how incredibly upset they were with her. That's the last I know. It's difficult because I feel like this problem with them also keeps me from bonding with Camille. She always has negative things to say about her mom, and I don't have any place getting in the middle of that.

Anyway, time for class! I miss you guys! Next weekend, I'll be in St. Malo and Mt-St-Michel, so lots of great blog updates to come after my boring couple of weeks!

Why I Will Never Finish "Les Fleurs Bleues"

A little update on the last couple of lovely days:

I have officially switched out of my old Lit class, a close study of Queneau's "Les Fleurs Bleues", and into a new, probably more boring one, Flaubert, "Spleen et l'Ideal". The Queneau professor is the one that is so obsessed with Joyce, but that is not why I switched out of his class. In fact, I was the only one left in the Thursday class and he talks way too fast. I actually think I had homework for this week but who knows what it was. The rest of my APA buddies are in the Tuesday class, with a different professor, who also leads our smaller discussion section - which is fine, except that her class is totally different from mine and she can't help me at all. So, all is better now - so far. I'm just relieved that I decided to be assertive and make the decision to switch before it was too late.

Last night, we went to Le Malade Imaginaire at the Comedie Francaise, Moliere's famous theatre. The Comedie Francaise is also the same theatre where he collapsed for the first time in the middle of the same play, and was taken home, where he died. It was so lovely and funny. The costumes were beautiful, the acting was great. Even the theatre professor liked it. We heard to emit two snickers and a giggle.

Tonight is the infamous Halloween party that my friends and I have been planning for about five minutes. I am so excited, but my Simone de Beauvoir costume has hit an obstacle. Simone, if you consult Google pics, has a particularly strange way of wearing her head across the top of her head. I don't even know if I have enough hair to make this possible, or if I want to do it at all. But if I wear my hair down, which is more attractive, is it still a costume? And I've decided to go without heels, because they are less comfortable than flats and I don't know how she'd feel about their feminist statement. These life decisions are hard to make.

I also went in search of Halloween decorations today with absolutely no success whatsoever. Halloween just doesn't happen here. I am almost shocked it is not being shoved in my face at every CVS and Walgreens - and honestly, I kinda miss it. So, instead I'm going with cheapo paper chains and even cheaper candy. But who's complaining?

On a darker note, I have four papers and a project due next week. Yay for a 4 day vacation!

Parties and Papers

I am shamelessly using this blog as a means of avoiding my Theatre paper/oral exposé, but I don't care. I am sure this is all information you are dying to hear.

Just to catch you up on my life since the last post -

Last night some friends and I went to the greatest fondue restaurant ever. It was a little place in Montmartre, packed with people and full of busy, bossy French waiters that yelled at you if you took too long putting your coat on the hanger. We started with a plate of meat, cheese, and olives, then two large fondue pots of hot oil and cheese for our steak, potatoes, and bread. Afterward, a choice of chocolate cake that got all over my teeth, a citrus freeze thing, or vanilla ice cream - all delicious. And the strangest/best part, all of the drinks were served in baby bottles. Isn't that weird? We all decided we were having strange, Freudian crises, drinking wine from a baby bottle.

Afterward, some of us got our first tour of our friend Sarah's place, just down the street from the Moulin Rouge. I can honestly tell you that I had NO idea what was awaiting us at her little house. Sarah's host mom is an infamously wealthy, single, and amusingly Type A personality. She is out of town this week for the hunt (yes, with dogs and horses), at a country estate - and she has two children - Mafelda, a 15 year old party girl with a 1:30 curfew and a chain smoking habit, and an uncorrupted, pleasant little boy. Stepping off the grimy, busy Pigalle street and into Sarah's little haven is like entering a secret garden. You can't even hear the city from the little sanctuary, where there are two houses. (Houses, in themselves, are almost impossible to find in Paris. No one can afford - and there is no space for - anything but an apartment.) Sarah lives in a beautiful, art-filled, sky-lit, expensively antiqued house on the right, and - once upon a time - Degas, the painter, inhabited the house of the left.

Thus, we have choson Sarah's very expensive, historical little abode as the perfect spot for our Halloween party this Wednesday. My friend Koa and I decided about two weeks ago that a Halloween party was absolutely necessary, even if they don't really celebrate it here. Everyone must come dressed as someone who died in Paris. I'll be there as Simone de Beauvoir. I think among the other party-goers we are expecting an Edith Piaf, an Isadora Duncan and a Princess Diana. Of course, I really want to go as Josephine Bonaparte but the costume is too hard to put together. I'm still on the hunt for Goodwill: Paris.

Today I met some friends from DC (and South Carolina, both) visiting from Rome for lunch. We found a terrific place near the Tour Eiffel, which I made sure I wrote down so I could revisit it.

Thursday is a holiday, praise the Lord, so I don't have to read another 40,000 pages of Raymond Queneau - and our Halloween party won't have to be postponed.

I'm out of news, so I suppose that marks the end of my procrastination and the beginning of what I really hope won't turn out to be an all-nighter.

More soon! Love you!

Another Quick Note

I haven't written in a couple of days, mainly because nothing especially exciting has been going on and I've been majorly slammed with work. It's been a very strange, tiring, busy couple of days.

My literature class on Thursday, in particular, was quite the experience. My professor is very intelligent, very distinguished - but he is strict, expects excellence, and speaks in rapid French. He is also somewhat enraptured with James Joyce, who he talks about slowly and spells because he assumes his French students do not know who Joyce is. However, he seems to think that every student is the English speaking world has read Joyce.

Well, thank God I have, because on Thursday he started talking about Joyce's work Ulysses - complete with spelling, exaggeration, and excited hand gestures - when he stops and says, "Where are my American students?" I, alone, raise my hand and the whole class of 50 French kids turn around and stare at me. Then the professor asks, "Which character's interior monologue makes up the last chapter of Ulysses?" I never once thought I would again need to know that it is, in fact, Molly Bloom, who's stream of consciousness comprises the last chapter of the longest book in the English language. I feel like I should send my Irish Lit professor at GWU a thank-you note.

Another story - I babysat for Louis and Paul again yesterday afternoon. I love that job. The boys could not be any sweeter or more fun. Things are a little bit different with the little boy, Paul, because he is 7 and doesn't speak any English, unlike Louis. So, for a happy medium, we played Europe Monopoly. Ironically, the money is in euros and everthing is more expensive than the American game. I made the joke during the game that it was just like my real life - I'm broke and everything is more expensive in Europe. Louis laughed (although I think at me, not with me).

We also watched the Simpsons in both French and English. It is difficult explaining to a 7 and a 12 year old some of the cruder jokes, though. For instance, there is a scene with Ralph and the teacher when the teacher asks for volunteers for an oral report. Ralph says, "Which one is oral?" and the teacher says, "The one in the your mouth, Ralph!" How do you explain that?

I also noticed that when I tried to explain something to Paul in French, Louis would often translate my French into better, correct French for the benefit of his little brother.

Tonight, I have a friend in town from DC, and I am meeting friends for dinner in the Pigalle district, so hopefully I'll get out of the homework abyss for a little while. But anyway, I guess that's all until next time!

Are They Singing Eric Clapton?

Last night, we had an outing at the Theatre de la Ville to see a contemporary dance peice called VSPRS, choreographed by a famous French dude.

I have never been a big follower of contemporary dance. I love dance that has some of movement of beat, yes, but I have a problem with having to sit through 2 hours of watching a girl in red stand in the middle of the stand and recite words at random - as is the case during the Dance Department's semi-annual student-led production at GWU.

This one wasn't really that different. Somehow I feel that in contemporary dance's desperate struggle to be thoroughly original it all sort of blends together. But that is solely my opinion, and a meager one at that. And I say this, but we were sitting in a huge, sold-out auditorium and the audience loved it.

A quick run down of the production:
- A woman with a tremendous unibrow shakes around the stage reciting the names of Superheros in a thick French accent.
- A cute guy dances around in his underwear.
- There is some more shaking.
- A Scottish girl that looks just like Kit from A League of Their Own (not Geena Davis, the other one) gets stuck in her own MC Hammer pants.
- There is a Flute dance with some Asian dudes.
- Freestyle with major symphony action in the background and an opera singer (who was there throughout) and lots of shaking.
- The entire ensemble pauses and breaks out into an acapello rendition of Eric Clapton's "If I Saw You in Heaven".
- The whole ensemble take off their clothes and shake very suggestively on the floor.
- The End.

My friend Will was half an hour late because he somehow got into the production of African Drum Music across the street and stayed because he liked it so much. I kind of wish I'd picked the wrong theatre, too.

We also have yet - and this I mean in total and complete honesty - to see a production where the performers don't take their clothes off and there aren't men walking around the stage for a long period of time in their underwear. I went and checked last night. Aside from the symphony concerts we have been to, every single dramatic or dance production has included some sort of half-naked men and women. I am positive it is a France thing. I would blame the program's choice of productions, but we went to see Moliere... Who would have seen that coming?

Not much else going on. My friend Mariel arrives in Paris from Rome tomorrow, so that's exciting. I suddenly have about 5 papers due at one time, so we'll see if I can even come up for air long enough to hang out with her.

More later! Love you!

Ennui and Laundry

I'm having another one of those Lost in Translation days.

I got a call Friday afternoon from Aya, at the program office, asking me to come in as quickly as possible because there is urgent business to take care of with my visa. The strike slowed everything down last week, so I didn't make it until this afternoon, where I was handed a peice of paper and told to take it to the post office.

Well, to the post office I went, where I waited a good 20 minutes before a sharp-faced woman with eyebrows painted on much too high for her face apparently blames me for her crappy job. The conversation went like this:

Me: Bonjour! I have this sheet of paper and here is a copy of my passport. I believe I am supposed to receive a certain document from you.
Eyebrow Lady: (stares at Me) What is this?
Me: A copy of my passport.
Eyebrow Lady: I can't help you.
Me: Umm...why is that?
Eyebrow Lady: You don't have your original passport with you?
Me: No, ma'am, but I was told this would work just fine.
Eyebrow Lady: If you don't have the original then I can't help you.
Me: Ok, then I guess I will come back.
Eyebrow Lady: You need to come back when you're better prepared. Please step aside. Next!

That is pretty much verbatim (in translation). She was quite the ray of sunshine.

Afterward, I made my way to a generally uneventful theatre class, and home.

In the foyer at the main house I found a little envelope waiting for me from the Imagine R people. I have been waiting on them to send me my official metro pass - which is supposed to cost soo much less than the one I am currently using - for three weeks. Instead, they say I am missing a document which I unmistakably, clearly, without a single doubt included in the original envelope. Now, I will have to wait another three weeks and I am not even sure if it is worth it anymore. I am so utterly frustrated by today.

It doesn't seem like anything big, I know, and it's not, but it all represents a brand new roll of long French red tape that I am going to have to deal with over the next couple of weeks - between extending my visa and dealing with these metro people.

As for the strike -- the good news: all is back to normal tomorrow. the bad news: they are planning on striking again in late november. more bad news for me: late nov is my prime vacation time, and i am praying all the traffic out to airport wont stop. But I guess I'll worry about that when that day comes.

For now, I'm planning on finishing my numerous laundry and, hopefully, I'll wake up tomorrow and actually be able to understand anything anybody is saying to me.

Mr. Sarkozy, Have Pity on the Working Man

After what has been both a trying and especially fun and exciting weekend, the RER B line is finally running one out of every five trains, and I was able to get back to Arcueil tonight.

The strike has been a result of disagreements with the French government over the retirement package for RATP workers, according to my host mom. It seems that negotiations must not be going as well as planned since we were supposed to have been done with this last Thursday, and it will continue at least until Tuesday. Apparently, the last strike that even paralleled this one was in 1985, and that lasted almost a month.

Yesterday, while I was stranded in Paris once again, my Canadian friend Annie had a big dinner party at her apartment in the 5th. It was really sweet of her and we had a great Indian meal and ice cream. Afterward, most of our party went to go "jam" by the Seine with trumpets and guitars, but I had other plans.

My friend Koa, who I was planning on staying with in Paris, has a friend/romantic interest named Cedric, who happened to be in town and wanted to hang out. You should know that Cedric is movie star cute, intelligent, polite, and lives in a castle in Bordeaux (and a little bit racist, but that's another story). We made our way out to the other end of Paris and took a totally different train, the Transilien, by some miracle with the strike going on. We met his friends and hung out at their place, discussing politics and Michael Jackson's Thriller, until we left for a club next door to the Moulin Rouge in the Pigalle district.

In the end, this discoteque was the strangest club I have ever been to. The music was weird, the people were very weird - there were a lot of Asians dancing around like demented souls - and it cost us 4 euros to check our bags and coats (which was mandatory to go in). We had some free passes, but apparently the usual cover fee is 20 euros! The least I can say is that I've been there twice - first time, last time.

Then, the strangest and, to be quite honest, most fun we had could have only ever happened because we were able to drive around in a car. Cedric, who is rarely in Paris, and his friend suggested we take a drive through the Bois de Boulogne. If you have seen the movie, Sabrina, with Audrey Hepburn, you might remember her speech about, on your first day in Paris, you should get some good, hard rain and drive down the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi, because that is when Paris smells its sweetest.

Poor Audrey. What would she think is she could see what the Bois has turned into? Now, the main avenue of the Bois is lined up and down with prostitutes of all shapes, kinds, and genders. Only, and I stress ONLY, because we had a car, we decided it would be fun to drive down the Bois and gawk at the pursuers of Paris's oldest profession. I can only say that, as someone who can never really tell in the States if that woman on the corner is a prostitute or just poorly dressed, there was no confusion this time. Countless women and men in drag, all standing quietly on the sidewalk in this really lovely park, wearing nothing but bras and hoochie shorts in thirty degree weather.

And the men on the street! There was no type or social class excepted. Men in nice cars, drug addicts, businessmen, hobos - and so many! All up and down the street. It is illegal in Paris to engage in prostitution or to...umm...make whoopie...in a public place, so there were an unusual number of trucks, vans, and campers parked along the road. And really not many police at all. Our French friends said they just turn the other way when it comes to the Bois, which is why so many prostitutes continue to strut their stuff on its once snooty soil.

Needless to say, it was a very quick excursion and my friend drove fast - or at least faster than those who had real intentions for being there besides our own young, early morning sense of humour and curiosity.

Well, that's all for my crazy and, I guess you could say, very Parisian weekend. It was definitely a blast in spite of the complete moritorium of public transportation.

A Little Less Action, Please

It is Day Two of the Great Transportation Strike and I am sooo over it.

The first twelve hours of being stranded away from home were quite exciting, but now I am out of clean clothes, my cell phone has died and I forgot the charger, I am having to pay for all of my lunches and dinners, and I'm looking more and more homeless. The traffic is terrible everywhere you go because people are driving more, and with every driver in this city's general disinterest in pedestrian existance, I have taken my life into my own hands everytime I step outside. Plus, everyone is in a crappy mood (including myself). Crappy moods here are relative for me, though. I always realize that I'm in the crappy mood in Paris, and I'm all better. (I can't say the same for the waiters and salespeople.)

Still, I just want to go home now. I called my host mom to see if they could pick me up for just a few hours and drive me back to the city so I could babysit, but she didn't understand me and then it didn't work out.

On the bright side, it has been so much fun and so easy being in Paris, not having to fight with the RER to get home before it closes at night. My friend Caitlyn is staying at Natalie's, too, and yesterday we made the greatest breakfast. Later, we went shopping and made a terrific taco dinner with some other friends at the apartment. We're very grown up.

I can't believe these strikes have lasted weeks and months in the past. I don't think that will be the case at all anymore, though, because Sarkozy passed a law forbidding strikers to be paid while they aren't at work.

Yesterday, I met the Gravatte family - my new babysitting job. I am babysitting/teaching English to two little boys, Louis and Paul. Louis is 11 and Paul is 7. There could not be any nicer, cuter little French boys in the city. I am so thrilled about this position. They need me on a steady basis every Friday for 3 hours, 10 euros an hour. The extra money coming in such a huge help and relief. I have a meeting later this afternoon with another woman who wants me to babysit every other Friday just before the Gravattes. I am a little concerned about the times, but we'll see how it works out.

Alright, I guess that's it for me. Tonight, my friend Ray is throwing a "masked ball". I have a strong feeling that's ultimately code for "Make a mask out of paper, put it down on the table, and throw it away after the party".

It feels as if I'll never get home, but maybe I'll get lucky and next time I write it will be from the comfort of my own host family's computer.

Strike!

Finally, the big day of my very first, city-stopping, school-canceling French strike is almost here!

The RER B, my own means of transportation, is completely unoperational, as is all but 4 automatically operated metro lines and 85 percent of all bus traffic. I am missing my morning class at Paris X because it is on the other side of Paris and impossible to get to unless I want to pay 50 euros for a cab. So, my friend Natalie and I have decided to make it a girls night at her apartment in the 5th arrondissement, which features an unbelievable view of both the Notre Dame and the Pantheon, and is within easy walking distance of most anything important in Paris. Popcorn, movie fest, and sleeping in on a school day!

Also, I am on my way shortly to see a 3 and a half hour long production of Tartuffe at the Theatre de l'Odeon. I'm thrilled because I've never seen a Moliere production first-hand, I've only read about 5 of his plays and been in one of them. Plus, Cutey McTheatreProfessor is coming to see the show with us!

All in all, a very exciting evening and weekend await.

Furthermore, on the babysitting front, it looks like I've booked 5 solid hours (between two different families) on Friday and the occassional 2 hour gig on Saturday morning. This means at least 50 extra euros a week (70 when I work on Saturday).

Finally, I officially bought tickets to Rome, so I will be in Italy with friends on Nov 29 until Dec 2. I get back to Paris on that Monday, and by Friday I am leaving again for Barcelona.

It's going to be a crazy couple of months headed my way. You guys should see my planner. It's quite the train wreck (of European fun).

Superbad in Paris

Am writing again from the APA offices - my second home. Madame Suraqui has left Paris to visit American universities and preach the program. She will be at GWU I think in the next day or two so if anybody at Gdubs wants to send me anything without paying their left arm for it, leave it at the Abroad Office and I'll get it next week. If you need ideas - I like letters, movies, and the Running with Scissors soundtrack. Dig deep, Pree and Sonja, dig deep.

I got a call this afternoon for a third family that is interested in my advanced babysitting talents! The mother is Madame Gravatte, and I know nothing about her except that she, too, wants me on Friday afternoons. I told her I was meeting another family this afternoon and would keep her informed. Yay money!

To wrap up this short entry, I heard a good story about Paris nightlife that I have yet to experience for myself. Everybody seems to be running into famous people lately (both in DC and in Paris) except for me. As usual, the celebrities can smell my awkwardness from miles away and run. (Mom, this a good one for Trevor, too.)

So, my friend Mary Beth went out to a bar last night with some of her friends staying in Paris from the States, and they started talking to a bunch of nerdy American boys. Mary Beth said it took her 45 minutes to realize they were actually hanging out with the cast of Superbad - which is super funny because those boys are, in reality, very nerdy and Mary Beth and her friends are tall and fashionable.

Anyway, she said that she kept calling the little guy that plays "McLovin" Harry Potter, which he didn't appreciate, and later she tripped and knocked him over onto the floor. I told her one day he's going to become a serious Oscar-winning actor and she's gonna have a great story.

So that's all for now. Language class this afternoon, meeting the family Christien, and really fun homework!

Oh, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to buy tickets to Rome today! Heads up, Mom.

Quick Note

Not an exciting day, except for the fact that my Theatre professor passed out the assignments for our 7 page, single spaced papers and I have NO IDEA what I'm actually supposed to write about.

But anyway, my host brother left something up for his English homework on the computer. Im not sure what the homework is or what he is trying to say, but here is what it says:

My work will not let me time, I have to wait for the pony body-surfing to do with you, in the big waves to the Pacific.

Hahaha. It's scary to think what my French must sound like sometimes after reading this.

Tomorrow, I am meeting the mother for the new family I am starting to babysit for on Friday afternoons. She has two sons. I have a feeling it's going to be a different experience than my quiet two hours with shy Marie.

Allez le Bleu!

Today I am writing from the very muggy, overcrowded Internet cafe on Rue Soufflot I have gotten to know so well lately. Yesterday I spent about 3 hours on the family computer checking email and buying plane tickets - and now I'm pretty positive they think Americans have some sort of computer obsession (are they wrong?).

I have to write about the terrific and unexpected night I had. Everyday I spend in Paris is new and different from the one before, but there are certain days that are especially exciting and beautiful. That is probably not a surprising observation about my life here, but it does mean something when I forget where I am and it is really the city alone that reminds me to look around.

Yesterday was the semi-final Rubgy World Cup game - France vs. England. Paris had exploded in bleu, blanc, et rouge. All day long it was all anyone could talk about. French people here started drinking at about noon and by 9, when the game started, every single Parisian was worthless. I have to specify that it was quite specifically the Parisians, any and all foreigners either didn't know what was going on or just weren't that excited about - and every Englishman and woman in the city needed to keep their wits about them for their own self-protection.

It was a beautiful night last night, so my friend Sarah and I decided to venture down to the Eiffel Tower for some innocent loitering until we decided where we wanted to watch the Rugby game. In fact, we didn't have to look far because they were airing the Rugby game on the side of the Eiffel Tower on a giant screen and on two more screens on the Champs de Mars (the park just beside the Tower). I got off the Metro and the crowds were huge, and all headed in the same direction. It was like the biggest football crowd I've ever seen in my life - and I'm pretty sure some form of Parisian tailgating had been going on for hours.

People everywhere! French, German, English, American, Arabic, Italian... People were up in trees so they could see the screens better, people were singing, police in riot gear surrounded the crowds, Emergency Services was waiting patiently and we saw two people being carried out on stretchers (victims of too much fun). There was a long row of port-a-potties with girls singing in French sitting on the tops of them, but then - the funniest part - men's urinals out in the open. Situated in a circle with long lines of men waiting to pee in an open-air urinal. It was totally gross and I'm not gonna say my self-control and want of "blending in" kept me from taking a picture.

We finally found a spot with relatively good viewing. The game was SO close and people were going crazy, chanting "Allez le Bleu!" French people around us heard us speaking English and we were asked 2 or 3 times which team we were rooting for. For our own safety, we would emphatically yell, "Les Francais, bien sur!" Some guys behind kept trying to ask us questions about the game, but they spoke too fast and they had very thick Arabic accents - not to mention all the noise. I had to keep asking them to slow down or to repeat themselves. One of them was like, "Are you sure you speak French?" I told him yes, but he spoke too fast, opting to leave out the who accent thing. I guess I have a thich accent here, too.

Also, on the walk to the metro we passed another American on the phone saying, "You guys are somewhere under the Eiffel Tower? I'll be right there." Clearly he had NO idea what he was in for.

When we realized the game was almost over and the score was practically tied, Sarah and I made the decision to bolt out of the Champs de Mars because in about T minus 15 minutes the entire place was going to blow up in joy or drunk sorrow.

In case you didn't watch the game, France lost. I found out because someone on the Metro home decided to create his own, alternative rendition of "We Are the Champions". What happens now in the World Cup? I have no clue at all but there are a whole lot of disappointed and hungover people walking around Paris today.

In other news, I bought tickets for Barcelona yesterday! I'll be there from Dec 7 to the 10th, and Madison is going to fly back to Paris with me and stay here for a week. I can't wait!

Waiting for the Man...Again

Last night after I babysat and had dinner, some friends and I went to a great hookah bar in Montmartre just across the street from the Moulin Rouge - which is saddeningly anti-climactic. We had a really laid-back, very inexpensive evening of apple flavored hookah and Moroccan tea.

We left at about 2 in the morning and hopped on board the Noctilien (the night bus) to sleep over at our friend Simran's house, when, out of nowhere, there was a blitzkrieg of Comprollers and French police.

6 or 7 police officers boarded the bus and demanded everyone's tickets, IDs, and Carte d'Orange. Having learned my lesson the last time, I was thankfully in the clear, but two friends visiting some of my friends here from out of town were charged 40 euros each because they had not put their metro through the little machine on the bus.

The tickets system here is so complicated! And the po po make absolutely no exceptions for any of the 50 million tourists that visit this city everyday. Apparently, if you buy a weekly card, like I do, you just flash the card at the driver and go on your way. For daily tickets, you must purchase a pass for all forms of transportation and swipe it through the machine on the bus.

Anyway, the night ended on a distressing note. Thank God I wasn't charged anything but I sympathized quite strongly with our friends who did.

In other news, I am in the process of buying tickets to go to Barcelona the first weekend in November. Yay!

Beautiful Music and Bank Accounts

Last night the orchestra at the Salle Pleyel could not have been any more beautiful.

We sat behind the stage, which at first disappointed us, but it turned out to be great in the end because we could see the conductor - who looked just like that guy from Star Trek and X-Men. They played two peices, equally great, but my favorite parts were when the music picked up and all of the musicians were playing vigorously. Those were the points that the conductor started to get really excited and would sort of sing along. There was so much energy! It was terrific.

Afterward, we went to a very small place in Montmartre that involved a big hill, a large typical-Montmartre staircase, and my 4 inch heels. I gotta say I didn't last long, and went home early. It was a cute place, though, called Rendez-Vous Avec Mes Amis.

Now, I have to run around town in a vain attempt to juggle two international bank accounts and still make it in time to pick Marie up from school at 4:30. Hence, the short note today.

Love you guys!

Back on Campus

I officially determined this morning that my alarm clock and I do not have a happy friendship ahead of us.

Yesterday, I missed my portrait lecture because it did not go off and I woke up 45 minutes too late. This morning, I determined that only I am my own worst enemy in the wee hours. Having placed the alarm clock on the other side of the room to force myself to get up to stop its obnoxious racket, I managed to scramble out of bed, turn off the alarm, and climb back under the covers.

Today at 10:30 am was my first class on R. Queneau's novel, Les Fleurs Bleues, at the Sorbonne Paris X-Nanterre - on the other far end of Paris. Somehow, I managed to pull it together enough to take a shower and get on the metro in what I thought was due time (an hour) to get to class. It turns out that I was just generally not on my game this morning.

The RER ride is not complicated, but long. Almost shockingly, Paris X is a legitimate college campus with residential buildings and all. I had trouble finding the classroom and arrived late, flushed, unable to operate a simple doorknob, and generally reaking "American" in the very French atmosphere. Then, finding the only available chair in the front row center, I managed to call the girl sitting next to me "monsieur". Then, my professor asked me something about the book that I didn't understand. My first day went well, I think.

Although, the professor did use my copy of the book as a good example of exactly what we should buy if we're buying at a discount. That made me proud.

This class, too, looks like a lot of hard work that I don't really feel like doing (which includes reading Freud in French), but the prof is very enthusiastic and intelligent - and he promised us that everything we read for his class will be change our lives. Sounds good to me.

The campus has a great view of the Arc de la Defense, and my friends and I had a very inexpensive lunch at the school cafe.

After class, I didn't want to waste the rest of the day just by going home, so I had a pretty intense debate with myself about where I should spend the afternoon. The Louvre Museum won over all, and off I went.

The Louvre is one of those things we have been constantly warned that we must do in little peices over a period of a few weeks, so I started with the Italian Renaissance and French paintings of the XIXth century in large format - a good decision. Yes, I saw the Mona Lisa and took pictures. It is a beautiful painting but I think it would be sad to be any other painting in the Salle de la Joconde because no one would really notice you. It is actually a little bigger than I remember (which isnt saying much) but it was really the Caravaggios, the other Da Vincis, and the French paintings that won me over the most.

Tonight is a classical music concert at the Salle Pleyel, which I hear is very modern, and probably going out afterwards. I don't have class tomorrow, but I am babysitting Marie again at 4:30.

I am also determined to buy my tickets for Barcelona this weekend and - big unofficial news - my friend Lady and I are are planning a very quick trip to Stockholm. Nothing is in stone yet but, believe me, I'll let you know when I know more.

Malmaison and La Nuit Blanche

So much to tell about and so little time!

I am writing from an American keypad in the APA offices and having a lot of trouble!

La Nuit Blanche was a great night, even though we really didnt do any Nuit Blanche festivities. I would be disappointed but I heard that it was overcrowded and just not what people expected.

The evening started with a special dinner at my friend Ray's house hosted by his 'mom' in honor of his boyfriend, visiting from Barcelona. We watched the Rubgy match between France and New Zealand - which was an incredible game even though I dont know anything at all about Rugby. France won after being way down in the first half and then kicking up their game in the last minutes. All of Paris exploded. All day on Sunday people waved French flags, and displayed them all along the Champs-Elysees.

Afterward, we went to a birthday party at my friend Tochi's house out in Malakoff - Zone 2. He has an INCREDIBLE house, huge and modern. He didnt tell anybody about it because he wanted to surprise them with the party. His tactic certainly worked. There were a lot of French people there, friends of his host brother, but they sort of kept to themselves.

The next day, Sunday, was a big day for me. The Chateau de Malmaison, Josephine Bonaparte's estate, is free every first Sunday of the month. Being the cheapo that I am, I waited two weeks for my voyage to the far north of Paris. My very sweet friend, Leah, decided to tag along and I warned her to prepare herself for over-enthusiasm and perhaps some soft weeping on my part. I know, I know, I am very cool.

We finally made the trek and I am so completely delighted to say that I am not at all disappointed. The chateau was much larger than I had anticipated. Apparently by saying that she bought it at a time of financial difficulty means she could only afford the half-size castle. Other than that, it is exactly how I thought it would be.

The house reflects her terrific taste, stylish but not overdone. Her bedroom is a red color designed to look like a tent, and the ceiling is painted to look like clouds and sky. Strangely, I think, I was really attracted to her china patterns. They were light blue and purple, some featuring flowers and winter scenes on them. You could actually buy replicas in the bookstore for a lot more money than I have.

The best part were the gardens. Most of the grounds have disappeared thanks to urban development, but the rose garden is still intact and some of her favorite walking paths. They are much less controlled than the royal gardens in Paris and far away from the city, so birds and other animals can actually prosper there. The rose garden was sadly not in bloom, but we finally found autumn in her backyard. It has been missing in Paris, like it does in Washington, because of the busy city.

I went a little crazy in the bookstore and bought two novels and some postcards. I found the first book I ever read about her in French, which was like finding my favorite painting in an obscure museum. I wasn't even expecting to see it and there it was sitting on the bookshelf.

There is a quality to Malmaison that seperates it so much from the other royal residences in Paris. Not only is it the only one that could even remotely be a "home", but it represents the best years of Napoleon's reign as Emperor and his marriage to Josephine. For her, she bought the property after her first divorce, the Revolution, the loss of her first husband to the guillotine, and her own near-death - and she lived there independently with her children. She stayed there long after Napoleon, and he would visit her almost every week after their divorce. Josephine died at the chateau while Napoleon was exiled the first time on Elba. What I didn't know - he received word and, after his escape, he spent 3 days there alone without her.

Anyway, it was an eventful weekend. Today I had the discussion class for art history - the professor talks too fast. Oh and some sad news, the cooking class on Monday morning got cancelled, so I guess I wont be learning how to cook ever.

I also forgot to mention that I've discovered the family cat doesn't speak any English. I have been under the impression that it is just stubborn, but the past few days, instead of saying "Come on!" and "Be quiet!", I've spoken to it in French and it understands.

Shopping On Another Planet

After my job this morning, and my previous posting, I decided to shop/celebrity stalk on the Champs-Elysees, where there have apparently been many a sighting of the rich and famous in the past week. Aside from the ten billion tourists and the occasional model, I had no luck as usual. However, it was hardly an uninteresting experience.

I haven’t been able to really explore the over-crowded shops on the Champs since I got to Paris and there are a few things that have changed since the last time I was there. Still, tourist ridden or not, it is definitely the pinnacle of commercial, fashionable, completely out-of-this-world Paris.

Since I was on the hunt for celebrities, I paid much more attention to the people than I usually do. Aside from the countless tourists, I have discovered that rich women in Paris are different, I think, than any other place in the world. Every one of them looks like she stepped off of a runway and weighs 3 pounds – no matter what age.

One very young woman outside of Fouquet’s, tall and leggy, had a much older, well-dressed man on her arm while she thumped along in her high-heeled boots. Then, there is the illustrious Parisian power couple – beautiful and chic, both in fashionable jackets and large sunglasses. Finally, as I encountered in quite a few stores - my personal favorite - the millionaires’ kids. Young, wealthy, fashionable people my age with stormy attitudes and endless credit limits. I’m not sure how there got to be so many, but in fact I encountered them in Gap, Zara, Sephora, Lacoste, and Longchamp alike. Is there just a huge population of people my age that I just can’t relate to, or are they just centralized to the Champs-Elysees and the George Washington University?

In case you were curious, Gap does not have a sale section on the Champs-Elysees (and neither does Louis Vuitton), the restaurants on the street may as well just rob me blind, and the Disney Store is better on 5th Avenue in NYC.

To me, the Champs is like an interactive Vogue Magazine. However, the chicest store I got to was Louis Vuitton, because encountering the man standing at the door in Gucci waiting to offer me champagne and rub my feet scares me. That being said, I left the masses on the first floor at Vuitton and checked out the clothes upstairs. I fell in love with one little brown dress, then burst out laughing when it was 2800 euros, and casually left the store. Although, if I were a millionaire’s kid, I would have been all over their shoe department.

My Saturday Morning

Today was my first babysitting job! I'm really giving English lessons much more so than babysitting, but I feel so relieved that I found a steady position.

I was late to the family's apartment in the 5th arrondissement because I got turned around the RER. Yes, I have been here for 3 weeks and I am still getting lost everywhere. I finally ascended from the metro in the middle of a large, bustling marketplace full of vegetables, patisseries, meat and fish. There were musicians on the sidewalk and it was really very lovely.

I had to walk only a few steps to reach their apartment, situated over a savings bank in an old building. The mother, Irene, is older than I imagined her but speaks very good English. She is originally Armenian. Marie, my student, is 8 and has a very shy, very silly disposition. I am not positive but I think they are a Jewish family. I will have to tell you for sure later on.

Marie has had American babysitters (from the South, ironically) since she was 2 years old and she understands English very well - although she doesn't speak it quite as fluently. They were surprised that I did not have the same Southern accent that their other babysitters in the past. This made me laugh because I can only imagine what those accents sounded like.

We did one of Marie's homework activities (which was actually in French, but we discussed it in English) and then she showed me her atlas book and we talked all about the United States and other parts of the world. She really likes Russia for some reason. Columbia was actually noted on her illustrated map of the United States, right below a giant cheeseburger. (why?) I explained to her that in New York City, all of the buildings are big and tall just like the Tour Montparnasse.

Afterward, I taught her some American clapping games like Miss Mary Mac and another we used to play in elementary school called E.T. She loved those and she started the learn the words in English. Then, she discovered my iPod and I picked out a couple of appropriate songs she might like. Believe it or not, "I Got You, Babe" was her favorite because she thought Cher had a cool voice. (Oh, and I introduced the concept of the High-5, which I think we'll get a lot of use out of.)

I had tea with Irene before I left and I really think I am going to like her a lot. She is funny and seems really interesting. Apparently, Marie has a knack for painting and drawing, so Irene was thrilled that I am an art history major so I could take Marie to a museum a couple of times and tell her about the artists. She also said that she was impressed by my French because the original email I sent her was perfect. yay!

I am working for them every alternating Saturday morning and Friday afternoon - after picking Marie up from school. She also gave me the name of another friend of hers who is looking for a American student to watch her two sons. Both jobs pay very well - 9 and 10 euros an hour. Apparently, the average in France is about 6 or 7.

Anyway, that's all for now. More later!

Postcards from Paris and Other Things

So here is my first entry of what may or may not be a long and eventful weekend.

First, a little business. I'm trying to jump on the post card bandwagon and send out a few here and there as I can, so keep a look out for them. If you guys can send me your addresses (meagenm@gmail.com - or by response to the blog, whatever), I will try to get on that. I have to say, though, either I didn't realize how popular I am or there are some Americans out there aching for some postcards. I put up a note on Facebook requesting my friends to send me their addresses so I could get cards to them, and I got a response from (almost) everyone I messaged - cough cough Emma and Annie. Counting the family, I've got to send 29 postcards! I don't know if that's going to work, but I don't know who gets the axe on my list, either. To be honest, I'll probably get through the family and then get lazy and cheap.

So, yesterday I didn't have any class so I ran a few errands around the city. Then, last night, we went to see Huis Clos at the Theatre des Abbesses in Montmartre. If you haven't read the play, it is about 3 people who have died and gone to hell, and they must spend the rest of eternity dealing with each other. The theme is "L'enfer, c'est les autres" or Hell is other people. Very Sartre. The play is strictly dialogue, but the blocking during the show was impressive. We had a Q&A with the actors afterwards, as well. Here is what I learned from that: Theatre people are the same in every country. I have no idea how that happens. Even the frat boys and prissy rich girls have their own special French attitudes, but theatre people are all the same.

As for fashion week, I haven't seen ANYone famous, but Paris is teeming with celebrities. My friend Erin saw Matthew Mcconaughey and Kate Hudson on the Champs Elysee and apparently Kanye West has been seen all over town with an entourage of models. I think they know Im coming and run away. Fashion week is such a trip anyway. There are more well-dressed people in town than usual, which is saying a lot for a city where every 12 year old is cuter than me.

Speaking of celebs, Woody Allen is having a Christmas concert with his jazz band (which I didnt know he had) on Christmas Day here. I wish I could go! (yes, mom, even if he did marry his step-daughter)

Now for the best news, I got a babysitting job!! Well, it's really a job teaching English to a little 8 year old named Marie for two hours on Saturday mornings. It's not a lot of time, but it pays 9 euros an hour which is so much better than nothing. They actually live in the same quartier as Jeffrey and I have a hunch very closeby.

Also, the SNCF strike on the 18th has been officially annouced, so I - officially - have to find somewhere to sleep in Paris for a night or two.

Ok, got to go! Dinner!

By the way, THANK YOU SO MUCH Grandma and Herman for mailing the package. It makes me happy knowing it is on the way. I love you guys!

French Electricity and Me

I solved my computer problem! Today, after much belly-aching, I went to the FNAC (French Best Buy) with my host father, Francois.

For those of you who know all about me and electronics (Mom, Aaron), not only am I totally dumb about this stuff but I freak out when something breaks. It is not me at my best.

FNAC was not able to help, but they directed us to a smaller speciality store, where the sales guy had exactly what I needed. I ended up buying a new adapter with a French plug - not outrageous but not cheap. He assured me the French voltage would not be too much for the computer to handle and cleaned the dust out of the computer for me, too. It is working fine so far and I am so relieved! Francois even bought me a milkshake at this place the family always stops at for sweets.

Here's what happened: I was totally under the impression that I needed a converter for the computer to probably work with French electricity. It never even occurred to me just to use the French plug attachment and plug the computer right into the wall. It turns out that that is what everybody else has been doing all along. By using the converter, which is still working (thankfully-no more wasted money), I caused my adapter - the thing on the computer charger - to malfunction.

Anyway, one thing at a time. At least this time I only freaked out for an hour or so. Maybe next time something breaks (knock on major wook for me) I'll cut it down to like 20 minutes.

In other news, today was my very first official French lecture course at a real French university, without APA holding my hand all through class. It is a very different experience. Luckily, I was with 3 of my friends. The class was huge, over 100 kids (nothing I am not used to), but we are pretty sure we are the only Americans. Maybe there are one or two more sitting alone or something. We could barely hear the professor, who sat up on a high pedastal like in the Senate building or something and spoke into the microphone for two hours. No questions, no interaction from the students, no discussion - nothing.

Afterward, we went to a nearby sandwich place that made us all sick and then my "France d'Aujourd'hui" class - France of Today). That class is interesting because its solely debate and there is a really good group of people.

I dont have any more class for the rest of the week - because Paris X hasnt started yet - so tomorrow I'm planning on celebrity stalking for Fashion Week and perhaps some browsing at the Louvre or the Musee d'Orsay.

This weekend is going to be so busy! On top of all my homework, which has come at me like an avalanche (thank God the computer is working), my friend Ray's host mother is having a dinner party for us because Ray's boyfriend is coming into town, there is a birthday party for our friend Tochi thrown by his cute host brother, and - best of all! - La Nuit Blanche on Saturday!

La Nuit Blanche is one night a year when there is free music and dancing in the streets of Paris all night long. The metro is open all night and you can follow a path through the center of Paris and listen to different musical groups as you go.

Tomorrow, we are going to see Sartre's Huis Clos at the Theatre des Abbesses and Friday, there is a tour of the Louvre and the quartier Strasbourg-St. Denis.

Lots of exciting posts to come! I can't wait to tell you guys all about it!

Love you tons and tons!
meagen

Just a quick one...

On rereading my last post, I just thought I should mention that I did not proof it so please excuse the horrible grammar mistakes ("had got" - ouch). Typos seem to be common every once in a while during these posts, but I do write some of them in sort of a hurry - or I did before my computer trama.

I have decided that the computer thing must be a problem with the charger. Equally as unpleasant.

love you guys
meagen

Lost in Translation

So today was a little less glamorous - mainly because I don't ever know what's going on.

I didn't go to the discussion portion of my art history class this morning (since I haven't been to the main lecture yet I didn't think it was necessary), a choice which was, in fact, the wrong one.

Then, I had got really confused about the Imagine R card (the one that lets me ride the metro all year long) and had to sort some things.

On top of which, I'm having trouble with the whole euro/dollar/budgeting thing. I've gotten slammed with homework all of a sudden and now, above all things, my converter has stopped working with my computer, which has run out of juice and died.

The converter seems to work with my other small appliances, so I am scared it is a problem with my battery and I have no idea what to do about the entire situation.

Anyway, I'm hoping this will all work itself out. I really hope I don't have to take the stupid computer anywhere and I can just buy a stronger converter (where?), even though this one has been working since I got here.

I have two classes tomorrow, then I'm going to the bank to sort out some money stuff, APA to talk to them about my converter woes, and then I have to conquer the library so I don't have to keep buying all these books.

At least I'm in Paris!

Love you guys!

French Men Are Just Different

There are so many things I could talk about with a title like that, but here's a good story:

So the other night about 11pm I had some work to do for my class and needed the Internet. The big house was all locked up and lights out, so I crept up to the computer very very quietly and turned on the computer. Next thing I know, I hear a door open and my host dad appears in his pajamas. But by "pajamas" I mean Speedo-like sleep underwear. I was SO embarrassed and clearly there was nothing unusual about it for anybody else.

Flushed, I asked him if it was too late for me to use the computer. He said no, asked me if I needed anything, and explained that he was staying awake so he could be sure that Camille (my host sister) made it home safely.

It was awful and hilarious - and I have made sure to tell everyone I know in the program. It turns out that only a few of us actually have host dads. Most of the host families are single moms, usually divorced.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that now I'm scared to use the computer after about 10 at night - even if the awkward situation is one-sided.

More Reasons I Love Paris...

The weather today was beautiful and I had the window and shutters open all day. I love the view from my little guest house. Every hour a church bell rings somewhere nearby and some of the late flowers in the garden across the street have bloomed – and we are far enough out of the city to hear the birds chirp. I can hear people greet each other on the street under my window. There is a primary school just a couple doors down next to the little cinema and I can hear some of the children, too. So different from busy Paris, only 15 minutes away.

Today was my first official French lecture course - French Theatre - with Professor Barut. I left a couple of hours early, however, to run some errands and provide a little time in case I got lost. My first errand: the bank to retrieve my Carte Bleue (aka French debit card). I now officially hold a French bank account – very exciting. There is so much you can’t do without a Carte Bleue, too. Many vendors won’t take American debit cards; I can now get a Carte Imagine R for unlimited year-long metro access; and I can rent public bicycles!

Afterward, my very first experience at a French Starbucks, where I discovered that my American gift cards are no good and I had to pay just like the rest of the shmucks. I chose a relatively inexpensive ham and cheese sandwich (instead of coffee), but I did notice that the coffees aren’t the monsters they are in the States. Much smaller and stronger – like French coffee – at about the same price as the US.

Then my first class in the fancy St. Germain-des-Pres area, a very chic area of town full of upscale boutiques and expensive restaurants. We started with the Sartre play, which I can honestly say I was totally prepared for. I read it twice in French, once in English, and looked up all the vocabulary I didn’t understand – not that it did me any good. Professor Barut (or SexyMcTheatrePants, as I have thus dubbed him) is so cute I had a hard time concentrating. It also didn’t help that he talked at 50,000 words a minute and there is no room for daydreaming.

Since my freshman year PoliSci discussion with Hot TA Mike, followed by my embarrassing encounter with Dennis Kucinich and Joaquin Phoenix last year, I have established a permanent personal rule that I should never speak to pretty-boy professors or famous people. However, I discovered once again today that I seem to have a lot of difficulty enforcing my own rule. For instance, Professor Hottie asked the class a really obscure question about the play and we all sat around awkwardly for a good 3 minutes. I finally decided to venture a guess, not even sure of what I wanted to say in English, stammered over myself, realized he had no idea what I was talking about, stopped mid-sentence and said, “Ok. Um. Nevermind.” (in English, too, by the way).

I really and truly hope – and this goes for all my French professors and host family – that they realize that in English, I am a funny and intelligent person. It’s just the French that makes me boring and kind of stupid.

In other news, I may have mentioned that my host mom and host sister argue a lot. Well, today I understood my first mom-daughter argument! At the dinner table, over ice cream, they got in a big fight about Camille’s smoking. Francoise (my host mom) stopped fussing, looked at me and said “You don’t understand any of this do you?”. In fact, I told her that I did, which was kind of a mistake, because she asked me a bunch of questions to back up her arguments. One such point was that Nadia, their last American student, was surprised by the number of French students smoking. There are a lot of kids smoking here, but just as many as American students. It is the number of adults here that smoke that shocks me – and the places they are allowed to smoke. Camille’s argument was that at least she hadn’t started smoking when she was 14, like most French kids. She is 17. I am actually laughing at her a little as I write this.

After dinner, my friend Leah and I decided to meet our friends Sarah and Will at a place in the Bastille that Sarah and (our other friend) Koa discovered. When we got there, the walls were completely covered with posters Jesus and the Virgin Mary, crosses, and a Holy Bible on the cash register. Besides the blasphemy, it was inexpensive (read that comment loosely) and had a casual, laid-back atmosphere.

Leah and I (thankfully) made the last train back to Arcueil.

Oh, one more thing! It’s FASHION WEEK in PARIS! Don’t get as excited as I am just yet. I haven’t seen anybody famous, but my friend Tanya did see a whole troupe of models come out of a boutique and load into a van in St. Germain-des-Pres. I’ll keep you posted. Let’s just all hope for the sake of my own personal dignity that if I do run into anybody famous I won’t open my big mouth and talk to them.

Twists, Tricks, and Turns

Yesterday was anything but uneventful.

I decided to get up early and venture into Paris in search of a book I have to read for my theatre class tomorrow, Huis Clos, by Jean-Paul Sartre. I decided to start my search in the St. Michel district, just beside Notre Dame (which was invaded yesterday with tourists).

I had a really hard time with my search at first. There were plenty of big bookstores, but none of them had what I needed. After three unsuccessful attempts, I walked past one tiny store that had tons and tons of books in large crates on the sidewalk for two euros each. In what I thought would be a vain attempt, I picked up the first book I saw, disguised behind layers of other books in front of it. Sure enough, there was the book I needed. It was incredible – and cheaper than I would have paid anywhere else.

The rest of the day did not go so smoothly, however. I decided to spend the afternoon at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery before dinner with Jeffrey. When I finally made it out there (2 metro line changes later), I was starving and out of cash. I went to the ATM and then to a café, where I was ignored and left. Then to a sandwich shop, where I ordered a Jambon Gruyere sandwich (basic ham and cheese). The woman at the counter asked me something in really fast French, to which I said “oui”, for lack of a better word. It turns out that I had agreed to exchange my jambon sandwich for a nasty, over-mayonnaised tuna salad sandwich with egg and tomato. I don’t like any of these things. I ate the top bread and had to throw it away.

The Pere Lachaise was definitely an interesting experience. It is incredibly beautiful and much more romantic than the catacombs, but still it’s hard not to be too aware of the ever-lingering presence of hundreds of important dead people.

The entire cemetery is a complicated maze, and finding obscure tombstones is like a treasure hunt at Halloween. I only made it to half of the tombs I wanted to see, and (the best part) there was a really funny camaraderie between all the lost tourists. Ever person in the place was lost. One woman asked me for directions in French to Jim Morrison’s grave and I responded (in French). After talking to her for a minute or two I realized her accent was different and I asked her if she spoke English. She said, “Yeah! We’re from California!”

I had a pretty hard time because I was interested in a lot of random graves. I searched for David Barras for like 20 minutes before I finally found him hidden behind Wallace. The big ones were always more obvious – Jim Morrison, Moliere, LaFontaine – because there were tour groups and lots of people around. Jim Morrison was actually kind of disappointing, I thought. There was some graffiti on it and it hasn’t been kept up very well. That being said, there was nobody near Balzac’s gravesite when I found him – and the tomb was in excellent condition.

Anyway, after Pere Lachaise I left for Jeffrey’s (starving, by the way). He met me at the metro stop and took me all around his quartier (the 5th), which is so lovely. There is a beautiful garden once used for medicinal herbs and surrounded by natural history museums. His apartment is on the top floor of a building right across the street from a cool mosque that has a tea room and steam bath.

Jeffrey and Silvana’s apartment is so pretty and homey with fantastic views of Paris. We had a great dinner with oysters, fish, shrimp, potatoes, and an apple tartin. He also had 3 different cheeses from different regions of France which, of course, I loved.

I didn’t get to meet Silvana this trip because she is out of town at their new place in the South of France, between Aix-en-Provence and Marseilles.

After dinner, we talked about art and literature and French politics. Did you know there is a region of Switzerland that speaks Italian? We also broke out the old photo albums of Patti and Barbara at Dorothy’s. Patti looked so much like Aunt Dorothy and there were a lot of great silly ones. My favorite page of the album, though, was the one that featured a bunch of pictures taken by Dorothy of Bernie’s back as he was leaving the family. Bernie’s back with lamp. Bernie’s back with suitcase. She had a good sense of humor.

At the end of the evening, Jeffrey leant me a book and half of his DVD collection, and I promised to come over for dinner again soon.

One last quick story. After dinner I ran back to Arcueil to get ready to go out with friends for Clay’s 21st birthday (another bday, I know). Long story short, it was a totally awful night. We paid a cover fee to get into this terrible discoteque, and half of the group left us there after we’d paid. The music was awful and the neighborhood was sketchy. So, we left for the Bastille, and by “left” I mean walked about 15 blocks just so that we could take an over-crowded Noctilien bus. I had enough and decided to just ride the bus home. Luckily, my friend Tochi lives nearby and he agreed to keep the “drageurs” (nasty French men) away on the ride home. (And he lost his keys sometime during the night, too.)

This was my first experience with the infamous Noctilien bus and, in fact, it was much more crowded than I had anticipated (add the Comptroller who, once again, asked me for my Carte d’Orange. Thank God all of it was in order this time). I asked the bus driver which stop was closest to where I needed to be. In the end, this allegedly “close” stop is not as “close” as indicated on the map and by the bus driver.

Anyway, that’s it for now.

One more thing: it’s been a few days since I typed on an American keyboard like I am now and it’s not easy. I guess I can’t type on any computers anymore!

Solidarity and the Paris Metro

There is another strike in Paris (shocker!) but this time, it got personal. I was aware that the SNCF (the company that controls all transportation within France) is planning a strike of just the tram workers in the next couple of weeks, but this morning I made my way to the RER and discovered that either I was wrong or there is another one going on.

Normally, every other train on the blue line goes without stopping to Charles de Gaulle airport, with pretty regular trains in between. Well, this morning all the RER trains werent going past Gare du Nord (after my usual stop, thank goodness) but only half as many were running - and only half of those running properly. I waited for 20 minutes to get on a train that went exceptionally slowly and was 20 minutes late for class. Sometimes the strikes will keep me from even leaving Arcueil (or so Im told) which Im sure I wont mind as much, but I hate being late. Also, a really strange, incredibly overly perfumed French man kept looking over my shoulder at my book the whole train ride and did not seem to care one bit about my lack personal space.

The rain today was miserable and it was very cold, but we did have a lecture on contemporary French politics so I got to use all the random detailed opinions and facts stored in my head.

A totally uneventful day except for a couple of small, not out of the ordinary things:

I discovered an Alcatraz mug in my host family's cabinet and had a good laugh - also because it is the only mug they own besides one that says Texas and has a giant gun holster around it. I decided to finally explain the somewhat vulgar reality of the Gamecocks to my host dad, who laughed but then it ended awkwardly when there was nothing left to talk about and I left the room.

My host mom also saved a pad of Post-It notes for me in case I needed something to write on in my room. I tried to explain that I have about 2300 pads of paper my Grandfather made for me but that, too, turned into a blind ramble when I realized that story is really only interesting to me - and in English.

I have also taken to muttering to myself in English when I get frustrated or fed up while speaking French. I figured out today that my host mom always laughs when I do that but she has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about. (She hardly speaks any English.)

All in all, a pretty run of the mill day. Tomorrow I think we are going to an upscale salsa club for my friend Clay's birthday, although a lot of the group isn't here because they are in Munich for Oktoberfest (aka Cheap Beer Week). I think there were only like 7 people out of 20-something in class today. Although to be fair, a lot of them played hooky.

Classes start next week at a few of the universities. Most of mine start the week after.

My friend Aaron from GWU is coming on Nov 23! I have no idea how to pick him up at the airport.

And....I get to sleep in tomorrow! I think I might try to wake up a little early, though, and buy my first textbook and see a sight. Maybe Pere Lachaise Cemetary.

Love you guys!