An American in Paris

My apologies in advance if this gets too lengthy, I'll try to keep it brief.....

Friday
 Clara, Emily and I took the train from Poitiers to Paris. We got off at Montparnasse and proceeded to meander around until we found a church, and decided to investigate. Like almost all churches in France, this one was magnificent. Continuing on our walk (with our heavy backpacks that we ended up carrying around all day) we stumbled upon l'Hôtel des Invalides, and with our student cards, we ended up getting in for free and had the pleasure of seeing Napoleon's grave. From there the three of us walked over to the Eiffel Tower and the Trocadero. We ended up having lunch in the park just off the Trocadero with a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower. In addition, I managed to snag a mean deal with one of the street venders who kept calling me "Lady Gaga". After we gave our feet a rest and filled our tummies, it was off to the Arc de Triomphe. After deciding it would be wiser to take the underground path instead of trying to forge our way through the hundreds of cars using the roundabout, we got to view the tomb of the unknown soldier. I provided the commentary on the history of the arc, as well as our next stop: Place de la Concord. We strolled down the Champs Elysees, where Emily had to stop and get Starbucks. From the Place de la Concord, we decided to meet up with the guy we were staying the night with, so our bags could be dropped off at his house outside the city. After taking the train and walking for 15 minutes, the house was in sight. Unfortunately, all of us were too fatigued to go back into the city that night.

I was the makeshift tour guide for the day, and the person in charge of making it safely through the metro, since I had been to Paris once before. The girls were slightly worried about pickpockets in the metro, as well as how to determine the correct train to board. After a demonstration of how to get to one place from another, they figured it out.

                                                                Saturday
7:00 wake-up call for me. I was interested in seeing Versailles and the Louvre, whereas the other two were content to wander around for the day. I navigated the train to Versailles, and managed to make it through 3/4 of the tour before I lost my mind. There was an abundance of ignorant Americans and just plain rude Chinese people. 10 tour buses full, at the very least. Bottlenecks at each doorway and droves of people who stop in the middle of hallways created a frustrating morning for me. The palace was absolutely stunning, and I wish I could have stayed longer, but my tolerance for stupid people was wearing thin. I also still had lots to see in Paris that day. Next stop: The Louvre. This was the location I was most excited to see. Having been there once before, I knew exactly where to go to see the popular artwork and then began to methodically make my way through the labyrinth. Combining both my visits, I believe I have seen almost every room, but not every piece of art. If one were to spend one minute at each piece of art and did this nonstop, they'd finish in four months. Not something I am planning on trying. This visit, I spent 5 hours awestruck in the museum and forced myself to leave because there was so much more of Paris to see. Other things occurred in the Louvre, but they shouldn't be written here due to the fact that I might get someone in trouble, or my face might end up on some paper where I wouldn't want it. Not to worry, I didn't break any rules that I'm aware of.  I met back up with the group in front of Notre Dame and we headed to the Luxembourg Gardens. Ice cream and a band playing - can't get much better than that. One tip: do not under any circumstances sit on the grass in the gardens. We made the mistake of doing so and got told off by a police officer. St Michel fountain is beautiful, and I recommend seeing it. Dinner was near Montmartre at a charming restaurant that seemed to be pretty popular, Chartiers. Wanting to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, the group (that had grown to 10 people) took to the metro and found ourselves on the banks of the Seine, taking a touristic boat ride.

Sunday
After sleeping in a couple hours, the four of us (Damion - the host, Emily, Clara and I) enjoyed a nice breakfast outside. Lunch was had in the Latin Quarter sitting by a balcony window overlooking a quaint little street. From there we caught the metro to Montparnasse and headed home. I was lucky enough to sit by a girl about my age, and we bonded over sudoku puzzles.

Here are some photos from the trip, the whole Paris album can be found on my Facebook (all 200 photos):

It's the little things...

A short while ago, the clouds parted as I received one of the best gifts I probably could ever get from my host mother: American peanut butter. Skippy to be exact. I've been having it on bread every morning for breakfast, so I'm quickly running out. I need to buy in bulk and keep a huge stock in my room. You never know how much you miss American food until it isn't available - at all. I'm jonesing for Muchas Gracias something fierce.

I feel I should introduce a member of the family that I have grown quite fond of, Mica. Named after the singer, Mica is the family cat. Very spoiled and very used to getting her way, Mica has become a natural target for torment for Salomé and Mathis so she only chooses to give affection when the children are otherwise occupied (like when they eat, although Mica doesn't realize they have sharp utensils in their hands just waiting to be momentarily diverted from eating to poking the cat). If we drive anywhere, I can be rest assured that Mica will greet us at the door when we get back. In one morning, I have had to open the door for that darn cat a minimum of 7 times in order for her to go in and out of the house.

There is a certain professor that teaches several of my classes that, when we are silently working, prowls the aisles like Filch's cat. It's strikingly similar, how she moves in between the students. Another professor and I had a pleasant ten minute conversation about our mutual love of maps and about where all I have been in France.
Today I had the pleasure of buying a roundtrip train ticket to Paris for this weekend, as well as my first bottle of wine. Sometimes I'm amazed at how well I can function in another country without speaking one word of English. Some people, I'm convinced, don't even realize I'm foreign. Albeit I might not have lengthy conversations with them, but during a normal interaction at a store some people don't even slow down like many do when they realize they're speaking with a foreign student.

l'Hôtel de Ville at night

I'm quickly growing tired of staying in one place for long, so I'll be spending this weekend in Paris. Here's to hoping my stay in France becomes more bearable when I start to travel more. I can't wait to revisit the Louvre and admire more of the fine artwork. The forecast is shaping up to be in the low to mid 70's (Fahrenheit) and sunny, perfect weather for having a lunch in the park by the Eiffel Tower. I'm planning on taking a massive amount of photos, which will have to be labeled under a completely different photo album, not just "France", because let's face it, The Louvre alone could have it's own album.

Dinner

A bit of complaining first...

Although I am invited to dinner with Laurence's (my host mother) friends, I really need to start being rude and not go. They spend hours talking and I can only understand 30% of the conversation, 50% at best. I am flattered that they thought enough to invite me, but once I'm there it's as if I stop existing. Dinners tend to take several hours and after dessert, more time is spent gossiping and discussing silly things. At some point during the evening, I have to fight the urge to say "screw politeness" and storm out of the house. By the end of last night, I had fallen asleep on my purse. It was well past midnight when everyone decided to say their farewells. La bise was at hand. After several sets of kissing (3 couples, 6 kids - you do the math) I had forgotten which people I had properly said goodbye to. I figured that if a person didn't lunge at my face, it was safe to say I had either given them la bise already or they just didn't care all that much, either of which was fine with me.

Many are entertained by the American accent and French people trying to speak like Americans. I can't count how many times during last night's dinner my host mother tried to correctly say an english word so that I could understand it through her heavy french accent. A big deal is made when a French person says something in English. If one didn't know a lick of French and was listening in on a conversation where someone spoke a word or two of English, you'd think someone just invented teleportation. When saying goodbye, multiple adults said "goodbye" or "see you later", to much applause from the other French people.

Another thing I've noticed in France, is that people comment on the way I eat. It's not really how I eat, but as in what and how much. At almost every meal, someone has noticed that I take small portions and at least twice I have been asked "Are you trying to lose weight?" - I find it ironic that they're commenting on how little an American eats.

I figure I probably should keep track of new foods I've tried while in France....
1. paté (at least 5 kinds)
2. caviar
3. goose
4. mussels
5. daurade
6. crab
7. gazpacho
8. countless wines
9. countless cheeses

There are others... I'll be adding more, I'm sure.

Although overall this hasn't been a pleasant experience yet, France has had it's moments. I'm hoping things get better and if they don't, I can always leave at the semester right?


On the photo: I was walking down a winding street in the centre ville one afternoon and saw this accordion player. I couldn't resist taking the photo, it was so French and the color contrast in the door and his bag really stood out to me.

Eggs

I'm not sure how widely known my intolerance for eggs is, but I guess for those who are not aware, I'll need a preface.

Preface:
 I love scrambled eggs, but over the past couple years, I've developed some sort of strange intolerance for them. If I eat scrambled eggs, over easy, sunny side up, etc. I become very ill afterwards. Why, I do not know. I am able to eat things that contain eggs, such as bread, cake, cookies, etc so this makes as much sense to me as it does you.

Now that the preface is out of the way, I'll begin at the beginning. Within my first few days, we had omelets one evening for dinner. I informed my host mother that I couldn't eat eggs because I had an allergy (because explaining what I just did in French is more complicated and not worth it). She said "okay" and left it at that. Over the past couple weeks, she slowly but surely tried to incorporate more eggs into the meals. With pasta dishes, she adds a raw egg or two. Now, I do not know this for sure, but I have been getting somewhat ill after I eat her pasta dishes (which are good, don't get me wrong). After tonight, I am even more suspicious that she does this - but I'll get to that shortly. I was asked this evening by my host brother whether I wanted eggs or cold sausage and chicken for dinner. I replied with the fact that I have an allergy, so I'll go with the sausage and chicken (I didn't like the sausage, but I figured it was better than an evening in the fetal position).
As I come downstairs, my mother notices I have the chicken and sausage instead of eggs. She comments. I say as a polite reminder, "Yes, I sort of have an allergy" to which she responds with "tu n'as pas une allergie". I look at her with a puzzled expression as she continues to tell me that I don't have an allergy because I ate eggs last night. Well, hmm. I don't remember eating eggs last night, the only thing we had was chicken and pasta. Pasta. That bitch evil woman tried to poison me. Now, because I hadn't mentioned I'd been getting sick after her pasta dishes, she must now think I am making the allergy up in order to get out of eating some sort of food I don't like. Fantastic.
For dessert she suggests I try this flan-like concoction. Then she "remembers" it contains whipped egg whites and informs me of this in a slightly exasperated manner. A sarcastic, passive-aggressive mother. Fabulous.

On top of that little gem to finish off my shitty less than spectacular 3 weeks day, the guy I gave my number to in order to "practice english" has been calling me nonstop today. My phone is on silent, so when I checked my missed calls today, I saw that he had called me a minimum of 4 times since 2pm today.

To fill you in: I ate lunch alone yesterday in the Rabelais. Correction: I ate lunch alone for 5 minutes. The guy sitting across from me suggested that we should talk because it was a waste to sit by each other and not converse. Okay, I'll give him that. So we chatted for a few minutes, after which he asked for my phone number, adding "to practice my english" hastily to the end of the statement. I don't know what the international rules are for asking for a girl's number, but I'm now fairly sure he didn't just have "practicing english" on his mind.

I Hate Seafood

It was a beautiful day at the ocean (The Bay of Biscay) in La Rochelle. The town is quaint, has lots of shops, and has great weather. We stayed in a wonderful house owned by my mother's friends. The interior was stone, nautical, and very artsy. The wife does a lot of sculpting. On our way to the beach, I asked my mom if there were any places to change at the beach because I hadn't slipped on my bathing suit underneath my street clothes. After a brief pause, she said, "non". She and my host sister went on to tell me that I would just change on the beach. Hmm. Is this a nude beach? Turns out, no. But unlike the United States, everyone is very comfortable with....... everything. Louise (friend's daughter) and I used a towel which wasn't too effective, while everyone else just stripped down to their bares. I'm starting to wonder if the French drink too much wine. Such a significant lack of modesty. Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

I really do hate seafood.

After having to try les moules and not liking them, I assumed that the trip to La Rochelle (on the coast) would be nice and my family would try to allow me to avoid seafood as much as possible.

For dinner on the night we were there, we went to a seafood restaurant. Now, I stupidly thought that there would be at least something on the menu that wasn't caught in a net. I thought wrong. After trying to figure out what sort of fish things were (anything with a shell is automatically off the table - no pun intended), I decided on daraude. It is a white fish that is "delicious" as my mother's friend said. I didn't know what I was expecting when the food came to the table, but I certainly was not expecting to be making eye contact with what I was about to consume. The damn thing was still fully intact. My mouth fell open and I couldn't say anything except "I'm sorry, fishy". After sensing hesitation, my host mother decapitated the poor victim. I was asked if I wanted wine. I wasn't going to pass that up at this point. Any wine would have been fine, but this wine was actually very good. I'm definitely going to keep an eye out for it from now on.

I wasn't able to finish the fish (maybe the eyes, scales, bones, and the fact the fish could look at me as I was devouring it tainted my appetite), and was partially mesmerized and partially mortified at the fact that my host mother was tearing apart a crab like a barbarian. The others were just as bad, prying things from their shells using all sorts of vile tools. One crab was obviously a female, and my host mother pried open her cache of eggs to many "oohhhhh"s and "ahhhhh"s from the rest of the table (except me, my mouth seemed to have fallen slack again). At this point, I was tipsy enough to not realize I was staring. All of the adults promised me that they'd stop disturbing me with seafood after tonight. I was relieved, I didn't have the heart to tell them I would never eat seafood again. Ever.

So for lunch the next day I had seafood.




I have developed this interest in taking photos of doors, since each one is unique. I thought I'd share some from La Rochelle....

  The door to the house we stayed in...

Where Were You?

In honor of September 11th, I thought I would post some songs that I feel are appropriate for the 10 year anniversary....

Amazing

So, I stumbled upon a cool, interesting, and jealousy-inducing fact about my house and it's contents the other day.....

My host brother has a bloody Narnia wardrobe.....

I overrode a lock....

Quick update.....

 I can now say I have gotten locked inside a school. Just because I stayed after class, and no one was smart enough to peruse the hallways before giving the janitor the 'all clear'. Good to know my school is being run by capable human beings.

I, of course, had to check all the doors before deciding to yell and scream while pounding on the glass doors like some wild ape in a zoo. I still don't have a phone at this time (but that will be rectified tomorrow.... when all the shops are open) so I was debating on commandeering some pamphlets to make an S.O.S. sign. A smoke signal even crossed my mind. I had my computer so I managed to get online and notify a couple people of my predicament. I asked for the site director's number, although I doubt she could have done much. I tried a button that read ouvert porte but I apparently didn't press it long enough the first time. So I continued to bang on the doors like a savage. After running around parts of the building where I suspected people might still be, I went back to try the button again. After the click, I thought I might as well give the door another try. The button was just far enough away to make it awkward to open the door and hold down the button at the same time. It took me a couple tries to get the timing right, but in the end I managed to escape relatively unharmed (except for maybe psychologically). I say I overrode the lock. Much cooler than, " I pressed a button and opened a door".

I never knew my study abroad experience in France would include trying to free myself from a form of prison that many students see school as. France, you are full of surprises.

Sean Penn

Happenings of last night....

I ended up going out to a movie with my host mom and her friend. I have found my crowd. I spoke better French with them than I had all that day. We went to see a Sean Penn movie called "This Must be the Place" which was debuted at the Cannes Film Festival. It was a cross between Edward Scissorhands and Into The Wild somehow.

Now, before the film, we sat down to dinner and I had to ask the question, were we taking the bus or driving? Driving it was. Great. Following le diner I rushed upstairs to get my oh-so-favorite pair of nude pumps. I had a specific outfit in mind and wasn't going to waste a perfectly good opportunity to look put together. When I came downstairs, the friend (whose name escapes me) mentioned that we weren't going for a walk on the Champs-Elysee. She commented that I looked like one of those "young, what are they? Celebr - movie stars?".
Afterwards, we all went out for drinks (as if my mom's friend doesn't drive crazy enough). It was nice to sit and relax in the centre ville late at night - so beautiful. Following our stint at the cafe, the ladies decided to take me up to a lookout that has a beautiful view of the entire city. I finally managed to get home at around 1:30am and got up at 6am for my final day of class. One more day.

Vitalis

I have now seen thunder storms from 35,000 feet and while in France. I had the opportunity to sit out on my two foot wide window sill and watch the storm. Magnificent. Then the rain came, and you could hear distinctly how far away it was as it traveled.

The one evening I decided to have dinner with my family in my PJ's, the attractive cousin stops by for a visit. The story of my life.

Yesterday, while skype video chatting with my boyfriend, a worker at the university was constantly flirting with me and eventually asked me out for drinks at the Tomate Blanche. I tried to be polite and say I was tired, but he then started suggesting other days we could go. I finally gave him a "maybe". He commented that he'd see me tomorrow..... oh boy.

In other news, I got paid 10 euros to talk English to French high school kids for an hour during lunch. In France, an hour and a half is a typical lunch. My high school had exactly 32 minutes. It was surprising how long that had been speaking French, yet their level was less than I expected. At certain points I started rambling in French, trying to get my point across. As my boyfriend would say, "whoops a doodle".

I have been introduced to a strange creature called ALF - I can't say much more than that but I am sure I will be forced to learn more in the future. I can't wait. My excitement is overflowing. There really needs to be a sarcasm font, I am convinced.

Oh my... we are pulling out cigarettes in class at the moment in order to prove a point (what point, I don't know). This whole week has been tiring and somewhat bizarre. My French is getting better and I am understanding more, which I am ecstatic about. France is known for their accurate and reliable transportation. Apparently yesterday was their day off. My bus (the system is called "Vitalis") was 20 minutes late and I also had to deal with a bunch of lost women making the driver stop the bus in order to figure out where they were headed. I was a bit late for dinner, which is at 8pm, but when I got home I found the house empty. I had been left a note saying they were at grandma's and that I should help myself to dinner. Well, because of the fact that the only thing my family has is raw ingredients and I didn't want to waste pots and pans for cooking, I had a banana.


I am currently jonesing for a ham sandwich on a baguette with mayo, butter, and cheese. Very French. Very delicious. I think I am going to find one of those (along with a stop at the crèpe shop) when I go downtown during lunch. This afternoon is going to consist of a French educational version of a scavenger hunt around the Centre Ville. From what I understand, we have to stop random people on the street. Because that isn't out of normal French culture at all. Again, sarcasm font.