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!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A Quick Note About Today
Today was another long French class. Tomorrow is the last one and afterward, they are seperating us into groups based on our language ability. I will be so upset after all the French I've taken if I don't get into the advanced writing class, because that is what I need to work on the most!
Some friends and I went to cure our massive, group-wide pizza craving this afternoon and found a little place in the Latin Quarter. The restaurant owner was a VERY rude little Italian man. It was so bad we got up and left. First he said we could not split his expensive pizzas (but they dont believe in to go boxes) and then he got mad at us when half of us wouldnt eat because we didnt want to pay for a whole one. He said "This is a restaurant! You are supposed to eat in a restaurant!" Finally, my brave friend Ray got up and walked out, as did the other 9 of us. We found a great little place and I had the best chicken pizza ever. Mom, you were so right about the weird stuff on the pizza, though. One had raw tuna, avocado, egg, and mayonaise. Grossssss.
Then we met up at the Notre Dame Cathedral for what we thought was a guided tour of the church and was, in fact, a lecture. The professor found us and immediately he was all business. Very sleek in a peacoat and popped collar - and a man purse. Then, he yelled at Mary Beth and Caitlyn for smoking during his "class". In their defense, we were outside and he had been there for literally 5 minutes. Anyway, they got mad and left on our way into into cathedral.
On a side note, there must have been an extra dose of crazy at Notre Dame today. There must have been 3 nutso's loudly preaching about the end of the world and a dozen gypsies.
I beat the rush hour traffic home to Arcueil, where the infamous laundry saga continues:
This morning I had nothing to wear. I literally thought through dozens of combinations of heavy jackets, sweat pants, and sleep t-shirts until I went with a brown dress I had been saving for the next cultural event, my new boots, and a red sweater. Actually, I looked pretty cute if I do say so myself. I figured that tomorrow would be the real challenge (sweatpant chic), but when I got home I wandered into "the big house" and found my laundry, all 15,000 French loads of it, sitting in the foyer.
I told Francoise when she got home that she absolutely did not need to feel like she had to do my laundry. She said that she had not been able to sleep last night and had gotten it all done. I thanked her profusely and I am totally gracious - the problem is solved! But it turns out that everybody has had the same strange experience. Nobody knows what to do with their laundry and they have a hard time with the small machines.
Anyway, I guess that is over for now. This afternoon I have to call about a babysitting job and (drum roll please) this afternoon I finally called Jeffrey. I am meeting him for dinner on Saturday at 6 and he is going to show me around the Quartier Latin. To be honest, I am equally as excited about seeing Jeffrey as I am about the free food.
Lastly, I am planning a trip to Rome or Barcelona (to visit Madison) on Nov.1-4 and started seriously looking at travel prices today. It is looking like flying is the cheapest (but not easiest) way to go. Oh, and if each of you would like to throw in a couple hundred euros to fund my extravagant traveling plans that would be great.
I'm totally kidding kind of. You wouldnt even believe some of the other kids in this program. I havent even touched on this yet, I know, but lets just say that it must be nice to afford a trip to Nice on a moment's notice, stay in an expensive hotel, purchase a Club Med gym membership and a new designer purse. But that is a story for another day.
Love you guys! Later.
Some friends and I went to cure our massive, group-wide pizza craving this afternoon and found a little place in the Latin Quarter. The restaurant owner was a VERY rude little Italian man. It was so bad we got up and left. First he said we could not split his expensive pizzas (but they dont believe in to go boxes) and then he got mad at us when half of us wouldnt eat because we didnt want to pay for a whole one. He said "This is a restaurant! You are supposed to eat in a restaurant!" Finally, my brave friend Ray got up and walked out, as did the other 9 of us. We found a great little place and I had the best chicken pizza ever. Mom, you were so right about the weird stuff on the pizza, though. One had raw tuna, avocado, egg, and mayonaise. Grossssss.
Then we met up at the Notre Dame Cathedral for what we thought was a guided tour of the church and was, in fact, a lecture. The professor found us and immediately he was all business. Very sleek in a peacoat and popped collar - and a man purse. Then, he yelled at Mary Beth and Caitlyn for smoking during his "class". In their defense, we were outside and he had been there for literally 5 minutes. Anyway, they got mad and left on our way into into cathedral.
On a side note, there must have been an extra dose of crazy at Notre Dame today. There must have been 3 nutso's loudly preaching about the end of the world and a dozen gypsies.
I beat the rush hour traffic home to Arcueil, where the infamous laundry saga continues:
This morning I had nothing to wear. I literally thought through dozens of combinations of heavy jackets, sweat pants, and sleep t-shirts until I went with a brown dress I had been saving for the next cultural event, my new boots, and a red sweater. Actually, I looked pretty cute if I do say so myself. I figured that tomorrow would be the real challenge (sweatpant chic), but when I got home I wandered into "the big house" and found my laundry, all 15,000 French loads of it, sitting in the foyer.
I told Francoise when she got home that she absolutely did not need to feel like she had to do my laundry. She said that she had not been able to sleep last night and had gotten it all done. I thanked her profusely and I am totally gracious - the problem is solved! But it turns out that everybody has had the same strange experience. Nobody knows what to do with their laundry and they have a hard time with the small machines.
Anyway, I guess that is over for now. This afternoon I have to call about a babysitting job and (drum roll please) this afternoon I finally called Jeffrey. I am meeting him for dinner on Saturday at 6 and he is going to show me around the Quartier Latin. To be honest, I am equally as excited about seeing Jeffrey as I am about the free food.
Lastly, I am planning a trip to Rome or Barcelona (to visit Madison) on Nov.1-4 and started seriously looking at travel prices today. It is looking like flying is the cheapest (but not easiest) way to go. Oh, and if each of you would like to throw in a couple hundred euros to fund my extravagant traveling plans that would be great.
I'm totally kidding kind of. You wouldnt even believe some of the other kids in this program. I havent even touched on this yet, I know, but lets just say that it must be nice to afford a trip to Nice on a moment's notice, stay in an expensive hotel, purchase a Club Med gym membership and a new designer purse. But that is a story for another day.
Love you guys! Later.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Not-So-Easy Street
Last night was the big ballet of Wuthering Heights at the Opera Garnier (and the official debut of my very cute new shoes), an incredible building that I believe is the most beautiful place I have been so far in Paris (and that is saying a lot).
I remember once I heard a children's story (I really cant remember where, though) about a little boy who goes to a big Broadway play for the first time with his grandmother and how exciting it was with the big orchestra and the old theater. Stupid, I know, but I felt just like the little boy in the story. I have never been in a huge theater like that, with boxes all along the sides of the audience, a huge orchestra pit, and the biggest stage I have ever seen in my life. This opera has an incredible history - Napoleon and Josephine Bonaparte both attended productions there, the ceiling was painted by Chagal (one of my favorites) and Degas was inspired by its ballerinas.
I actually found the actual ballet kind of confusing and the seats pretty uncomfortable, but we had a terrific view of the whole theatre. I never would have figured out what was going on onstage had I not read the synopsis at intermission ( in the expensive program Mme Suraqui bought us). The dancers had a lot of trouble with unison at the beginning and it was never really evident when principle characters died. Edgar, husband of one of the leads, Catherine, just sat down on the couch and put his head down. I thought he was sleeping or something. But every single one of the male dancers wasn't exactly hard to stare at for two hours.
It was really exciting. Some friends and I are thinking we might buy tickets to Romeo and Juliet (cheap student seats in the nosebleed section) if they are not sold out already.
Oh, and I was almost late getting there because the stupid RER broke down on the way. I left an hour early (thank god) and had to switch to a metro line, then again to the RER, until I finally got there. I made it with just a few minutes to spare until the buzzer went off for the first act.
Today was a little harder than usual. It was pouring rain all morning and I totally lost my head getting ready for class. I forgot my homework, my pencils, and all the documents I needed for the meeting at the bank this afternoon. After class, I had to "run back" to Arcueil and get my stuff and leave again for the bank, where I was meeting my friend Kate.
I got off at a weird stop on the way to the bank and got lost inside the metro trying to get out (a new one for me) and then again on the way. It is SO completely frustrating living in a city that doesn't have letters and numbers like DC with absolutely no sense of direction. The meeting at the bank was totally in French (as is all my information on the account) and I still have to go through it all, although the woman was very helpful and sweet.
After that, a trip to APA to confirm some babysitting positions (hopefully, Ill have work for two families on Friday and Saturday afternoons). I also signed up (unofficially) for a cooking class once a week with about 7 other APA students. The school has decided to open up a class just for us at a convenient time for a reduced price. Very cool.
Back to Arcueil, where I had a heart attack over some recent bank account charges. I am having a really hard time with the euro/dollar conversion. In effect, it is slowly killing my spirit.
And now, the horrific truth about laundry day.
I have absolutely no idea what is going on.
It feels just like at home sort of. I gave my laundry to Francoise (there really wasnt much by my standards) and she started to seperate it by whites and darks. I'm still on the same page. Then, she tells me I have way too much laundry and I have to do it more often. It seems that what is by my standards one load is by French standards about 5. Im totally serious. And each load takes an hour. So she puts the laundry in the washer and turns it on. I asked her how she turned it on, and what I needed to do, and I got an answer along the lines of "dont worry about it".
An hour has passed and the family has now gone to bed and I have no clothes. The first load is sitting in the washing machine. I honestly think I am wearing sweat pants to class tomorrow. What do I do and WHY does no one ever explain their washing machines to me (Mom)?
I really dont feel right about giving her my clothes to wash all time (if Im legitimately gonna have to wash them at least once a week with these tiny loads).
Everyday is an adventure, I guess.
Love you guys. More later.
P.S. Ive been trying to upload pictures but there seems to be something wrong with the site right now. Ill try again later.
I remember once I heard a children's story (I really cant remember where, though) about a little boy who goes to a big Broadway play for the first time with his grandmother and how exciting it was with the big orchestra and the old theater. Stupid, I know, but I felt just like the little boy in the story. I have never been in a huge theater like that, with boxes all along the sides of the audience, a huge orchestra pit, and the biggest stage I have ever seen in my life. This opera has an incredible history - Napoleon and Josephine Bonaparte both attended productions there, the ceiling was painted by Chagal (one of my favorites) and Degas was inspired by its ballerinas.
I actually found the actual ballet kind of confusing and the seats pretty uncomfortable, but we had a terrific view of the whole theatre. I never would have figured out what was going on onstage had I not read the synopsis at intermission ( in the expensive program Mme Suraqui bought us). The dancers had a lot of trouble with unison at the beginning and it was never really evident when principle characters died. Edgar, husband of one of the leads, Catherine, just sat down on the couch and put his head down. I thought he was sleeping or something. But every single one of the male dancers wasn't exactly hard to stare at for two hours.
It was really exciting. Some friends and I are thinking we might buy tickets to Romeo and Juliet (cheap student seats in the nosebleed section) if they are not sold out already.
Oh, and I was almost late getting there because the stupid RER broke down on the way. I left an hour early (thank god) and had to switch to a metro line, then again to the RER, until I finally got there. I made it with just a few minutes to spare until the buzzer went off for the first act.
Today was a little harder than usual. It was pouring rain all morning and I totally lost my head getting ready for class. I forgot my homework, my pencils, and all the documents I needed for the meeting at the bank this afternoon. After class, I had to "run back" to Arcueil and get my stuff and leave again for the bank, where I was meeting my friend Kate.
I got off at a weird stop on the way to the bank and got lost inside the metro trying to get out (a new one for me) and then again on the way. It is SO completely frustrating living in a city that doesn't have letters and numbers like DC with absolutely no sense of direction. The meeting at the bank was totally in French (as is all my information on the account) and I still have to go through it all, although the woman was very helpful and sweet.
After that, a trip to APA to confirm some babysitting positions (hopefully, Ill have work for two families on Friday and Saturday afternoons). I also signed up (unofficially) for a cooking class once a week with about 7 other APA students. The school has decided to open up a class just for us at a convenient time for a reduced price. Very cool.
Back to Arcueil, where I had a heart attack over some recent bank account charges. I am having a really hard time with the euro/dollar conversion. In effect, it is slowly killing my spirit.
And now, the horrific truth about laundry day.
I have absolutely no idea what is going on.
It feels just like at home sort of. I gave my laundry to Francoise (there really wasnt much by my standards) and she started to seperate it by whites and darks. I'm still on the same page. Then, she tells me I have way too much laundry and I have to do it more often. It seems that what is by my standards one load is by French standards about 5. Im totally serious. And each load takes an hour. So she puts the laundry in the washer and turns it on. I asked her how she turned it on, and what I needed to do, and I got an answer along the lines of "dont worry about it".
An hour has passed and the family has now gone to bed and I have no clothes. The first load is sitting in the washing machine. I honestly think I am wearing sweat pants to class tomorrow. What do I do and WHY does no one ever explain their washing machines to me (Mom)?
I really dont feel right about giving her my clothes to wash all time (if Im legitimately gonna have to wash them at least once a week with these tiny loads).
Everyday is an adventure, I guess.
Love you guys. More later.
P.S. Ive been trying to upload pictures but there seems to be something wrong with the site right now. Ill try again later.
Take Me to the Country
After a long weekend in Bourgogne, I have finally gotten back to Paris. Bourgogne is a lovely province of France about 4 hours outside of Paris by car.
If I’m starting from the beginning I have to tell you about the night before we left for Bourgogne. My friends Kate and Simran were both celebrating their 21st birthdays. Kate had a nice dinner in Paris that I didn’t go to because I’m cheap and I thought she was going out with us later. So I packed a bag for the weekend and made plans to stay with my friend Francis in Bercy (a very new quartier of Paris).
At about eleven, Francis, her friend, Joanna, Joanna’s very cute French boyfriend, Alex, and I set out in a cab for the Champs-Elysees where we were meeting our friends at a club/discothèque. It turns out they had decided against it when we got there and had gone to another club about 5 blocks away. Well, when we got there, that club was jam-packed at the door and we would have waited all night long to get in. We were very upset with all of them for not waiting or telling us earlier, plus we’d been dragging Francis’s friends around Paris.
Francis and I were all set to head home, but Alex mentioned another party he had heard about, so we moved in that direction. After another cab ride, we found ourselves on a boat on the Seine at the Place de la Concorde! It turns out it was Eighties night on a stationary boat on the Seine with a very reasonable cover charge (entrance fee - for those who don’t know what that is), and there were no tourists. It seems only Parisian kids knew about this. I don’t think they happen all the time, just maybe once a week or so, but it was SO much fun. There is nothing like French boys on a discothèque dance floor – so different than American boys. They are all over the place, dancing crazy with arms and legs stretched out and jumping around. It is totally a cultural experience – while American guys just stand there and move back and forth. Both French and American eighties rock. If we wanted to get some air, we could go to the deck of the boat and look out on the Tour Eiffel or the Notre Dame Cathedral. In the end, it didn’t matter that our friends had pretty much blown us off.
We had a terrible time getting a cab home, though. Apparently 4am is the most popular hour for Parisians at the Place de la Concorde. I used up all my cell phone minutes on the phone with the cab company and it cut off just as they were looking for a cab for us. Add one more “Don’t do that again” to my long list of trials and errors.
At Francis’s, her host mother had made the roll-out couch for me with my own blankets and sheets. It was so sweet. In the morning we had a quick breakfast and left for the bus at about 8am. APA somehow managed to assemble a really awesome group of people and I was totally pumped about the trip to Bourgogne.
The way there was pretty uneventful save for Mary Beth sleeping on the floor of the bus because she was uncomfortable in the seat and our pit stop about 2 hours in, where everyone made a point to buy the weirdest stuff we could find. The weirdest for me: rotisserie flavored potato chips and Crackly Crepes (totally nasty packaged chocolate crepes).
Our first stop was in Semur en Auxois, a very small, quaint town full of people that I am sure truly hate American tourists. It was clearly one of those towns full of older folks that had always lived there and everyone was in everyone else’s business – and in walks a bunch of very loud American kids taking pictures and ordering everything on the café menu.
After that, we hit the Abbaye de Fontenay, built by a very conservative sect of Benedictine monks, the Cistercians. The gardens were very beautiful and the countryside was so peaceful and wonderful – such a change from busy, exciting Paris. The abbaye itself dates back to over 1000 years old and is very impressive. That being said, our tour guide was kind of boring and the building is almost entirely without any decoration or visual stimulation. The monks did nothing but work and worship, and did not believe in decoration. The abbaye consisted mainly of a large church, a sleeping room, a work room, and a prayer room. I just kept thinking – how did they just wander around this hermitage every single day? But then again, living alone in the country (besides being oddly separatist and commune-like) must have shielded them from ugly city politics and plague.
Afterward, we checked into our hotel/hostel, which was very nice. It was a large place and we were the only people in the entire complex, which was great. It was also in the middle of nowhere so it didn’t matter how much commotion we created. We ate the biggest dinner I’ve ever had in my life, and they had two birthday cakes for Kate and Simran.
On Sunday, we made our first stop in Beaune, another beautiful, famous wine town, where we visited the Hotel-Dieu de Beaune, a free hospital and hostel created for the poor in 1443. It was beautiful and remained fully operational for 5 centuries, until the 1970s, when it became a museum. There is still an old folks’ home there, as well. It’s a really incredible building. There are also three very important works of art by Van der Weyden that I have studied before (not realizing they were there). We ate lunch in Beaune, which, unlike Semur, was overrun by American, French, and German tourists. There was also a motorcycle parade in the middle of the street that day.
After that – wine tasting at “Morin Pere et Fils” in Nuit St. Georges, which was one of the most fun experiences of the trip. I learned so much I didn’t know before about wine and the guide was such a nice man who had such an appreciation for what he does. We got a chance to wander through the vineyard, learn about how the wine is made (that part I didn’t understand because of the whole French thing) and tasted 4 wines. I decided the second red wine was my favorite because I loved the bitterness from the grape’s skin. See, now I’m an expert. I bought a 10 euro bottle of an aperitif (a drink that going with the appetizer) for my host family. I know they don’t ever drink wine, but I had no idea what to bring them back and they’ve got to have company over sometime.
Another dinner four times the size of my stomach.
Finally, this morning we made our way to Vezelay, where we had some time to explore the gorgeous shops on the main road. This I will say for Vezelay: it has some beautiful things to offer and the most beautiful garden shop I have ever seen with an incredible, peaceful view – but it lost a lot of its appeal when we discovered that it was practically impossible to find a normal toilet. I have never in my life had such gross experiences with public restrooms. I had to take pictures of the nasty toilets. The first ones near the bus drop-off were bad enough – nasty and no toilet seats – but I didn’t know it could get worse.
We had a nice lunch at “Le Bougainville” and afterward, a very long, sort of boring tour of the Basilica of Saint Madeleine. The church is magnificent – so beautiful and incredible history, light and architecture – but our guide spent an impressive amount of time talking about the most trivial aspects of the architecture. I wanted to just explore and drink it in, but it was the tour that would never end.
After what felt like 10 hours, some of us had to go to the restroom really badly (not including myself – thank goodness), so we went in search of the restrooms behind the church, where we found holes in the ground. I’m so not kidding at all. In each stall were literal holes in the ground, fully equipped with nothing except markers to place your feet as you squat down. It was so gross! I laughed so hard I cried. And my friends had to go to the bathroom so bad they had no choice except to suck it up and squat down. I did not share that experience with them, I’m afraid.
Following that debacle, my friend Koa and I decided to check out the church’s crypt, where, instead of tombs, we found a relic of Mary Magdalene – one of her bones.
I realize that this basement/crypt is intended to be an entirely reverent place that has been a famous pilgrimage destination for many centuries, but I have to be honest. I was totally creeped out. It was very dungeon-like and there was a very scary statue of Jesus dying on the cross opposite the bone. It was also incredibly small and we managed to sneak in following the exit of about 35 senior citizen tourists, who pulled an impressive clown-car act climbing out the crypt.
Then the bus ride home, where I fell asleep and woke up in Paris again. All in all, it was a great weekend. I can completely understand why someone would choose to study or even live in the countryside outside of Paris. It is too beautiful to take for granted.
It is strange to me that every single town in France has its own history and quaint or exciting existence – so unlike America, where there is so much commercialism.
I was sort of disappointed to end our vacation, but then I realized I was going home to Paris.
That’s it for this long one. Class tomorrow morning until noon. I have decided to start packing my lunch to save money so a trip to the market. Maybe some exploration of Arcueil if I don’t get lost. Then, we are going to see the ballet “Wuthering Heights” at the Opera Garnier in my new dress and heels.
More later! Love you guys!
If I’m starting from the beginning I have to tell you about the night before we left for Bourgogne. My friends Kate and Simran were both celebrating their 21st birthdays. Kate had a nice dinner in Paris that I didn’t go to because I’m cheap and I thought she was going out with us later. So I packed a bag for the weekend and made plans to stay with my friend Francis in Bercy (a very new quartier of Paris).
At about eleven, Francis, her friend, Joanna, Joanna’s very cute French boyfriend, Alex, and I set out in a cab for the Champs-Elysees where we were meeting our friends at a club/discothèque. It turns out they had decided against it when we got there and had gone to another club about 5 blocks away. Well, when we got there, that club was jam-packed at the door and we would have waited all night long to get in. We were very upset with all of them for not waiting or telling us earlier, plus we’d been dragging Francis’s friends around Paris.
Francis and I were all set to head home, but Alex mentioned another party he had heard about, so we moved in that direction. After another cab ride, we found ourselves on a boat on the Seine at the Place de la Concorde! It turns out it was Eighties night on a stationary boat on the Seine with a very reasonable cover charge (entrance fee - for those who don’t know what that is), and there were no tourists. It seems only Parisian kids knew about this. I don’t think they happen all the time, just maybe once a week or so, but it was SO much fun. There is nothing like French boys on a discothèque dance floor – so different than American boys. They are all over the place, dancing crazy with arms and legs stretched out and jumping around. It is totally a cultural experience – while American guys just stand there and move back and forth. Both French and American eighties rock. If we wanted to get some air, we could go to the deck of the boat and look out on the Tour Eiffel or the Notre Dame Cathedral. In the end, it didn’t matter that our friends had pretty much blown us off.
We had a terrible time getting a cab home, though. Apparently 4am is the most popular hour for Parisians at the Place de la Concorde. I used up all my cell phone minutes on the phone with the cab company and it cut off just as they were looking for a cab for us. Add one more “Don’t do that again” to my long list of trials and errors.
At Francis’s, her host mother had made the roll-out couch for me with my own blankets and sheets. It was so sweet. In the morning we had a quick breakfast and left for the bus at about 8am. APA somehow managed to assemble a really awesome group of people and I was totally pumped about the trip to Bourgogne.
The way there was pretty uneventful save for Mary Beth sleeping on the floor of the bus because she was uncomfortable in the seat and our pit stop about 2 hours in, where everyone made a point to buy the weirdest stuff we could find. The weirdest for me: rotisserie flavored potato chips and Crackly Crepes (totally nasty packaged chocolate crepes).
Our first stop was in Semur en Auxois, a very small, quaint town full of people that I am sure truly hate American tourists. It was clearly one of those towns full of older folks that had always lived there and everyone was in everyone else’s business – and in walks a bunch of very loud American kids taking pictures and ordering everything on the café menu.
After that, we hit the Abbaye de Fontenay, built by a very conservative sect of Benedictine monks, the Cistercians. The gardens were very beautiful and the countryside was so peaceful and wonderful – such a change from busy, exciting Paris. The abbaye itself dates back to over 1000 years old and is very impressive. That being said, our tour guide was kind of boring and the building is almost entirely without any decoration or visual stimulation. The monks did nothing but work and worship, and did not believe in decoration. The abbaye consisted mainly of a large church, a sleeping room, a work room, and a prayer room. I just kept thinking – how did they just wander around this hermitage every single day? But then again, living alone in the country (besides being oddly separatist and commune-like) must have shielded them from ugly city politics and plague.
Afterward, we checked into our hotel/hostel, which was very nice. It was a large place and we were the only people in the entire complex, which was great. It was also in the middle of nowhere so it didn’t matter how much commotion we created. We ate the biggest dinner I’ve ever had in my life, and they had two birthday cakes for Kate and Simran.
On Sunday, we made our first stop in Beaune, another beautiful, famous wine town, where we visited the Hotel-Dieu de Beaune, a free hospital and hostel created for the poor in 1443. It was beautiful and remained fully operational for 5 centuries, until the 1970s, when it became a museum. There is still an old folks’ home there, as well. It’s a really incredible building. There are also three very important works of art by Van der Weyden that I have studied before (not realizing they were there). We ate lunch in Beaune, which, unlike Semur, was overrun by American, French, and German tourists. There was also a motorcycle parade in the middle of the street that day.
After that – wine tasting at “Morin Pere et Fils” in Nuit St. Georges, which was one of the most fun experiences of the trip. I learned so much I didn’t know before about wine and the guide was such a nice man who had such an appreciation for what he does. We got a chance to wander through the vineyard, learn about how the wine is made (that part I didn’t understand because of the whole French thing) and tasted 4 wines. I decided the second red wine was my favorite because I loved the bitterness from the grape’s skin. See, now I’m an expert. I bought a 10 euro bottle of an aperitif (a drink that going with the appetizer) for my host family. I know they don’t ever drink wine, but I had no idea what to bring them back and they’ve got to have company over sometime.
Another dinner four times the size of my stomach.
Finally, this morning we made our way to Vezelay, where we had some time to explore the gorgeous shops on the main road. This I will say for Vezelay: it has some beautiful things to offer and the most beautiful garden shop I have ever seen with an incredible, peaceful view – but it lost a lot of its appeal when we discovered that it was practically impossible to find a normal toilet. I have never in my life had such gross experiences with public restrooms. I had to take pictures of the nasty toilets. The first ones near the bus drop-off were bad enough – nasty and no toilet seats – but I didn’t know it could get worse.
We had a nice lunch at “Le Bougainville” and afterward, a very long, sort of boring tour of the Basilica of Saint Madeleine. The church is magnificent – so beautiful and incredible history, light and architecture – but our guide spent an impressive amount of time talking about the most trivial aspects of the architecture. I wanted to just explore and drink it in, but it was the tour that would never end.
After what felt like 10 hours, some of us had to go to the restroom really badly (not including myself – thank goodness), so we went in search of the restrooms behind the church, where we found holes in the ground. I’m so not kidding at all. In each stall were literal holes in the ground, fully equipped with nothing except markers to place your feet as you squat down. It was so gross! I laughed so hard I cried. And my friends had to go to the bathroom so bad they had no choice except to suck it up and squat down. I did not share that experience with them, I’m afraid.
Following that debacle, my friend Koa and I decided to check out the church’s crypt, where, instead of tombs, we found a relic of Mary Magdalene – one of her bones.
I realize that this basement/crypt is intended to be an entirely reverent place that has been a famous pilgrimage destination for many centuries, but I have to be honest. I was totally creeped out. It was very dungeon-like and there was a very scary statue of Jesus dying on the cross opposite the bone. It was also incredibly small and we managed to sneak in following the exit of about 35 senior citizen tourists, who pulled an impressive clown-car act climbing out the crypt.
Then the bus ride home, where I fell asleep and woke up in Paris again. All in all, it was a great weekend. I can completely understand why someone would choose to study or even live in the countryside outside of Paris. It is too beautiful to take for granted.
It is strange to me that every single town in France has its own history and quaint or exciting existence – so unlike America, where there is so much commercialism.
I was sort of disappointed to end our vacation, but then I realized I was going home to Paris.
That’s it for this long one. Class tomorrow morning until noon. I have decided to start packing my lunch to save money so a trip to the market. Maybe some exploration of Arcueil if I don’t get lost. Then, we are going to see the ballet “Wuthering Heights” at the Opera Garnier in my new dress and heels.
More later! Love you guys!
Friday, September 21, 2007
HAH
Okay, one more thing while I'm at it.
Today in my french language class, we were taking a little unofficial quiz on how much we knew about French music. One of the questions was "Which French singer is in the film Gigi?"
Well I have seen this film 15 times and I knew it was Maurice Chevalier so I called it out and my professor looked at me like I was crazy and said (in effect) "Umm...No. It's Charles Trenet". And then went on and on about Charles Trenet.
I KNEW this couldn't be right, so I double checked online just now and, in fact, I was right. Maurice Chevalier. Now I have to tell everyone about it.
Grrrrrrrrr.
Today in my french language class, we were taking a little unofficial quiz on how much we knew about French music. One of the questions was "Which French singer is in the film Gigi?"
Well I have seen this film 15 times and I knew it was Maurice Chevalier so I called it out and my professor looked at me like I was crazy and said (in effect) "Umm...No. It's Charles Trenet". And then went on and on about Charles Trenet.
I KNEW this couldn't be right, so I double checked online just now and, in fact, I was right. Maurice Chevalier. Now I have to tell everyone about it.
Grrrrrrrrr.
French Keyboards Are Killers
I am writing once again from the APA offices - my unofficial new home, it seems. I have my course selection meeting with the head of the program in like 2 hours.
Just a couple of things because I don't think I'll be able to write for the next couple of days. Tonight, I am spending the night out with a friend because all of us in the program are going out to celebrate two birthdays. (And I really don't want to fight with the RER.) Tomorrow (bright and early) we are leaving for Bourgogne to eat dinners in caves and go wine tasting.
This is the 21st birthday of two girls in the program, Kate and Simran. Kate is totally nonchalant about it. She figures she's in Paris and that's a great birthday as it is. Simran, however, has been having a hard time adjusting in general and she's really upset her friends from home aren't here with her today. I totally understand but I feel so bad because she's been crying a lot.
I think she's also upset there aren't any solid plans for tonight. I suggested that all of us put just a euro or so in the pot and get her something nice. We'll see.
So far, it has been a hard adjustment at times and I do miss my friends, but I haven't been homesick.
Anyway, I'll hopefully have some time to write later but if not I'll write all about Bourgogne when I get back on Monday night.
Bon weekend!
Just a couple of things because I don't think I'll be able to write for the next couple of days. Tonight, I am spending the night out with a friend because all of us in the program are going out to celebrate two birthdays. (And I really don't want to fight with the RER.) Tomorrow (bright and early) we are leaving for Bourgogne to eat dinners in caves and go wine tasting.
This is the 21st birthday of two girls in the program, Kate and Simran. Kate is totally nonchalant about it. She figures she's in Paris and that's a great birthday as it is. Simran, however, has been having a hard time adjusting in general and she's really upset her friends from home aren't here with her today. I totally understand but I feel so bad because she's been crying a lot.
I think she's also upset there aren't any solid plans for tonight. I suggested that all of us put just a euro or so in the pot and get her something nice. We'll see.
So far, it has been a hard adjustment at times and I do miss my friends, but I haven't been homesick.
Anyway, I'll hopefully have some time to write later but if not I'll write all about Bourgogne when I get back on Monday night.
Bon weekend!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The French Police Won't Give Me No Peace
So, after my last post, I thought (naively, I guess) that I was looking forward to a generally uneventful rest of the day. In fact, I was quite wrong.
After checking my email, searching through complicated French course catalogs and talking with my APA directors, I decided I had time to return to the Conciergerie, the site of my disappointing visit during the Journees du Patrimoine when they closed the prisoners’ cells and ruined my fun.
I hopped on Line 4 and rode it in to St. Michel, a stop I have gotten to know well.
Now, I have been warned before of the Metro police inspections to prevent people from sneaking on with a metro ticket. Well, today I descended from the Metro and there are the Police (or the Paris PoPo as I have dubbed them). I presented my ticket confidently and the police officer asked to see my Carte d’Orange. He glimpsed at it and said “Wait here”, and called over another female police office (there were probably 4 of them in all). She said in very fast French, “You need to come with me, please”. Naturally, I am about to freak out.
She was surprised that I spoke French, after I told her I was American. It turns out that I was supposed to put a passport photo on the Carte d’Orange and she charged me 25 euro for not having it. I explained to her that I had no idea that was the case.
As I understood it, the Carte d’Orange is a payment plan for the Metro and you can pay 100 euro a month to ride the metro as much as you want for that period of time. It turns out that everyone who lives in France must have a Carte d’Orange fully filled out, and it serves as a means of identification. Apparently, ignorance did not cut me any slack, but at least she did not revoke my prepaid, weeklong metro ticket. In the end, the whole experience was pretty unpleasant.
I asked my family about it later and at first they were scared that I had been swindled, but I assured them it was definitely legitimate. Camille says the Comptroller is at that particular stop all the time. She also said a friend of hers got stopped there and was charged 25 euros, but he was mad and called the cop a gros mot (bad word) and got charged 5 more.
On that note, there seem to be tons of Americans in Paris today. I don’t know why but I encountered several in the metro today and yesterday, on the streets today, and later in the Conciergerie. Although, the World Cup of Rugby is tomorrow at 9pm. Oh man, the metro is going to be a madhouse.
Anyway, I finally made it to the Conciergerie. (4.50 euros student fee – thanks a lot Paris Founder’s Day). It was really exciting for me – because I am so cool. I thought it was funny that there was a huge line outside the Cathedral of Saint Chappelle, but the Conciergerie was practically empty except for a very cute group of French schoolkids on a tour and some American frat boys from Saint Xavier killing time. One of them signed the guest book, “It sucks all those people died. Better luck next time.”
The site of Marie Antoinette’s original cell has been replaced by a chapel to her honor, put there by her brother-in-law Louis XVIII during the Restoration. They tried to recreate it downstairs but none of the furniture is even original. There have been a lot of renovations to the whole building because of fires and such, but there are several parts that are still intact, like the Women’s Courtyard, which has been unchanged since the Revolution. They even left the table and washbasin where the women cleaned up, and the Corner of the 12, where the women could talk to the men through bars outside.
There is also a chapel adjacent to Marie Antoinette’s chapel that was originally a royal medieval chapel. During the Revolution, all 21 members of the moderate Girondin Party were convicted by the radical Jacobin party (led by Robespierre) for conspiracy against the Republic and put in prison at the Conciergerie. Apparently, all of them had a large dinner and slept in the chapel together on the night before their death (not to mention watched one of their colleagues commit suicide by stabbing his heart with a stiletto).
In truth, I probably have a very romantic view of the Conciergerie (I wouldn’t be the first, hello entire Romantic Period), but the whole place just made me kind of nervous.
By the way, for dinner tonight we had some sort of potato thing that reminded me a lot of something Grandma cooks. Strange and delicious. I also tried leeches (spelling?) a fruit from Tahiti I don't think I've seen before. Delicious.
Afterward, we watched a very lively debate with Nicholas Sarkozy, the President, and two TV journalists. The woman was particularly aggressive and I was surprised how opinionated the journalists were. I cannot remember the male journalist's name but he is very much like their Tom Brokaw figure. I also thought that it was a much more demanding interview than it would have been with our President. In the White House Press Room I know how badly they grill him but never in an intimate and formal television interview (say with Tom Brokaw and Katie Couric). I thought he looked like he was running for office again. But I really admire that they are constantly testing him. He has great ideas (in general) but the French are getting very unhappy with him because he hasn't made anything happen yet. But he is still new, I think. It'll take a little time.
Also, I forgot to tell you that whenever I tell a French person my name they always say, "Yes, like the car." I still have no idea what car but it is even spelled like my name, apparently.
One more thing I think I forgot - going past the new shopping center in Arcueil the other day, there are huge banners on the side of the building to advertise the center (and for decoration, I imagine) of artistic shots of parts of the body. I watched them slowly pass, 3 or 4 banners of an arm, a stomach, a neck, and then finally at the very end, a HUGE poster of a boob. For real. Just hanging on the side of the building - very tasteful, very artistic, and very uncensored. I burst out laughing. That's definitely something a little different than at home.
Alright, that’s the tale of my strange and surprisingly eventful afternoon. More later. Love you guys!
After checking my email, searching through complicated French course catalogs and talking with my APA directors, I decided I had time to return to the Conciergerie, the site of my disappointing visit during the Journees du Patrimoine when they closed the prisoners’ cells and ruined my fun.
I hopped on Line 4 and rode it in to St. Michel, a stop I have gotten to know well.
Now, I have been warned before of the Metro police inspections to prevent people from sneaking on with a metro ticket. Well, today I descended from the Metro and there are the Police (or the Paris PoPo as I have dubbed them). I presented my ticket confidently and the police officer asked to see my Carte d’Orange. He glimpsed at it and said “Wait here”, and called over another female police office (there were probably 4 of them in all). She said in very fast French, “You need to come with me, please”. Naturally, I am about to freak out.
She was surprised that I spoke French, after I told her I was American. It turns out that I was supposed to put a passport photo on the Carte d’Orange and she charged me 25 euro for not having it. I explained to her that I had no idea that was the case.
As I understood it, the Carte d’Orange is a payment plan for the Metro and you can pay 100 euro a month to ride the metro as much as you want for that period of time. It turns out that everyone who lives in France must have a Carte d’Orange fully filled out, and it serves as a means of identification. Apparently, ignorance did not cut me any slack, but at least she did not revoke my prepaid, weeklong metro ticket. In the end, the whole experience was pretty unpleasant.
I asked my family about it later and at first they were scared that I had been swindled, but I assured them it was definitely legitimate. Camille says the Comptroller is at that particular stop all the time. She also said a friend of hers got stopped there and was charged 25 euros, but he was mad and called the cop a gros mot (bad word) and got charged 5 more.
On that note, there seem to be tons of Americans in Paris today. I don’t know why but I encountered several in the metro today and yesterday, on the streets today, and later in the Conciergerie. Although, the World Cup of Rugby is tomorrow at 9pm. Oh man, the metro is going to be a madhouse.
Anyway, I finally made it to the Conciergerie. (4.50 euros student fee – thanks a lot Paris Founder’s Day). It was really exciting for me – because I am so cool. I thought it was funny that there was a huge line outside the Cathedral of Saint Chappelle, but the Conciergerie was practically empty except for a very cute group of French schoolkids on a tour and some American frat boys from Saint Xavier killing time. One of them signed the guest book, “It sucks all those people died. Better luck next time.”
The site of Marie Antoinette’s original cell has been replaced by a chapel to her honor, put there by her brother-in-law Louis XVIII during the Restoration. They tried to recreate it downstairs but none of the furniture is even original. There have been a lot of renovations to the whole building because of fires and such, but there are several parts that are still intact, like the Women’s Courtyard, which has been unchanged since the Revolution. They even left the table and washbasin where the women cleaned up, and the Corner of the 12, where the women could talk to the men through bars outside.
There is also a chapel adjacent to Marie Antoinette’s chapel that was originally a royal medieval chapel. During the Revolution, all 21 members of the moderate Girondin Party were convicted by the radical Jacobin party (led by Robespierre) for conspiracy against the Republic and put in prison at the Conciergerie. Apparently, all of them had a large dinner and slept in the chapel together on the night before their death (not to mention watched one of their colleagues commit suicide by stabbing his heart with a stiletto).
In truth, I probably have a very romantic view of the Conciergerie (I wouldn’t be the first, hello entire Romantic Period), but the whole place just made me kind of nervous.
By the way, for dinner tonight we had some sort of potato thing that reminded me a lot of something Grandma cooks. Strange and delicious. I also tried leeches (spelling?) a fruit from Tahiti I don't think I've seen before. Delicious.
Afterward, we watched a very lively debate with Nicholas Sarkozy, the President, and two TV journalists. The woman was particularly aggressive and I was surprised how opinionated the journalists were. I cannot remember the male journalist's name but he is very much like their Tom Brokaw figure. I also thought that it was a much more demanding interview than it would have been with our President. In the White House Press Room I know how badly they grill him but never in an intimate and formal television interview (say with Tom Brokaw and Katie Couric). I thought he looked like he was running for office again. But I really admire that they are constantly testing him. He has great ideas (in general) but the French are getting very unhappy with him because he hasn't made anything happen yet. But he is still new, I think. It'll take a little time.
Also, I forgot to tell you that whenever I tell a French person my name they always say, "Yes, like the car." I still have no idea what car but it is even spelled like my name, apparently.
One more thing I think I forgot - going past the new shopping center in Arcueil the other day, there are huge banners on the side of the building to advertise the center (and for decoration, I imagine) of artistic shots of parts of the body. I watched them slowly pass, 3 or 4 banners of an arm, a stomach, a neck, and then finally at the very end, a HUGE poster of a boob. For real. Just hanging on the side of the building - very tasteful, very artistic, and very uncensored. I burst out laughing. That's definitely something a little different than at home.
Alright, that’s the tale of my strange and surprisingly eventful afternoon. More later. Love you guys!
Violins at St. Chappelle
The concert at the St. Chappelle cathedral last night was really amazing.
St. Chappelle is located on that Ile de la Cite in the center of Paris. It was build by Louis IX (Saint Louis) to house Christ's Crown of Thorns, among other religious relics. It wasn't really that successful on that end, but the architecture is incredible and the inside is small, but incredibly old and beautiful. There are high windows surrounding you, primarily of blue glass, and several sculptures of saints and angels look down over you.
The concert was "Adagios Celebres" (famous adagios), played by the Violins de France, a famous group of 4 violinists who are only doing 4 concerts this year (if I remember correctly). They opened with Canon in D. The best part was that the concert had been scheduled so that they would be playing through the sunset and into the early evening. With that in mind, the St. Chappelle is situated in such a way that the light is the most beautiful at sunrise and sunset. So, we watched the sunset from inside the beautiful chapel during the concert. It was so totally wonderful (except I really had to pee the whole time).
Afterward, many of us walked around the Latin Quarter and later, made our way down the stairs to the banks of the Seine just below Notre Dame. There was a whole big group of us and everytime a boat would come by we would wave to the tourists or the people eating dinner and shout things in French like "Bon Soir!" and "Bienvenue a Paris!". (Sort of like Cheer em On - Katie K knows what I'm talking about). All the tourists would wave back (if they didn't we knew they were actually French) and we got on tons of people's cameras and videos. haha. I guess we're on somebody's facebook now where the caption says "French kids on the Seine", or just "Stupid Americans yelling from the River bank".
Right now I'm back in the APA office for my actual brochure consultation, and tomorrow is my meeting with Madame Suraqui to officially determine what courses I'm taking. By the way, we've taken to calling Madame the "Suraq Attack" (based on a Facebook group of the same name).
One of story - I have learned the hard way that I cannot for the life of me win with any French keys. In the past week, I've gotten locked out of the main house three times (including this morning, so no breakfast for me), locked myself outside the front gate twice, and fought with a broken lock in the wooden door outside my guest house. No fun.
I guess that's all for now. I will post pictures of the concert later.
St. Chappelle is located on that Ile de la Cite in the center of Paris. It was build by Louis IX (Saint Louis) to house Christ's Crown of Thorns, among other religious relics. It wasn't really that successful on that end, but the architecture is incredible and the inside is small, but incredibly old and beautiful. There are high windows surrounding you, primarily of blue glass, and several sculptures of saints and angels look down over you.
The concert was "Adagios Celebres" (famous adagios), played by the Violins de France, a famous group of 4 violinists who are only doing 4 concerts this year (if I remember correctly). They opened with Canon in D. The best part was that the concert had been scheduled so that they would be playing through the sunset and into the early evening. With that in mind, the St. Chappelle is situated in such a way that the light is the most beautiful at sunrise and sunset. So, we watched the sunset from inside the beautiful chapel during the concert. It was so totally wonderful (except I really had to pee the whole time).
Afterward, many of us walked around the Latin Quarter and later, made our way down the stairs to the banks of the Seine just below Notre Dame. There was a whole big group of us and everytime a boat would come by we would wave to the tourists or the people eating dinner and shout things in French like "Bon Soir!" and "Bienvenue a Paris!". (Sort of like Cheer em On - Katie K knows what I'm talking about). All the tourists would wave back (if they didn't we knew they were actually French) and we got on tons of people's cameras and videos. haha. I guess we're on somebody's facebook now where the caption says "French kids on the Seine", or just "Stupid Americans yelling from the River bank".
Right now I'm back in the APA office for my actual brochure consultation, and tomorrow is my meeting with Madame Suraqui to officially determine what courses I'm taking. By the way, we've taken to calling Madame the "Suraq Attack" (based on a Facebook group of the same name).
One of story - I have learned the hard way that I cannot for the life of me win with any French keys. In the past week, I've gotten locked out of the main house three times (including this morning, so no breakfast for me), locked myself outside the front gate twice, and fought with a broken lock in the wooden door outside my guest house. No fun.
I guess that's all for now. I will post pictures of the concert later.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Comments
I just wanted to make a quick note to say that I've been reading the comments you guys are leaving and I'm SO glad you like the blog. I think I forgot to respond to a couple of questions:
Aunt Barb - it takes about thirty minutes to get into the city for me on the RER, which is actually quite fast. My friend that lives near the Pere Lachaise has to take two metros and walk - it takes him an hour.
Aunt Patti - Starbucks is quite the conundrum out here. All the French people say they hate it, and the coffee is too much for them, it's expensive, and it's commercial, but there are more and more and they are always packed! I haven't been to one yet (although I do have tons of gift cards). You have to pay to use the Internet there, though, and I'm cheap.
I think that was all. I probably forgot something.
Aunt Barb - it takes about thirty minutes to get into the city for me on the RER, which is actually quite fast. My friend that lives near the Pere Lachaise has to take two metros and walk - it takes him an hour.
Aunt Patti - Starbucks is quite the conundrum out here. All the French people say they hate it, and the coffee is too much for them, it's expensive, and it's commercial, but there are more and more and they are always packed! I haven't been to one yet (although I do have tons of gift cards). You have to pay to use the Internet there, though, and I'm cheap.
I think that was all. I probably forgot something.
Ville de Fromage: Part Deux
Today I am experiencing a VERY unexpected side effect of my wonderful French experience: I have eaten too much cheese and have an awful stomach ache. Really. For dinner last night, we had pasta with salmon and cheese, then a cheese plate. I also bought bread and cheese for my room and I ate some of that. Then, this afternoon, I had a crepe with chicken and lots of cheese. I am breathing, tasting, and sweating cheese. It is totally disgusting and I dont want to eat it ever again.
Or at least for a couple days, but I'm finding that impossible here.
Right now I am writing from the APA offices. My friend Kate and I came to find courses at the Louvre (it's not actually our day to search the brochures, but we walk on the wild side). We are the most excited about a year long course in French Impressionism with excursions to the Musee d'Orsay. If that doesn't work, there is another on photography. There are so many courses on foreign art - Roman, Greek, Egyptian, Oriental - but we are only looking for classes in French art, since we are already right here. And preferably not on Friday.
Classes here are only about two hours once a week, so I have one class every day. It's great. There are a couple of other discussion courses arranged by APA and small classes called Travaux Practiques for large French lecture classes. I should only be in one or two of those, I think.
I have choson a course in Libertine French Literature at Paris IX, reading historically banned books like those by the Marquis de Sade. I chose it because there isn't one like it at GWU and I'm sure it's going to be awesome - plus the only other class that I can't take at home was French Children's Literature.
I can't believe I'm only been here about a week. It feels like such a long time. I had a hard time yesterday because, at the dinner table, Quintin and Camille were speaking very quickly and using slang the entire hour and a half meal. I had no idea what they were talking about and then Francoise, the mom, starting fussing at them to slow it down for me - to which Quintin replied, "But I'm not talking to her, I'm talking to Camille!" It reminded me of Trevor.
Today was better, though. Eventually, we'll be divided up into different French classes based on our skill level. Today we were seperated based on that awful test we took so that our skills can be evaluated firsthand by our professors (this is a two week thing, after an initial dinner and a test). I gotta say, though, I must not have done well on that test because there are a couple of people in my class that I know haven't had as much French as I have. One girl in particular could only form sentences one word at a time. I thought I was going to die. Thank goodness this is only a test and hopefully they'll place me in the advanced writing class, because I know that's where I need the most improvement. We also had a class on Introduction to Europe, which was very fast paced and I had very little trouble understanding, in the end. Ugh.
One more little story - on the bus today after class, there were three little French children and their mother. One of the little French boys heard us speaking English and he decided he wanted to speak English, too, so he started to repeat us. His mother did speak a little, so she would whisper things for him to say and he would laugh and laugh. It was so cute.
This evening, I am killing time in the city until meeting friends at the Cite metro stop for dinner (no cheese). Afterward, we are going to the symphony at the Cathedral of Saint Chapelle. I am SO excited.
By the way, Grandma Hedy, I am wearing my new black coat and have gotten lots of compliments on it.
The weather has gotten very cold here very quickly, just the other day it was 75 degrees outside.
Okay, well I'll write more later about the concert and all.
Love you guys!
Or at least for a couple days, but I'm finding that impossible here.
Right now I am writing from the APA offices. My friend Kate and I came to find courses at the Louvre (it's not actually our day to search the brochures, but we walk on the wild side). We are the most excited about a year long course in French Impressionism with excursions to the Musee d'Orsay. If that doesn't work, there is another on photography. There are so many courses on foreign art - Roman, Greek, Egyptian, Oriental - but we are only looking for classes in French art, since we are already right here. And preferably not on Friday.
Classes here are only about two hours once a week, so I have one class every day. It's great. There are a couple of other discussion courses arranged by APA and small classes called Travaux Practiques for large French lecture classes. I should only be in one or two of those, I think.
I have choson a course in Libertine French Literature at Paris IX, reading historically banned books like those by the Marquis de Sade. I chose it because there isn't one like it at GWU and I'm sure it's going to be awesome - plus the only other class that I can't take at home was French Children's Literature.
I can't believe I'm only been here about a week. It feels like such a long time. I had a hard time yesterday because, at the dinner table, Quintin and Camille were speaking very quickly and using slang the entire hour and a half meal. I had no idea what they were talking about and then Francoise, the mom, starting fussing at them to slow it down for me - to which Quintin replied, "But I'm not talking to her, I'm talking to Camille!" It reminded me of Trevor.
Today was better, though. Eventually, we'll be divided up into different French classes based on our skill level. Today we were seperated based on that awful test we took so that our skills can be evaluated firsthand by our professors (this is a two week thing, after an initial dinner and a test). I gotta say, though, I must not have done well on that test because there are a couple of people in my class that I know haven't had as much French as I have. One girl in particular could only form sentences one word at a time. I thought I was going to die. Thank goodness this is only a test and hopefully they'll place me in the advanced writing class, because I know that's where I need the most improvement. We also had a class on Introduction to Europe, which was very fast paced and I had very little trouble understanding, in the end. Ugh.
One more little story - on the bus today after class, there were three little French children and their mother. One of the little French boys heard us speaking English and he decided he wanted to speak English, too, so he started to repeat us. His mother did speak a little, so she would whisper things for him to say and he would laugh and laugh. It was so cute.
This evening, I am killing time in the city until meeting friends at the Cite metro stop for dinner (no cheese). Afterward, we are going to the symphony at the Cathedral of Saint Chapelle. I am SO excited.
By the way, Grandma Hedy, I am wearing my new black coat and have gotten lots of compliments on it.
The weather has gotten very cold here very quickly, just the other day it was 75 degrees outside.
Okay, well I'll write more later about the concert and all.
Love you guys!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Ville de Fromage
Today we sat through a very long discussion of the French educational system, where I discovered that, while I have always (well…most of the time) considered myself a hard worker; I am, in fact, a complete slacker compared to French students. By their first year of upper-level high school (lycée), many of are already studying 4 other languages besides French: English, Classical Greek, Latin, and Russian/German/Spanish.
Also, the big deal in American schools is well-rounded students, skilled in all manner of disciplines. French students are specialized specifically in one subject, meaning that if I take a history class here, the French students have at least seven years of intensified history background.
On another note, for the “Grandes Ecoles” (high profile universities), you must be accepted to an incredibly intense preparatory school for at least a year or two before being accepted to the school of your choice – and all of this requires a very high score of the Baccalaureate exam (like the SAT, not like the IB tests I took in high school). For those students who end up at regular universities, 60% of them drop out.
GWU has a direct study program at Sciences Po, a very “Grand Ecole”, which has produced almost every major political figure in France. Admission to the program is as easy as applying to any other abroad program and study with the other students who have busted their butts for years to be there. I have to admit I’d be a little bitter if I were a French student in that situation!
So, after this very reassuring information and lunch, we reconvened and were presented with our course options. There is so much to choose from and I have tons to look over. There is the option of taking an art history class at the Ecole du Louvre, which I have been excited about for months. My friend Kate, also a year long student, is interested in taking class there, as well. However, when I asked questions about it, Madame Suraqui was very hesitant and continued to remind me that it was a complicated program. After class, I told her that Kate was interested, as well, and should we perhaps meet her before our individual scheduling appointments to talk about it? She said that I had not included in my application that I was interested in the program or she would have gotten more research on it.
In fact, I don’t remember what she’s talking about (and neither does anyone else – it was a while ago), but in the end she said it would be possible. Ultimately, I have every intention of being obnoxious about it until I know I’m enrolled at the Louvre. I told her I know I was being persistent about it but I really wanted to be there. The good thing is that APA has been wonderful, so I’m sure it will be fine. Apparently, the program at the Louvre is very specialized, and I need to know exactly what artistic period I want to study (and I’m pretty sure everyone else is going to be a lot smarter than me).
APA also offers two smaller classes just for us in Art History and the French Theatre. I have already been approved at GWU for the Theatre program and I’m taking other Art History, so I went with that. Anyway, we met the professors today for both classes and (no joke) when the Theatre professor entered the room every one of us (minus the straight boys) completely stopped paying attention to class. Professor Barut is young and, needless to say, very cute. I’m not surprised that he even influenced some people’s decisions which class to choose.
After class, Leah and I finally found the Monoprix, thanks to Bus Route 38, where my shopping list included fromage, bread, water, notebooks, shampoo/conditioner, and a 3 euro bottle of wine. First, they had a huge aisle of just cheeses (for like 1 and 2 euros – which at first I though was amazing and now realize is about $3, the same as I pay in the US). Also, all of my shampoo is in French even though it’s Pantene Pro-V. Finally, I should just take a moment to say that I legally bought a bottle of wine in a grocery store for a cheaper price than in the States (euros and all, I think). One more reason to love France.
Also, the big deal in American schools is well-rounded students, skilled in all manner of disciplines. French students are specialized specifically in one subject, meaning that if I take a history class here, the French students have at least seven years of intensified history background.
On another note, for the “Grandes Ecoles” (high profile universities), you must be accepted to an incredibly intense preparatory school for at least a year or two before being accepted to the school of your choice – and all of this requires a very high score of the Baccalaureate exam (like the SAT, not like the IB tests I took in high school). For those students who end up at regular universities, 60% of them drop out.
GWU has a direct study program at Sciences Po, a very “Grand Ecole”, which has produced almost every major political figure in France. Admission to the program is as easy as applying to any other abroad program and study with the other students who have busted their butts for years to be there. I have to admit I’d be a little bitter if I were a French student in that situation!
So, after this very reassuring information and lunch, we reconvened and were presented with our course options. There is so much to choose from and I have tons to look over. There is the option of taking an art history class at the Ecole du Louvre, which I have been excited about for months. My friend Kate, also a year long student, is interested in taking class there, as well. However, when I asked questions about it, Madame Suraqui was very hesitant and continued to remind me that it was a complicated program. After class, I told her that Kate was interested, as well, and should we perhaps meet her before our individual scheduling appointments to talk about it? She said that I had not included in my application that I was interested in the program or she would have gotten more research on it.
In fact, I don’t remember what she’s talking about (and neither does anyone else – it was a while ago), but in the end she said it would be possible. Ultimately, I have every intention of being obnoxious about it until I know I’m enrolled at the Louvre. I told her I know I was being persistent about it but I really wanted to be there. The good thing is that APA has been wonderful, so I’m sure it will be fine. Apparently, the program at the Louvre is very specialized, and I need to know exactly what artistic period I want to study (and I’m pretty sure everyone else is going to be a lot smarter than me).
APA also offers two smaller classes just for us in Art History and the French Theatre. I have already been approved at GWU for the Theatre program and I’m taking other Art History, so I went with that. Anyway, we met the professors today for both classes and (no joke) when the Theatre professor entered the room every one of us (minus the straight boys) completely stopped paying attention to class. Professor Barut is young and, needless to say, very cute. I’m not surprised that he even influenced some people’s decisions which class to choose.
After class, Leah and I finally found the Monoprix, thanks to Bus Route 38, where my shopping list included fromage, bread, water, notebooks, shampoo/conditioner, and a 3 euro bottle of wine. First, they had a huge aisle of just cheeses (for like 1 and 2 euros – which at first I though was amazing and now realize is about $3, the same as I pay in the US). Also, all of my shampoo is in French even though it’s Pantene Pro-V. Finally, I should just take a moment to say that I legally bought a bottle of wine in a grocery store for a cheaper price than in the States (euros and all, I think). One more reason to love France.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Fake School and Stupid Trains
This entry is not nearly as exciting as the last one, just a couple stories about today.
I bought a ticket for the RER train for the week, but even though I got to metro with 45 minutes before my very first APA “class” started, the trains ran late and I almost wasn’t on time. Can’t wait to do that everyday – but then again at least I’m desperately late in Paris, right?
Today was the first day of orientation classes. We began with a really hard dictée and French comprehension test to place us in our language class, followed by lunch at Le Cercle with friends (a place in the Luxembourg I have been before – very good Croque Madame) and a desperate attempt to walk it off in the Luxembourg gardens.
All of our “classes” today were held at a place called the Foyer International des Etudiants Etrangers (or something like that), which has served as a school and boarding house for international students since like 1920 – so the whole building is very old and the classrooms are very old school. I kept thinking I was in Au Revoir, Les Enfants.
Next, one of the directors, Nicole, gave everyone a very large packet of information about cultural and sporting events around Paris, which I ended up carrying around all day long. Last, we made our way to the Biblioteque Nationale de Francois Mitterand, which is basically a tremendous library-skyscraper-space station looking building, equipped with café, bookstore, garden, and movie theatre. There, we all got library cards with hideous pictures. Leah, Kate, and I got hopelessly lost on the metro (again! I have now counted that as my 6th time being lost in Paris) looking for the Monoprix (read: Target). Unsuccessfully, we went home.
Now I’m exhausted (not unusual lately) and it’s going to storm badly in just a few minutes. It’s also gotten very cold here.
One last thought – at the metro Kate and I bought a bunch of weird candy to try at a little shop we found. All of it was delicious except this one long stick-like candy that we decided looked sort of like a crumby donut and tasted like old cake batter. Definitely not American and very strange.
That’s all for now. More later. Love you guys!
Update: Dinner tonight was awesome. Rice, chicken, carrots in vinegrette, cheese and bread. My host mom Francoise has asked me many times what I usually eat at home and I'm not sure they understand the concept of "Lean Cuisine".
I bought a ticket for the RER train for the week, but even though I got to metro with 45 minutes before my very first APA “class” started, the trains ran late and I almost wasn’t on time. Can’t wait to do that everyday – but then again at least I’m desperately late in Paris, right?
Today was the first day of orientation classes. We began with a really hard dictée and French comprehension test to place us in our language class, followed by lunch at Le Cercle with friends (a place in the Luxembourg I have been before – very good Croque Madame) and a desperate attempt to walk it off in the Luxembourg gardens.
All of our “classes” today were held at a place called the Foyer International des Etudiants Etrangers (or something like that), which has served as a school and boarding house for international students since like 1920 – so the whole building is very old and the classrooms are very old school. I kept thinking I was in Au Revoir, Les Enfants.
Next, one of the directors, Nicole, gave everyone a very large packet of information about cultural and sporting events around Paris, which I ended up carrying around all day long. Last, we made our way to the Biblioteque Nationale de Francois Mitterand, which is basically a tremendous library-skyscraper-space station looking building, equipped with café, bookstore, garden, and movie theatre. There, we all got library cards with hideous pictures. Leah, Kate, and I got hopelessly lost on the metro (again! I have now counted that as my 6th time being lost in Paris) looking for the Monoprix (read: Target). Unsuccessfully, we went home.
Now I’m exhausted (not unusual lately) and it’s going to storm badly in just a few minutes. It’s also gotten very cold here.
One last thought – at the metro Kate and I bought a bunch of weird candy to try at a little shop we found. All of it was delicious except this one long stick-like candy that we decided looked sort of like a crumby donut and tasted like old cake batter. Definitely not American and very strange.
That’s all for now. More later. Love you guys!
Update: Dinner tonight was awesome. Rice, chicken, carrots in vinegrette, cheese and bread. My host mom Francoise has asked me many times what I usually eat at home and I'm not sure they understand the concept of "Lean Cuisine".
Hot Child in the City
Brace yourselves because today is a long one.
This is the story of why it is important to always listen to your host family and not get carried away with being grown up and independent in a strange city.
Last night, friends from my program decided to meet at the Bastille metro stop at 11pm. In Normal American Student (NAS) time, this is not late at all. I told my host family that I was possibly planning on going out if my friend Leah, who lives nearby, was planning on going as well, so that we could make plans to return to Arcueil together. The problem is that the metro closes at 1am on the weekends and we were surely going to stay out later than that. So, we could stay for about 30 minutes in Paris, take the “night bus”, or pay for a taxi.
We decided to go for it because we can’t live like wallflowers just because we live in the boonies. We’re going to be here for a long time and we’ve got to figure something out. So, I got ready to go out and left the house at 10:30, when I ran into Francois and Francoise coming home from the cinema down the hill. They both said it was rather late to go out but they would leave their cell phones on if there was anything that I needed – and then they walked me to Leah’s house just in case I couldn’t remember where it was (I actually did). They were very persistent that I should call them if we needed anything.
Leah lives in a very large, very beautiful three story house with a cool divorced woman in her forties who made her fortune in surgery and alimony, and her 18 year old daughter. Her host mom, Elizabeth, also warned us of going out late but, being the independent women we are, we decided to head out. Camille, my host sister, had gone out at about 9, which is apparently the normal hour that French students go out (now I know).
So, we managed to get there successfully on the RER (after I bought the wrong ticket and had a Meg Ryan in French Kiss-like battle with the train attendant) and met our friends at the metro stop. The World Cup of Rugby is this weekend so the Bastille was exploding with frat boys of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities.
I feel that a lot of this experience of surviving in Paris has been based on trial and error. As we learned from our friend Simran last night, wearing a miniskirt in the Bastille is an error. Not only did boys eye her down all evening, she was cat-called and one daring gift to society grabbed her butt as he walked by.
Anyway, we were bored with the stuffy bar we went to, so we left and headed toward the Notre Dame Cathedral. After being approached by an over-persistent American boy (who should know better), we decided to call it a night. Leah and I found a cab that luckily was ‘generous’ and took us out to Arcueil. Apparently, taxis in Paris very rarely go to the suburbs. This particular cab driver was very pleasant, but didn’t know exactly how to get there. For those of you who are aware of my complete and utter lack of any sense of direction, it was a God-given miracle that I had paid enough attention yesterday afternoon and successfully led him to our town.
He dropped off Leah, and that’s where my new-found directional skills failed me completely. I could not find my street and the fare kept ticking away. There is only one entrance to my street, and the other is stairs you must walk up. I recognized some stairs and decided to pay the cab and walk. By this time, it was 2am and Arcueil is a dead town. There is nobody out. It would have made the most sense to walk from Leah’s house if I was lost (because I know the way), but the only thing between my house and hers is the HLM, or in other terms, the projects (which is strange because we both live in nice houses). It was not a far walk back, even though those weren’t actually the right stairs, and I honestly didn’t see anybody except people driving by, but I was shaking when I got to the gate of my house, and had Francois’s cell number on my phone ready to dial the whole walk home.
In the end, Leah and I both made it very clear to our friends that we were not ever meeting them that late again unless we were spending the night in the city and we are all just going to have to figure out how French students with social lives manage.
The next morning, Quentin, my host brother, woke me up and asked if I was going to have breakfast with the family in the garden. So, I got dressed and joined them at the table. There was a huge spread of bread and butter, pain au chocolat, coffee, tea, jam, apples, milk, orange, and carrot juice. Camille and Quentin had bowls (yes bowls) of chocolate milk in from of them and when I sat down, the table wobbled and the milk spilled all over both their laps. They jumped up, covered in chocolate milk and ran out of the garden. Francois and Francoise both wiped down the table and everybody kept saying “Ce n’est pas grave”. (It’s not a big deal.) Finally, when the calamity I created settled down, I realized I had no idea how to properly drink the tea in my cereal bowl, and had to wait on Camille to drink hers so I could make sure I didn’t do it wrong. I guess they don’t use big mugs like us? I didn’t ask. I did make sure that my host parents knew the story of my night and that I had learned a lesson. They both assured me that I could call at any time of night and that, for one year, they considered me one of their children.
I had decided to spend the day in Paris and take advantage of the last Journée du Patrimoine. Francois found the website with all the open monuments and buildings for me to choose from, and then he printed them out and marked on a map all the locations, buses, and trains to get there. Francoise proceeded to call Leah’s host mother to see if Leah wanted to come with me (no answer), and then walked me to the train. They also called to make sure I was okay about two hours later.
Anyway, I started at the Pantheon in the Latin Quarter (where Jeffrey lives – no, Mom, I haven’t had a chance to call yet). I turned a corner, looking for the building, and found a gigantic classical temple.
Let me stop for a second and say that one of the greatest parts about today was that there were many times when I would be searching for a monument (usually lost) or wandering or eating lunch, completely oblivious of the landscape behind me, and I would turn around and see the Eiffel Tower – a completely wonderful surprise out of nowhere.
The Pantheon had a very large interior featuring the usual marble statues, revolutionary leaders - and Foucault’s pendulum. I’ve read about the Pantheon, but when the signs read “Crypt this way”, I discovered that my memory had failed me, and I found the tombs of almost every important Revolutionary author, thinker, and military hero. Voltaire, Rousseau, Marat, Hugo, Emile Zola, and Alexandre Dumas (my favorite French author), among others. Most of the tombs were really monuments to the “grands hommes”, kind of stale. However, one military tomb that I didn’t recognize was lavishly decorated with banners and flowers, like a little crypt party. I still don’t know who he is.
So, onto the Senate. Located in the Luxembourg Palace, this building is usually closed to the public. The most interesting room was by far the General Assembly room, where I was careful to look at the name plates at the Senator’s seats and take a picture of the Socialist Party section. That’s not forgetting the large movie theatre adjacent to Marie de Medici’s old bedroom, where I believe the Senators secretly get together and watch Fight Club.
For lunch, a jambon and fromage sandwich (YEAH, LUCY!) and a Pepsi Light.
From there, I went in search of the Conciergie on Bus No. 38, but I caught it going the wrong way and had to ride it to the end of the line and take the metro back 7 stops, when I had been one stop away when I got on the stupid bus. But in turn, I learned all about the tram, because apparently it only runs at the end of the bus line. I am quite sure I won’t ever use it.
The Conciergie, a building I have wanted to go to for years, was a prison for 5 and a half centuries, and it’s where 2700 people waited to be executed by the guillotine during the Revolution, including Marie Antoinette. It is normally about 8 euros but today was free. So, in line I read the map and the brochure of the building and got so freakin’ excited I almost cried, then I got inside and only the stupid foyer and the gift shop were open. They had completely closed the Prisoner’s Quarters and all the good stuff for the holiday. If I go later and pay, I can see the rest, so I guess I’m going to have to cough it up later.
Then, in search of the Palais Royal, I got lost on foot for an hour. I managed to find the Centre Pompidou, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the Cathedral St. Eustache (or St. Moustache, as I have now deemed it). That reminds me, there is a Build-a-Bear Workshop at the mall in Artueil.
The Palais Royal, which had an incredibly long line, was once the home of Marie de Medici and her son, Louis XIV, then Louis’ brother, the Duc d’Orleans, and finally Jerome Bonaparte (Napoleon’s brother) and his son. Now, it serves as political offices and committee rooms. It is also usually closed to the public, which was awesome because the politicians who work there (like the Vice President, who’s office we saw) left all their papers and stuff on their desks when they left for the weekend. I can’t believe people work in that building – in gilded hallways. The coolest parts – taking a picture of Jacques Chirac’s committee chair and (the best part) meeting the President of the Constitutional Committee, who was signing autographs and kissing babies in his golden-trimmed office.
Another random note, California seems to be of some sort of special interest to the French. My host family often asks me questions about Los Angelos (and Miami) and there was woman in line at the Palais Royal who was reading a book about the customs and cultures of Californians – apparently they are a people of great faith.
My last little note of my adventure today – while lost, looking for the RER at St. Michel (beside the Seine), a gross, overly touchy guy started hitting on me at a stop light, asking me if I wanted to have dinner with him and if I had a boyfriend. I told him to go away immediately and that I was not interested, and moved to the other side of the crowd. Naturally, like any creepy old guy, he followed me and I had to cross the street and use the other cross walk. It turns out that Madame Suraqui was completely correct about Mediterranean men.
Finally, very weary, I returned to Arcueil without a problem and sat down to dinner with my family. I know I said the French are very good about their diets, which is true, but I am not used to these big spreads. Tonight, we had cucumbers, carrots, bread, couscous, mussels, French fries, steak and strange, cold sour apple compote. I only took small helpings of everything and I am so full. I thought we were done after the mussels and started on the compote, when the whole family (no joke) yelled out to stop! – it was for the end of the meal. So I said, we’re not done? And sure enough, out comes the rarest steak I have ever had. It was practically raw. And more French fries, which I refused. Then the weird compote. Phew.
Finally, a really important story I forgot yesterday, my host family’s car doesn’t work very well, and sometimes it will stop randomly at stop signs (like Grandma’s used to) or in the middle of Paris traffic – which isn’t good. The roads here may as well be in Italy. Drivers are insane and I have NO idea how the rules are supposed to work. So, like clockwork and without hesitation, the entire family gets out and pushes the car until it starts again, and jumps in while it’s moving, just like in Little Miss Sunshine. It’s happened three times so far and I never know exactly what’s going on.
Okay, that’s it for this long, long post. Tomorrow I start orientation classes with a language exam and some other random class. I will write again soon. Love you all.
This is the story of why it is important to always listen to your host family and not get carried away with being grown up and independent in a strange city.
Last night, friends from my program decided to meet at the Bastille metro stop at 11pm. In Normal American Student (NAS) time, this is not late at all. I told my host family that I was possibly planning on going out if my friend Leah, who lives nearby, was planning on going as well, so that we could make plans to return to Arcueil together. The problem is that the metro closes at 1am on the weekends and we were surely going to stay out later than that. So, we could stay for about 30 minutes in Paris, take the “night bus”, or pay for a taxi.
We decided to go for it because we can’t live like wallflowers just because we live in the boonies. We’re going to be here for a long time and we’ve got to figure something out. So, I got ready to go out and left the house at 10:30, when I ran into Francois and Francoise coming home from the cinema down the hill. They both said it was rather late to go out but they would leave their cell phones on if there was anything that I needed – and then they walked me to Leah’s house just in case I couldn’t remember where it was (I actually did). They were very persistent that I should call them if we needed anything.
Leah lives in a very large, very beautiful three story house with a cool divorced woman in her forties who made her fortune in surgery and alimony, and her 18 year old daughter. Her host mom, Elizabeth, also warned us of going out late but, being the independent women we are, we decided to head out. Camille, my host sister, had gone out at about 9, which is apparently the normal hour that French students go out (now I know).
So, we managed to get there successfully on the RER (after I bought the wrong ticket and had a Meg Ryan in French Kiss-like battle with the train attendant) and met our friends at the metro stop. The World Cup of Rugby is this weekend so the Bastille was exploding with frat boys of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities.
I feel that a lot of this experience of surviving in Paris has been based on trial and error. As we learned from our friend Simran last night, wearing a miniskirt in the Bastille is an error. Not only did boys eye her down all evening, she was cat-called and one daring gift to society grabbed her butt as he walked by.
Anyway, we were bored with the stuffy bar we went to, so we left and headed toward the Notre Dame Cathedral. After being approached by an over-persistent American boy (who should know better), we decided to call it a night. Leah and I found a cab that luckily was ‘generous’ and took us out to Arcueil. Apparently, taxis in Paris very rarely go to the suburbs. This particular cab driver was very pleasant, but didn’t know exactly how to get there. For those of you who are aware of my complete and utter lack of any sense of direction, it was a God-given miracle that I had paid enough attention yesterday afternoon and successfully led him to our town.
He dropped off Leah, and that’s where my new-found directional skills failed me completely. I could not find my street and the fare kept ticking away. There is only one entrance to my street, and the other is stairs you must walk up. I recognized some stairs and decided to pay the cab and walk. By this time, it was 2am and Arcueil is a dead town. There is nobody out. It would have made the most sense to walk from Leah’s house if I was lost (because I know the way), but the only thing between my house and hers is the HLM, or in other terms, the projects (which is strange because we both live in nice houses). It was not a far walk back, even though those weren’t actually the right stairs, and I honestly didn’t see anybody except people driving by, but I was shaking when I got to the gate of my house, and had Francois’s cell number on my phone ready to dial the whole walk home.
In the end, Leah and I both made it very clear to our friends that we were not ever meeting them that late again unless we were spending the night in the city and we are all just going to have to figure out how French students with social lives manage.
The next morning, Quentin, my host brother, woke me up and asked if I was going to have breakfast with the family in the garden. So, I got dressed and joined them at the table. There was a huge spread of bread and butter, pain au chocolat, coffee, tea, jam, apples, milk, orange, and carrot juice. Camille and Quentin had bowls (yes bowls) of chocolate milk in from of them and when I sat down, the table wobbled and the milk spilled all over both their laps. They jumped up, covered in chocolate milk and ran out of the garden. Francois and Francoise both wiped down the table and everybody kept saying “Ce n’est pas grave”. (It’s not a big deal.) Finally, when the calamity I created settled down, I realized I had no idea how to properly drink the tea in my cereal bowl, and had to wait on Camille to drink hers so I could make sure I didn’t do it wrong. I guess they don’t use big mugs like us? I didn’t ask. I did make sure that my host parents knew the story of my night and that I had learned a lesson. They both assured me that I could call at any time of night and that, for one year, they considered me one of their children.
I had decided to spend the day in Paris and take advantage of the last Journée du Patrimoine. Francois found the website with all the open monuments and buildings for me to choose from, and then he printed them out and marked on a map all the locations, buses, and trains to get there. Francoise proceeded to call Leah’s host mother to see if Leah wanted to come with me (no answer), and then walked me to the train. They also called to make sure I was okay about two hours later.
Anyway, I started at the Pantheon in the Latin Quarter (where Jeffrey lives – no, Mom, I haven’t had a chance to call yet). I turned a corner, looking for the building, and found a gigantic classical temple.
Let me stop for a second and say that one of the greatest parts about today was that there were many times when I would be searching for a monument (usually lost) or wandering or eating lunch, completely oblivious of the landscape behind me, and I would turn around and see the Eiffel Tower – a completely wonderful surprise out of nowhere.
The Pantheon had a very large interior featuring the usual marble statues, revolutionary leaders - and Foucault’s pendulum. I’ve read about the Pantheon, but when the signs read “Crypt this way”, I discovered that my memory had failed me, and I found the tombs of almost every important Revolutionary author, thinker, and military hero. Voltaire, Rousseau, Marat, Hugo, Emile Zola, and Alexandre Dumas (my favorite French author), among others. Most of the tombs were really monuments to the “grands hommes”, kind of stale. However, one military tomb that I didn’t recognize was lavishly decorated with banners and flowers, like a little crypt party. I still don’t know who he is.
So, onto the Senate. Located in the Luxembourg Palace, this building is usually closed to the public. The most interesting room was by far the General Assembly room, where I was careful to look at the name plates at the Senator’s seats and take a picture of the Socialist Party section. That’s not forgetting the large movie theatre adjacent to Marie de Medici’s old bedroom, where I believe the Senators secretly get together and watch Fight Club.
For lunch, a jambon and fromage sandwich (YEAH, LUCY!) and a Pepsi Light.
From there, I went in search of the Conciergie on Bus No. 38, but I caught it going the wrong way and had to ride it to the end of the line and take the metro back 7 stops, when I had been one stop away when I got on the stupid bus. But in turn, I learned all about the tram, because apparently it only runs at the end of the bus line. I am quite sure I won’t ever use it.
The Conciergie, a building I have wanted to go to for years, was a prison for 5 and a half centuries, and it’s where 2700 people waited to be executed by the guillotine during the Revolution, including Marie Antoinette. It is normally about 8 euros but today was free. So, in line I read the map and the brochure of the building and got so freakin’ excited I almost cried, then I got inside and only the stupid foyer and the gift shop were open. They had completely closed the Prisoner’s Quarters and all the good stuff for the holiday. If I go later and pay, I can see the rest, so I guess I’m going to have to cough it up later.
Then, in search of the Palais Royal, I got lost on foot for an hour. I managed to find the Centre Pompidou, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the Cathedral St. Eustache (or St. Moustache, as I have now deemed it). That reminds me, there is a Build-a-Bear Workshop at the mall in Artueil.
The Palais Royal, which had an incredibly long line, was once the home of Marie de Medici and her son, Louis XIV, then Louis’ brother, the Duc d’Orleans, and finally Jerome Bonaparte (Napoleon’s brother) and his son. Now, it serves as political offices and committee rooms. It is also usually closed to the public, which was awesome because the politicians who work there (like the Vice President, who’s office we saw) left all their papers and stuff on their desks when they left for the weekend. I can’t believe people work in that building – in gilded hallways. The coolest parts – taking a picture of Jacques Chirac’s committee chair and (the best part) meeting the President of the Constitutional Committee, who was signing autographs and kissing babies in his golden-trimmed office.
Another random note, California seems to be of some sort of special interest to the French. My host family often asks me questions about Los Angelos (and Miami) and there was woman in line at the Palais Royal who was reading a book about the customs and cultures of Californians – apparently they are a people of great faith.
My last little note of my adventure today – while lost, looking for the RER at St. Michel (beside the Seine), a gross, overly touchy guy started hitting on me at a stop light, asking me if I wanted to have dinner with him and if I had a boyfriend. I told him to go away immediately and that I was not interested, and moved to the other side of the crowd. Naturally, like any creepy old guy, he followed me and I had to cross the street and use the other cross walk. It turns out that Madame Suraqui was completely correct about Mediterranean men.
Finally, very weary, I returned to Arcueil without a problem and sat down to dinner with my family. I know I said the French are very good about their diets, which is true, but I am not used to these big spreads. Tonight, we had cucumbers, carrots, bread, couscous, mussels, French fries, steak and strange, cold sour apple compote. I only took small helpings of everything and I am so full. I thought we were done after the mussels and started on the compote, when the whole family (no joke) yelled out to stop! – it was for the end of the meal. So I said, we’re not done? And sure enough, out comes the rarest steak I have ever had. It was practically raw. And more French fries, which I refused. Then the weird compote. Phew.
Finally, a really important story I forgot yesterday, my host family’s car doesn’t work very well, and sometimes it will stop randomly at stop signs (like Grandma’s used to) or in the middle of Paris traffic – which isn’t good. The roads here may as well be in Italy. Drivers are insane and I have NO idea how the rules are supposed to work. So, like clockwork and without hesitation, the entire family gets out and pushes the car until it starts again, and jumps in while it’s moving, just like in Little Miss Sunshine. It’s happened three times so far and I never know exactly what’s going on.
Okay, that’s it for this long, long post. Tomorrow I start orientation classes with a language exam and some other random class. I will write again soon. Love you all.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
At Home in Paris/ Arceuil
Bonjour!
I am typing on my family's keypad and it's kicking my butt, so this might be a little short.
I have moved in with my French family and live in the guest house. Their names are Francois and Francoise Bogros-Rouveau. They have two children, Camille, 17 and Quentin, 13 (i think). They actually live barely outside of Paris in Arceuil, a small and very sweet suburb. I dont mind a bit except that it is much more difficult to go into Paris on the train (the RER). Not always but, for instance, a friend that lives nearby and me want to meet other kids in the program at the Bastille, but the RER closes at 1 and we cant take a taxi like the others who live in the city. Instead; we have to take a sketchy night bus - and i wont go alone.
My family could not be nicer. Today, we went into the city and they showed me around. Both the mother and the father cook very well, too. Both kids are very nice to me. Their daughter, Camille is gorgeous, very French, and has a teenage attitude like mad. The son, Quentin, is funny but has not really been around much. My friend Leah who lives close has a host sister our age, which I hope will be good for making more friends. There is also a small French movies just two houses down and a large brand new shopping center closeby.
A huge aqueduct runs over the whole town and I cross under it on my way to the RER. This weekend is La Journee de Patrimoine, or Founders Weekend, so all buildings normally closed to the public are open. Today, we walked through the inside of the aqueduct (built by Henri IV). Tomorrow, I think I will wake up early and stand in line to see the Elysee Palace, where the President lives.
The food has been amazing - the French are SO good about their diets and tastes amazing everywhere you go.
There have been TONS of men in kilts this weekend. It's such a trip. I think it is for a rugby competition, which I heard brings in more people than the Tour de France.
And finally, French men are a whole other species here. Our program leader, Madame Suraqui had a talk with all the girls that we are in a Meditteranean country and if we aren't with a guy we'll get hit on everywhere we go and it's so true. All ages. But almost all of them are very good looking and there are many our age here from other countries. We met a group of people from Australia the other night that were backpacking through Europe.
Alright, that's it for now. If you want to call my cell from Skype or whatever (.02 cents per minute) my number is 06.34.51.08.98. I don't have Internet in my room and the family's skype isnt working well for some reason but my cell does so please do call when you can. I could REALLY use hearing some English.
love you all!
I am typing on my family's keypad and it's kicking my butt, so this might be a little short.
I have moved in with my French family and live in the guest house. Their names are Francois and Francoise Bogros-Rouveau. They have two children, Camille, 17 and Quentin, 13 (i think). They actually live barely outside of Paris in Arceuil, a small and very sweet suburb. I dont mind a bit except that it is much more difficult to go into Paris on the train (the RER). Not always but, for instance, a friend that lives nearby and me want to meet other kids in the program at the Bastille, but the RER closes at 1 and we cant take a taxi like the others who live in the city. Instead; we have to take a sketchy night bus - and i wont go alone.
My family could not be nicer. Today, we went into the city and they showed me around. Both the mother and the father cook very well, too. Both kids are very nice to me. Their daughter, Camille is gorgeous, very French, and has a teenage attitude like mad. The son, Quentin, is funny but has not really been around much. My friend Leah who lives close has a host sister our age, which I hope will be good for making more friends. There is also a small French movies just two houses down and a large brand new shopping center closeby.
A huge aqueduct runs over the whole town and I cross under it on my way to the RER. This weekend is La Journee de Patrimoine, or Founders Weekend, so all buildings normally closed to the public are open. Today, we walked through the inside of the aqueduct (built by Henri IV). Tomorrow, I think I will wake up early and stand in line to see the Elysee Palace, where the President lives.
The food has been amazing - the French are SO good about their diets and tastes amazing everywhere you go.
There have been TONS of men in kilts this weekend. It's such a trip. I think it is for a rugby competition, which I heard brings in more people than the Tour de France.
And finally, French men are a whole other species here. Our program leader, Madame Suraqui had a talk with all the girls that we are in a Meditteranean country and if we aren't with a guy we'll get hit on everywhere we go and it's so true. All ages. But almost all of them are very good looking and there are many our age here from other countries. We met a group of people from Australia the other night that were backpacking through Europe.
Alright, that's it for now. If you want to call my cell from Skype or whatever (.02 cents per minute) my number is 06.34.51.08.98. I don't have Internet in my room and the family's skype isnt working well for some reason but my cell does so please do call when you can. I could REALLY use hearing some English.
love you all!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Bonjour from Paris!
Here's my first blog attempt. I have taken tons of photos but I need to figure out how to upload them.
The flight to Paris was unusually easy. The constantly packed Atlanta airport security line was empty and I sped right through to my gate. No delays, no cancelations, no lost luggage all the way to Paris.
On the plane from Chicago, I met a girl in my program, Sarah, from Bryn Mawr College. It was such a relief that we she was on the flight because we got along fine and she's much better with directions than myself. When we landed, I'm sure I would have wandered around Charles de Gaulle with my 500 pounds of luggage. She managed to find our meeting place with no trouble, with time to buy coffee.
The plane the Paris was pretty eventless except for the guy beside me. I smelled his cologne before I even saw him and with one look I knew he was very French. In fact, he was, and he spoke very little English. It was kind of funny at dinner because he didn't know either "beef" or "pasta", so he guessed and got the nasty-looking beef.
Right now, we are staying at the Foyer FIAP at rue Cabanis in the 14th arrondissement. It is a hostel/hotel for international students with a cafeteria and rooms for meetings. There are 6 girls in my room, about 25 in my program. 4 of them boys, the rest girls. 6 of us are year-long students.
Yesterday, I had a very nice dinner with my friends Sarah and Caitlyn (from the program) at a place across from the Luxembourg Gardens. I had a Croque Madame (ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) and french fries (frites fraiches). So far, I have discovered that I'm really gonna miss take-out boxes and ice.
At about 7pm, I "took a quick nap" and woke up 14 hours later, fully clothed. I realized I still have blue jeans on at about 6 this morning, and rolled over and went back to sleep.
This morning, we got breakfast at a little patisserie, where I ordered a croissant and a coffee. The croissant was excellent, but the coffee was like half a dixie cup of the strongest coffee I have ever tasted. I drank it fast for the caffeine.
Afterward, we went in search of the gothic acid trip that is the catacombs of Paris. After half an hour, we finally found it in a very random steel entrance adjacent to a park. Rows and rows and dark caverns filled with bones on both sides of you, and markers placed to indicate where they came from. Many are from the Revolution, killed by the guillotine. Others from cemetaries that needed space. Some were moved from graveyards for the innocent. Before renovations at the beginning of the century, tourists used candels to light their way through the catacombs (creepy), so there is a smoky black line all the way above our heads marking which way to turn.
The bones are also arranged in patterns and designs (circles, crosses, and Xs) which made us wonder who it is that sat around and thought about the best way to do that. I am also glad I am not a security guard there.
Today, we had orientation meetings. At 7:30 (or 19h - French time is killing me) we are going to a nice dinner at "le Bouillon Racine", in the 6th arrondissement. I think tonight, we're going to try to get our first taste of Paris nightlife.
Tomorrow, is a long day of orientation meetings and we meet our families. There is a "mixer" sort of thing and we leave with them tmrw night. I am not looking forward to carrying my luggage everywhere again! I have strange strains and bruises from yesterday.
My French cell phone isn't working yet and I just paid my left arm for this hour of internet connection, but I will try to write again as soon as I can.
The flight to Paris was unusually easy. The constantly packed Atlanta airport security line was empty and I sped right through to my gate. No delays, no cancelations, no lost luggage all the way to Paris.
On the plane from Chicago, I met a girl in my program, Sarah, from Bryn Mawr College. It was such a relief that we she was on the flight because we got along fine and she's much better with directions than myself. When we landed, I'm sure I would have wandered around Charles de Gaulle with my 500 pounds of luggage. She managed to find our meeting place with no trouble, with time to buy coffee.
The plane the Paris was pretty eventless except for the guy beside me. I smelled his cologne before I even saw him and with one look I knew he was very French. In fact, he was, and he spoke very little English. It was kind of funny at dinner because he didn't know either "beef" or "pasta", so he guessed and got the nasty-looking beef.
Right now, we are staying at the Foyer FIAP at rue Cabanis in the 14th arrondissement. It is a hostel/hotel for international students with a cafeteria and rooms for meetings. There are 6 girls in my room, about 25 in my program. 4 of them boys, the rest girls. 6 of us are year-long students.
Yesterday, I had a very nice dinner with my friends Sarah and Caitlyn (from the program) at a place across from the Luxembourg Gardens. I had a Croque Madame (ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top) and french fries (frites fraiches). So far, I have discovered that I'm really gonna miss take-out boxes and ice.
At about 7pm, I "took a quick nap" and woke up 14 hours later, fully clothed. I realized I still have blue jeans on at about 6 this morning, and rolled over and went back to sleep.
This morning, we got breakfast at a little patisserie, where I ordered a croissant and a coffee. The croissant was excellent, but the coffee was like half a dixie cup of the strongest coffee I have ever tasted. I drank it fast for the caffeine.
Afterward, we went in search of the gothic acid trip that is the catacombs of Paris. After half an hour, we finally found it in a very random steel entrance adjacent to a park. Rows and rows and dark caverns filled with bones on both sides of you, and markers placed to indicate where they came from. Many are from the Revolution, killed by the guillotine. Others from cemetaries that needed space. Some were moved from graveyards for the innocent. Before renovations at the beginning of the century, tourists used candels to light their way through the catacombs (creepy), so there is a smoky black line all the way above our heads marking which way to turn.
The bones are also arranged in patterns and designs (circles, crosses, and Xs) which made us wonder who it is that sat around and thought about the best way to do that. I am also glad I am not a security guard there.
Today, we had orientation meetings. At 7:30 (or 19h - French time is killing me) we are going to a nice dinner at "le Bouillon Racine", in the 6th arrondissement. I think tonight, we're going to try to get our first taste of Paris nightlife.
Tomorrow, is a long day of orientation meetings and we meet our families. There is a "mixer" sort of thing and we leave with them tmrw night. I am not looking forward to carrying my luggage everywhere again! I have strange strains and bruises from yesterday.
My French cell phone isn't working yet and I just paid my left arm for this hour of internet connection, but I will try to write again as soon as I can.
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