The Piano Vache

Bonjour tous et toutes! I have just returned from my usual Tuesday morning routine: open market on the street behind my apartment for fruit/vegetables and usually a pair of shoes. Today I bought pears, peppers, broccoli and a pair of high heels that are honestly super duper and I feel like the prettiest princess. Now I just need to work on getting some decent clothes for clubbing since solid color long sleeves don’t really cut it…

Last night I went out to a bar called The Piano Vache near the Pantheon (which is absolutely stunning at night by the way) with the Italian and his friends. Every Monday night at this bar they have small bands playing and last night it was two guitars and a cello just playing jazz riffs and it was honestly fantastic. There were posters all over the walls for old rock and jazz concerts and the wooden columns in the main room were covered with engravings of names, initials, dates etc. It was cozy and I could imagine coming there often, even during the day or evening to work on homework as weird as that sounds. It didn’t feel like a bar; it felt like a tavern, the benches were covered in old Persian rugs and the chairs were mismatching. The atmosphere was really relaxed and we stayed for nearly two hours just listening to the music and talking during the pauses. Unlike most places, they didn’t force anyone to buy a drink to stay and listen to the music. I still need to figure out what I’m going to ask for in that case; like a coke or an orange juice or whatever. I feel like the French never really have to decide what they’re going to order. They never have to try anything on, there’s never any indecisiveness; they just know. I am obviously in the wrong country but hey that’s how you learn. I thought I had bought the wrong shoe size (and I did the first week we were here but I just use them for shoes around the house now) but I’ve been wearing the heels I bought this morning and they seem to fit fine. It’s incredible how pretty much everyone here wears heels or some sort. I feel like style here is definitely different from the US: everyone follows it here. There are no tried moms wearing sweats; they’re all chasing their toddlers around in kitten heels.

           

I did my laundry here for the first time on Saturday morning, which was definitely an adventure. I was terrified of – worst-case scenario – breaking one of the laundry machines or like getting a broken one and having my clothes come out soaking wet (in which case it would have felt just like being back at Towers). Fortunately there were directions all over the place and it will probably cost 10 euro every time I want to do laundry which isn’t terrible I guess since it’s not any cheaper anywhere else and I HAVE to do it. I was too nervous to leave my laundry there because of all the horror stories I’ve heard about homeless people just wandering in and stealing clothes out of the dryer, so I brought my magazine and stayed and read while I waited for my clothes. The number of people who said hello and goodbye to me as they entered and exited the Laundromat astonished me. I know it’s impolite to enter a store without saying bonjour to the proprietor but I didn’t know that rule extended to fellow citizens in a Laundromat.

I think today I’m going walking around the Marais (6^th arrondissement? 9^th?) with some friends who are searching for vintage shops. There is also talk of falafel so hopefully this falafel experience will be better than the last one…it’s been pretty cloudy and generally gross these past couple of days and the weather says it’s supposed to rain for the next week. Good. That makes me feel like a little less of a loser when I stay home at night. It’s also getting a little chilly out and I woke up 3 times during the night because I was FREEZING. I have a little heater thing in my room but it’s really far away from my bed and I feel sort of weird turning it on before anyone else does. Maybe I just need to keep walking around to keep the blood circulating. I asked the Italian last night if it snows here and he said it does sometimes. I hope I it snows while I’m still here. 

Rings

I need coasters that aren't books or my homework. The furniture here is all wood and it stains very easily from wet things. I am just going to pray that all the rings on this desk aren't entirely from me. The rings on almost every single one of my homework assignments however, are all me.

Last night the girl that lived here last semester came back to visit the Italian and she and her friend stayed here. I didn't know but she always spoke English with him, whereas I always speak French. I guess I just assumed that I should be speaking French but I guess he wants to practice his English. So now I don't really know what we're going to do. It was strange meeting her, like being connected in a very specific way. Like the kitchen and the bathroom and the shower and the Italian was all that connected us. She staed in Bri's room when she was here and I am staying in what used to be the middle daughter's room. We had the same stories about everything here and about the Italian, he wasn't here when she moved in either and we talked about that air of mystery and the first week or so when it was really awkward.

She's coming back to teach biology in the south of France; she said it was a Fullbright thing but it's really easy to get into. It's only for education majors but there are other programs to help students come back. I think I want to come back.

Limbo

Sorry it's been so long since my last real post; I've been super busy here with homework and school and just life in general. I promise I am still alive and will resume posting about my adventures here shortly. As soon as a I memorize this poem, lead a debate, give a news report on French culture, take a final and read 50 pages about contemporary philosophy. I can't even imagine what life is going to be like once we start REAL school.

Window Shopping

I love looking out the window because there’s always something to see. Today for example, I watched a boy jump off the curb and onto his knees cheering at something and a girl come running out of her apartment to meet him. A little later, I saw a man walking by some rubbish outside the building across from me. He poked at a few planks of wood and finally picked one up and walked away with it. It was smallish and I’m not really sure what he’s going to do with it. I watched two unconcerned mothers walking behind their daughters who sped by on little pink scooters. No one ever looks up so I never wonder what they’re going to say.

Politics

Last night's French homework was to research a few large French newspapers online and then buy the hard copy of another and basically compare their hard copy to the American hard copy and their online version to the American online version. I chose the New York Times for my American counterpart and it brought me back to those wonderful all-nighters (called nuits blanches in French - 'white nights') spent working on Byrd's final project, that scrap book that I honestly can't even remember physically putting together or working on. I think I may have blocked it from my mind altogether. 

Yesterday’s class was a definite fail for me, I had forgotten to do part of the homework and unfortunately it was the one area of grammar I cannot come up with on the fly, that most hated tense: the subjunctive. I had to review how to even form the subjunctive; it’s been that long since I was forced to use it. Lara claims I used it the other day but I think she must be imagining it because there is no way I would use the subjunctive of my own volition. It’s a useless antique that is simply kept around to keep students painfully aware of the fact that if they ever hope to become fluent in French, they will have to keep their speech clean of emotions, non-certitudes, desire or clauses followed by a change in subject. According to Madame, you will also never be able to participate in an academic debate (no big loss there, I can’t even do that in English and I haven’t been feeling the loss thus far).

That class goes by SO SLOWLY I cannot imagine how I’m going to make it through the linguistics classes at Paris8 that are all three hours long once a week. I can’t even express how much I would like for it to be the other way around. I would haul myself out there every damn day if class were only an hour. I mean obviously sitting still for three hours is a struggle but understanding French is he real challenge. My attention really starts to wan at the two hour mark if it’s not a class where I’m constantly asked to respond; at least in classes like that, I have to keep listening because I need to understand what the professor says in order to respond intelligently, not that I would at all want to do that in a French classroom setting. I’m not even going to be able to comprehend my classmates (they’ll be speaking quickly and probably in slang most of the time and I’ll be speaking slowly/mumbling with a heavy accent); I can’t fathom trying to speak in the same debate as them. That said, I am really excited to start at Paris8, if only to take Russian and a class on French slang. Just two and a half more weeks!

It’s only 10 but I feel like I’ve been up for soooo long. The Italian was up early this morning and it sounded like he came in an out of the apartment like 9 times and then he was making breakfast and I couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s weird living with someone that you don’t really know, and it’s even weirder that we must be the fourth or fifth pair of girls that has lived here with him. He’s lived here for two years and he said that every four or five months, there are students and it’s always two girls. I mean, with people changing all the time like that he must just feel like we’re just temporary tenants (which we are) but I feel like whenever we talk, I have to initiate it. I wonder if he even wants to get to know us anymore.

Sights

I got up at 8:30 this morning, which is early for someone who doesn't have class until 4pm. My plan was originally to explore Bercy which is the neighborhood closest to where I live…and then I remembered it’s the lamest neighborhood in Paris so I chose the next closest which is (dun dun dunnn) THE BASTILLE!!! So I packed my camera and map and set off ready to see an old prison. I live on a side street off of a main road called, Avenue Daumesnil and the Bastille is at the very end of this road so I picked the side of the road I don’t usually walk on and headed out. There’s a small garden that runs along the road called Jardin de Reuilly and I’ve never been in it because I’m usually only in the area at night and the parks in Paris are pretty sketch at night but anyway; this particular street is very interesting because it's just studio after studio of all different kinds of artists: there’s one for period/costume clothing, one for dolls, pottery, furniture, jewelry, you name it. Above all these studios, there’s a garden path that I’ve seen from the street but never taken, and today I decided to take it. I found the set of stairs at the end of a building that lead up to the roof and I walked all the way to the end of the path. It seemed to be a really popular area for runners but there were art students sketching and people reading the morning paper and some like me simply preferring this path to the street below. It smelled like roses and honeysuckle and there was one portion that was entirely bamboo. I think maybe I’ll go read there some mornings before it gets too cold; grab a pastry from the boulangerie…ah the French life.

But back to my walk: So eventually the path ended and I descended back down to the street, following the arrows pointing to Bastille. As I drew nearer and nearer to my destination I noticed an obvious lack of old buildings and became suspicious. Thinking back to the pictures I had seen of the Bastille neighborhood, I recognized the one I was walking alongside as the Bastille Opera House and began to realize something: there is no longer a Bastille. Obviously since I thought it would still be there in all it’s French Revolutionary glory, I have no idea what happened to it but the actual prison is long gone and in it’s place, an modern glass opera house. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn't EXTREMELY disappointed. However, I decided to set aside my expectations and turn the morning into an adventure: I continued onto the street across from Avenue Daumesnil, called Rue Richard Lenoir which was like the Commonwealth Mall, for those of you in Boston (grass/dirt path in the middle and pavement on both sides for those of you not in Boston). This eventually intersected with Boulevard de Voltaire, which I was able to take back to Place de la Nation, which is actually at the end of my subway line but I walked back from there to my apartment. I had grand plans to go straight to the boulangerie and pick up some bread and then to the Tabac for a phone card (I have 7 texs left) but I was too hot and tired from walking for the past two hours that I just went back to the apartment and had some chocolate and grapefruit juice.

Bri was still asleep and I couldn't tell if the Italian were even home because his door was shut and I couldn’t hear any noise. I took my magazine into the kitchen and sat down at the little table and read book reviews. I had the window open for a bit of a breeze and I could hear someone playing the piano. I could still hear it when I closed the window and the sounds around me were so peaceful I wished I could just go back to sleep listening to the distant sounds of the piano and the Italian typing in his room. 

Disoriented

This is surprisingly the first morning that I've woken up confused. I don't remember dreaming but I turned my alarm off before I knew what it was and then I just lay in bed staring around me thinking 'It's Sunday, It's Monday' and just feeling so confused. I must have been in a really deep sleep. I went to bet earlier than usual last night (12:30) after promising myself that I wouldn't buy any more chocolate bars until October. Bri got home around midnight; she said Alsace was wonderful and medieval and very Scandinavian in architecture and then we talked about the homework for a bit and then before I went to sleep, I texted Spencer because today is our one year anniversary :)

Last night I was watching an Agatha Christy movie in French on my computer and doing homework when I heard voices out in the hallway. I heard a knock on the door and it was the oldest girl from the family (Galiote?) and the mother and they kept saying they had an étagère. I just nodded and then looked at the Italian questioningly (he had also come out into the hallway) and he mimicked something that just looked like floors (because étage is floor in French, like third floor). I just chalked it up to my ignorance and turned back to my room when I noticed a boy coming through the door to the apartment with a bookcase…and then he came into my room with it. I must have said thank you to them a zillion times. I have so much shelve space now; I don't know what to do with it! As I was standing in front of it, thinking just that, the Italian came in and I told him I had been very surprised because I hadn't understood the word étagère. I put all my books and magazines in it but I guess I will need it more in the future when I start at Paris8 with my schoolbooks and stuff. While he was in my room, I asked him what he was working on because there is always a lot of sighing coming from that room and he had said before that he has so much to get done. He said he was working on a montage and asked if I wanted to see. He’s entering it in a film festival for work documentaries and he chose to film oysters. I only saw a portion of it because he has all these clips and he was working on putting them in order, but I’m assuming it’s going to be sea to factory to market, some sort of process. Then we talked about movies for a bit because his favorite type is Science Fiction (Laura, I told him all about the horrible Syfy channel in the US) and his favorite movie is 2001: space odyssey (which I’m determined to watch one of these days since he thinks it’s so good.) I told him about my limited experience with science fiction movies, but when I mentioned Armageddon (because Nicole had that movie poster in our room when I was younger) he let out this almighty groan, ‘Jesus Christ…’ It was the best reaction anything I’ve said has elicited from him. I knew the movie was terrible but as a filmmaker, it must just be insulting to him. Anyway, I left him with some inspiring parting words (You can do it!) and told him to get back to work, advice which I promptly ignored. I went back to my room and listened to Italian techno music (thank you Laura <3)

This deserves a post...

So the Italian has been skyping with a female for the past hour AT LEAST, which wouldn't bother me IF he either had his headphones in or made some effort to be quiet. If I knew Italian, I would be able to understand every single thing they are both saying. It sounds as though they're having an Italian disagreement but they might be just talking extremely loudly and excitedly, I have no idea. It's impossible to tell and also impossible to do anything. Like read, or do my homework. I am never going to feel bad for skyping at night again. In fact if someone comes on skype, I WILL skype with them, immediately. Unfortunately Spence won't be awake until I'm eating dinner maybe.

On the upside, I've been mostly productive today: Wrote my essay, finished the grammar homework, read for next Friday and memorized 1/4 of my poem. I might have to get cracking on the poem though because I have no idea when the first run-through of that is due..also we have to present it in a 'creative' way like a dramatic reading or illustrated or whatever. Any ideas? I'm really glad I don't have this French class until 4pm every day because I am not going to be ready for our debate tomorrow. The subject is: Is culture a commodity like clothes and books and movies and stuff or is it a necessity like food and shelter? I've just written a 600 word essay on culture and while that's not a very long piece of literature, I didn't have a whole lot to say about it in the first place so this debate is going to be a struggle.

After my disasterous attempt yesterday to give directions to a Russian woman from the opera to Montmartre, I've decided to really get cracking on this self-review. I've started listening to russian poetry and rememorizing the one poem that I knew. I'm hoping that tonight after dinner, I can just curl up in bed with the russian grammar book I bought last weekend.

Woaw c'est super

This post is mostly meant for Laura and Gina so I hope you guys are paying attention!

It's raining here and I've been working on homework all morning. Last morning, three friends came over with wine and champagne and cous-cous and we made a delicious stiry with tandoori paste and cookies called choquettes for dessert. While we ate and drank and digested, we watched Marie Antoinette (the one that came out a few years ago) but mostly we talked over it. We talked in English but at the end of the night, we made a pact that the next get-together (this weekend. We're making milkshakes and my famous cake with mocha frosting), we'll speak only French. After they all left at around 10:30 last night, I talked to the Italian while I washed the dishes and then for about 20 minutes after I'd finished. (It's strange because we never talk during the day, it's always in the kitchen and it's always at night. Actually I don't think I've ever spoken to him outside the kitchen). We all made tentative plans to do something today but not until much later because we all have the same homework: 600 word essay, memorize a poem, read, and prepare for a debate, which is what I've been doing since I got up two hours ago (taking my time with it obviously).

I'm eating breakfast right now so I thought I'd take a little break and see what I could find as far as French television. Laura and Gina, I hit the jackpot: CODE LYOKO EN FRANCAIS. Thankfully there are only two episodes each week so I can't spend TOO much time with it but when I first heard the theme music, it gave me that giddy feeling like when you watch a movie that you haven't seen in a really long time or something at the theather that you've been wanting to see for ages. I'd forgotten how much I missed this show. I miss you guys, Laura and Gina. You seem to work yourselves into every conversation I have with my friends here because I'm always talking about 'When I was younger, WE...' and then of course I have to explain that 'we' means the three of us because we did everything together. I miss coming to your house after school and all three of us eating dinner together after CCD. I can't wait to come home and spend time with you guys.

PS While I'm thinking about it, if there's anything specific that anyone wants from Paris, let me know. Dad, you already kow that you guys are getting travel mugs so don't complain.

Back to the Grind

Sorry I haven't really updated in the past few days, I've honestly (mostly) just been busy with school. Or walking around Paris, but mostly, it's school. My advanced French class is Monday through Thursday 4-6pm and the Seminar on the Contemporary (just what I needed, another philosophy class) is Fridays from 10-1 which I knew what going to be bad a) because I can’t listen to French for that long without completely zoning out the first time I lose my concentration b) it’s much earlier than I’m used to doing things here (I get up at 9 every day :D) and c) because it’s a PHILOSOPHY class which means we’re going to have ‘rousing’ debates about stuff no one really cares about. I mean we’ve had debates in my advanced French class but it concerned whether or not everyone has a rights to free culture, to the arts, music, etc but I mean that pretty much struck a chord in everyone because everyone DOES something but I can guarantee no one has a personal stake in whether or not this dry historian is a contemporary of second dry historian or not based on the content or time of his writing. I’m just nervous because I know it’s going to be a lot of speaking and I can barely BS in English, so it’s going to be twice as hard in French. I would prefer he just lecture at us for three hours. He’s actually being really accommodating about the length though; we have a ten minute break every fifty minutes so it’s just like having three classes at BU back to back which I’ve done before.

We have the seminar until we leave in December but the Advanced French class ends in three weeks so it’s really jam-packed. We have an essay due sometimes twice a wee, as well as oral projects like preparing for debates. I forget when the poetry assignment is due but that’s coming up soon: we had to pick a poem and memorize it and then in like a week or so, we have to do a dramatic rendition of said poem. This is going to be THE WORST. Our final project is a news report and I can’t tell if she means that the whole class is doing one or that we’re splitting into groups; I have no idea but we’re being filmed and I hate seeing myself on film.

On a side note, I can hear the Italian speaking on the phone in French pretty fluently but I have NO IDEA WHAT HE’S SAYING. This is really getting to be a problem; I have to ask him to repeat everything like nine times and I’m sure he has some weird perceptions of me because I definitely don’t always know what he’s asking when I say yes or no. Last night for example, we were in the kitchen and I was probably washing dishes or something and he was making dinner and Bri has just left for Alsace for the weekend and he was asking me if I were going to travel but I thought we were still talking about Bri and he’s like non non, TU. Then I think he asked if I had any friends here but I thought he meant why am I not traveling with Bri and her friends and I was like well we aren’t really close with the same people and then he invited me out with his friends the following night, warning me that they only speak Italian. So NOW, in addition to already thinking I’m an idiot, he thinks I have to friends and I have to find some way to not be around tonight so I don’t have to reject his invitation. While it was a very nice gesture, I barely speak French, let alone Italian.

I’m going to a flea market today and running some errands after that but honestly I can’t wait to come home and work on my essay due Monday. I just want to wrap myself up in a cocoon of schoolwork and not ever leave the house. I don’t want to pick a boulangerie to go into every day because I don’t NEED a baguette every single day, nor do I need a pain au chocolat. I don’t want to pick a café to do my homework in because it’s not like they would notice if I were a regular anyway. I don't like trying to fit in here.  

No language is safe

So I just heard the entirety of a conversation between the Italian and his AMERICAN, ENGLISH-SPEAKING friend. I am just going to hope that he wasn't listening last night to Haley and I talking about him because that might make things a little awkward. I don't think he did though because we had a pretty normal conversation in the kitchen this morning; as normal as a conversation can be with a strange person that's just moved into your immediate area. Also the kitchen is so miniscule that if there are ever two people there, you're automatically in the other person's personal space. Since then, I've just been kind of waiting until I hear him retreat back into his room before I go make my tea or whatever. Speaking of hot beverages, I made hot chocolate today with my shelf-milk and the Italian's cocoa powder (which is why I waited until he was definitely out for the day) and it tasted just like normal hot chocolate. I'm still too afraid to just drink it aloe though so I'm going out tomorrow to buy my own cocoa powder. And more shelf-milk. I had no idea we had the same thing in the US; I thought it was just a weird French thing that they someone alter their milk such that they can keep it on the shelf for nearly six months before it goes bad! When you think about it, it's unbelievably convenient and strangely conforms to the American buy in bulk policy because they often sell the milk in six one-liter cartons strapped together.

In other news, today before French class, the professor pulled me aside and told me that she had corrected the homework and that I had done an excellent job. I just started at her perplexed because all we had handed in was just a grammar exercise that I hadn’t really thought of as important so I’d forgotten all about it. My mind was already on the writing assignment due today so when I responded ‘homework?’ she told me that my example sentences were very clear and precise and that I expressed myself very well. I stood there dumbfounded, not accustomed to receiving praise from a French professor (god I hope She never reads this because the jabs are just endless) and not knowing what to say until I finally thanked her and she told me to keep up the good work. Then she had me read my sentences to the class and I felt like a model student. So all in all pretty good day for me, academically. It’s about half past twelve and I’ve long since finished my homework for tomorrow and am working on stuff for my lecture Friday. I might go to the BU center early tomorrow because I am really noticing the lack of a paper dictionary. My eyes are getting really tired at night from staring at a computer screen all day and sometimes I really just want to relax on my bed or out somewhere but can’t because I don’t have wireless here. I might have mom bring my little pocket one when she comes in October; that way at least I can do my homework in a café or something.

PS To all who read Baudelaire (in French), I give you credit because what I’m doing can not be called anything other than struggling.  

Crossroads

I've had this anxious feeling in the back of my mind for a few days now and I think I'm finally realizing what it is. I am at a point where I can decide to really throw myself into this experience and only speak french to everyone and really just try to assimilate...or I can talk to my housemate in English and skype with my friends all the time and write these blog entries. I don't feel comfortable here because I know I'm a stranger and I feel like everyone else knows it too. I know that if I just gave everything up - Skype, Facebook, the blog, everything - I would start to become part of this sphere; this moving, Parisian, market, shopping, metro-riding sphere. And I would fit in. I feel like whereever I am, I'm thinking of home and everyone around me can just feel how different my thoughts are, how they're tainted with English and it marks me. When I talk to strangers here, they're even stranger because we don't share anything: country, language, ideals, morals. They are French and I'm not trying to be. I am so afraid of letting my other world go that I can't even find a happy medium. I'm creating my own little English sphere around me wherever I go in this world and it's hindering me. I have a chance to start from scratch in a completely new place for three months and I'm not taking it. I'm looking at this as just another long term assignment that I need to get through, not a once in a lifetime opportunity to be French for three months, before returning to who I was. What am I afraid of? That this new life here might be better? It's not real though, it's like...I'm playing a virtual reality game until December 18th when I take off the game helmet and I'm back in the real world and I'll get that feeling you get when you've been running on a treadmill and suddenly you get off and the world seems to be moving so slowly around you. I'm afraid that if I let myself love Paris and assimilate, I'll hate Boston. I'm so afraid that I'll want to stay.

GreenBoy

Today I successfully navigated an open market and this entry is going to take me twice as long as it should if I have to look at the keyboard because I’m writing this in the computer lab at the BU center and all of the computers have a French keyboard. Good thing Auntie Sandy invested so much time in making sure we knew how to type without looking at the keyboard; Timon and Pumba typing, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. Anyway, I’ve decided that the most economical way to Spence money here to would be spending it on Tuesday mornings when I can go to the open market on the street right behind my apartment building. I would never have even known about this market had not out host mother given us a sheet of paper regarding our home stay and where the Laundromats and markets and things are. SO here’s the thing about French open markets. Some venders are totally cool with you handling their stuff and touching everything and choosing your own but some aren’t so I spent the better part of an hour watching how people acted at each stall and just mimicking them, which went perfectly well, really. Only one potential problem was when I wanted six carrots (six) and the vender thought I said ten (dix) but the woman behind me understood what had happened and corrected him for me. I bought apples, pears, carrots and a leather jacket and then went into a small grocery store nearby to get the rest of the items on my list: eggs, milk, sliced bread, chicken (my friend is coming over and bringing the bread and the wine and we’re going to make stir fry!)

The French are very environmentally friendly, which is something I definitely expect, it just caught me off guard for some reason. I recently saw a youtube clip about 'GreenBoy' who is the French environmentally friendly do-gooder who cleans up cigarette butts and other trash that people just drop on the sidewalk. His insignia was a unicron though and I'm not really sure what that's trying to say...maybe we should all be pure like the unicorn? The French are also so economical that it is absolutely necessary that you bring your own bag to go food shopping because they will charge you 0,03€ for a regular old plastic bag or if you’re unlucky, 0,30€ for a reusable one. Our host mother gave us two reusable bags that I had previously forgotten but luckily both times I had only been buying bread or small amounts of food that I could carry in my hands. Today however, without my reusable bag I would have been completely stuck. Most of the French that I have seen shopping either at outdoor markets or at regular supermarkets have the sort of rolling carts that we in American usually associate with homeless people. For them however, it’s a way of life and it’s how they do their shopping. I don’t think I’ve seen one carriage at all in France and the baskets that you carry around with you in the store are smaller and more malleable so I’m sure they’re more economical to make, which honestly makes me wonder about the US. Is it just that we’re so obsessed with buying everything in bulk and stocking up for weeks at a time? I can guarantee that there are zero costco’s or sam’s clubs here. People do their food shopping once a week and they buy their bread daily, fresh from their favorite boulangerie.

There are some things that I don’t love about France (their tiny stoves and tiny garbage cans and the fact that I have to dispose of my glass in a special depository on the street a few blocks away. I don’t like that there are no Wal-Mart’s or targets and if they have equivalents here in France, they are nowhere near my house. Things are expensive here but there are definitely ways to get around here but I imagine that if you were a Parisian, you wouldn’t try to get around it, you would just buy the clothes or shoes or make up at full price. I don’t really know if the Parisians are bargain shoppers like we are in America or if they simply pay the sticker price and know that they are helping their own economy.  However, I can’t deny that the idea of going to the same market every Tuesday morning and the same bakery every morning doesn’t charm me in the same way that it charms every American in Paris. As they say here at BU, I’m still in the honeymoon phase but I don’t think that’s true. I know what Paris is and I don’t think I’m going to have any startling revelations about this city that will completely change my perspective. I like it here and it’s completely different from the US in every single way possible and most of its institutions wouldn’t even work in the US but I’ll be ready to come home in December. I came here to learn French and I am determined to put my heart and soul into accomplishing that goal. But I don’t want to become any more French than it takes for me to be treated alright in a café or to feel confident enough to bargain with venders at a flea market. I want to learn HOW to be French but not to actually be French. Miss and love you all.

AN:

The Italian has arrived. 

Also the dates on all of the previous posts are off. For example, the date of this post is September 7th and the first 6 days are the first six days I was here, Day 7, which I may or may not post, was versailles which was kind of just like a huge Newport Mansion. I mean it was really luxurious and rich but once you've seen one obnoxiously wealthy mansion, you've pretty much seen them all. Anyway, that night I went out for a drink (!!) with some of the girls in the internship program that I sat with on the way back from Versailles. The bars here are super cool and we listened to some live music downstairs in one of them. Apparently dance clubs are also very in and there's one especially for foreign students called Erasmus. I haven't been yet but it's definitely on my list of things to do. 

Day 6

I woke up wishing I had taken the time to shower the night before because I had to be at Paris8 to meet the linguistics professors at 9:45 and it was already 8:30. I had guessed the previous day (and Bri confirmed it) that it would take nearly 45 minutes to get to Paris8 from my apartment, and that’s only if I didn’t have to wait for a train when I crossed lines. I showered and dressed quickly made my strawberry jam and banana sandwich for breakfast. Filled up my water bottle on the way out and made it to the metro station at 9:15 which is what I had been hoping for. Unfortunately that still wasn’t giving myself enough time because it was 9:46 when the metro pulled into Saint Denis Université. I ran up the stairs and was just going through the barriers to the station when I noticed two other girls hurrying too. All three of us made it to the rendez-vous point before the assistant director of our program, Shannon and stood in the shade to catch our breath and wait for the two other linguistics students to arrive. They never did. To avoid all of us being late instead of just two students, Shannon brought us up to meet with the professors and had said she would leave and return to the meting point in case the other showed up but maybe she thought she should stay in case we needed a sort of go between during our talks.

Things started out kind of rough; we all introduced ourselves but then weren’t really sure where to go from there. For a few second we all kind of stared at each other awkwardly but then the two professors launched into an explanation of the courses and the school and the credits an basically everything we had been wanting to know. We have two options: the three linguistics classes that we will probably take are offered at Paris8 and at the Ecole Normale Superioeur which is in the Latin Quarter and closer to my apartment honestly, but the classes move more quickly. They are considered ‘Masters’ level here but it doesn’t mean the same thing as it does in the states. Most of the people taking these classes won’t have taken linguistics before so we’ll all really be on the same page since the three of us have had an intro to all the different areas in our intro course. Also the textbooks will be in English but the classes taught in French so both we and the French students will be handicapped in some way. The other option is to take all of the classes at Paris8, which I might actually have to do to keep from running all over the city every other day. At Paris8, it’s possible to audit as many classes as you want, free of charge (or at least it is for us) so I’ve decided I’m going to take Russian and French slang just for my own personal knowledge but the thing is, only the linguistics classes can be at l’ecole normale so if I have both phonologie and Russian back to back, I might not be able to make it and therefore would have to take all my classes at Paris8. Either way, I’m excited to start school. I’m not exactly bored here; I just wish I were busier so these months would pass more quickly.

Day 5

I set my alarm for 10:00 am thinking that was the latest I could possibly get up, but that I would actually wake up much earlier. As it turn out, I didn't wake up until 10 but luckily my friend emailed me asking if I would be ok pushing the meeting back until noon. I took my time getting ready and making my usual breakfast (two slices of bread with strawberry jam and slices of banana – it’s like a strawberry banana smoothie sandwich) and grabbing the metro. I had chartered a voyage to the Carrefour before we got there so when we met at the pre appointed metro stop, I told her what street we were supposed to take and whatnot. We agreed on a direction and set out. Good thing I was paying attention to the cross streets because I soon realized we were going the wrong way. My friend took the news pretty well and we entered a boulangerie to get some pastry for lunch. We decided to stay near the metro stop because we figured the school to be nearly an hour away and we wanted to give ourselves ample time to find it. Fortunately there was an open market nearby and we browsed for a bit. I bought black flats that are a little too small and I just don't want to admit it and my friend bought a scarf because EVERYONE here wears scarves and she was feeling a little left out because she only brought practical ones for the winter.

We left by 1:00 and made it to the Saint-Denis University stop in plenty of time. The university was really empty but that’s because school for university hasn’t started yet. Our program director kept telling us how modern and experimental that school is but it looks kind of run down and ghetto. It’s in a pretty bad area of the city and they’re currently doing a lot of construction on EVERY building of the university because I think they found asbestos in the walls or something. Its definitely going to be an adventure taking classes there but at least I won’t be alone. My friend Lara and I (she’s also doing the linguistics track) decided to take most of the same classes together so that if there’s something we don’t understand at least we have each other. We were supposed to get our student ID cards today but there was some paperwork that only a few people did and the rest of us had no idea what paper the woman we were speaking to was talking about so our program director, Lionel, said that for whoever could come to the BU center on Monday at 3:00, he would be in the computer lab and we could all do it together. Maybe I’ll get some new photos before then…Before we met with the liaison at Paris8, Lionel gave us a tour of the university campus. It’s going to be kind of cool to be at a school with a cafeteria and a quad and an actual campus. The library looks fairly big too so I anxiously await that library card. We got a few brochures and I’m definitely going to pursue some dance classes (danse de la societe = ballroom). Upon departure, Shannon (the assistant program director) reminded the linguistic students that we would be meeting with the head of the linguistic department at Paris8 at 10:00 am so to meet here where we were standing at 9:45 the next day.

Lara and I left to start our project for our French class, which was to discover a Parisian quartier with the aide of a sort of scavenger hunt given to us by the professor. We decided to do Montmartre first and foremost because we share a common love of the movie Amélie and also because we hadn’t yet explored that area. We were lead to certain places on a tour that took us all around Montmartre and we had to take pictures to use in the presentation on Monday regarding our impressions of the quartier. Instead of getting off at the metro station listed in the instructions, we got off at a different station nearby (to avoid changing lines) and walked there. We walked over the bridge that allows cars to travel over the famous Père Lachaise cemetery, the most exclusive and famous cemetery in the world where renowned artists, authors, and celebrated historical figures are buried, such as: Balzac, Bizet, Breguet (I’m sure Spence will want to see that one), and Moliere to name a few.

Our walking tour began at the metro station Abesses, the deepest metro station in Paris. The first stop was a church dedicated to the Parisians who died (in battle?) in 1918. It was the source of much controversy because it was the first church (I’m not sure if it’s in Paris or in France) to be built with reinforced cement. I’m not really sure why that was met with so much controversy though…if I were building a church, I’m pretty sure I would WANT it to survive major disasters, but I guess that’s just me. The directions lead us to the second stop a short ways away; something called a martyrium. All I know is what I read on the signpost outside the door: that Joan of Arc came here to pray during the siege of Paris. Oh and that the crypts are available to visit on Thursdays. The third destination was the reward for climbing 252 steps: Sacré-Coeur. Even after seeing a million and one churches this summer in Italy and France, it was still impressive. Huge and white, it’s one of the highest points in France and offers an incredible view of the city all the way to the distant mountains. We sat on the steps and drank water and caught our breath. Even from the steps you could clearly see the city unfolding from around Montmartre. It’s one of seven hills in Paris and gets it’s name from ‘mons martyr’ because the martyrs came there and it was the place St. Denis eventually chose to build his church. He was the first bishop of Paris.

After that, our path brought us to the Museum of Montmartre; we didn’t go in but it looked like it provided information on the different artists that lived and worked there throughout the years. The building that houses the museum is also called Rose de Rosimond after Claude de la Rose who lived there for some time and replaced Moliere as an actor and, I believe, as a writer when the latter died. The next stop was the bust of Yolanda Gigliotti (stage name, Dalide) just kind of chilling in a little courtyard. She was apparently a comedy singer although I have no idea what that even means; is that like the Adam Sandburg and the other lovely fellows of the Lonely Island are comedy singers?

We explored, and got lost on, the winding and quiet back streets of Montmartre, ending eventually at the most famous cabaret in the world and the birthplace of the can-can, the Moulin Rouge. As we wrote down the final answers in our scavenger hunt, we watched tourists take suggestive photos in front of the scandalous dance hall. My partner and I, on the other hand, were far more interested in the windmill that sits atop the red building. There were once 30 windmills in Montmartre whereas today, only two remain, one is now a restaurant and the other is simply there, closed to visitors on the same street. The one on top of the Moulin Rouge is not one of the two that remain but still, it made us think: what happened to the other twenty-eight? Did they simply fall into disrepair and were torn down to make way for the bigger and better buildings of today? They were used to make flour so perhaps Montmartre has started importing its flour from elsewhere instead of making it. Maybe they were burned to the ground in a horrible fire we’ll never know about. Do you ever wonder about the history of the buildings around you? Albeit in Europe, this line of thinking is more interesting and profitable because most of the buildings are rather old, whereas in the US the oldest they could possibly be is 1600s and even that’s pushing it. Paris may have its neat little snack machines and self cleaning public toilets but mostly, it’s old and set in its ways. 

Day 4

Last night walking around our neighborhood, Bri and I spotted a Phone House and market (where I had taken the photos for my student ID) and this morning I returned to both, driven by the need for a phone and aesthetic satisfaction in the way of better photos. It was a 50% success. Well actually like 40%. The Phone House was closed, something I really should have expected since things are really only ever open here from 10 to 8. I did however take smaller and better photos that I can really only use for the metro pass. However, in order to break my 10€ I had to buy something so I quickly went down the drink aisle thinking I’d buy like chocolate milk or something, when suddenly I saw this coco milk energy drink for 0,85€ and decided on that. The pictures came out fine and I was very satisfied with myself. I took my new energy breakfast out of my bag and absentmindedly examined it as I walked back home. To my horror, printed on the top of the cap was 07/09. Bri tried it later so if it’s the date, then the French have unknowingly revolutionized dairy preservation. There’s a reason I had her try it; I'm not sadistic, it’s just that when I went to drink it later on, I noticed it was basically a yogurt drink and I don’t really love yogurt so I couldn’t tell if it was expired or if I just didn’t like it. On the back it says that drinking this yogurt red bull is the equivalent of one square of chocolate, a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice; or it could mean that those are the ingredients, which would explain why it tastes so bad. I went light on the breakfast because our schedule for the day included a presentation on the gastronomie francais, which would almost certainly include food. We had to be at the school by 11am and I didn’t get back to the house until 10. As I fixed myself some breakfast (and put the nasty drink firmly at the back of the fridge), I wondered if Bri were getting dressed…or still sleeping. I gave it a few more minutes and then when I didn’t hear any noises from her room I knocked on the door. When she finally opened it, she had obviously just woken up. She showered faster than I ever could have in that shower (think of the removable showerheads except once you remove it, there’s nowhere to put it back – the cradle is broken so when you aren’t using the showerhead you have to awkwardly hold it between your legs or gently lay it on the ground and pray that it doesn’t spray all over the place). And we were actually only like 5 minutes late getting to the center. Orientation hadn’t started yet and I took the time to post the last two blog entries and check my email and Facebook. I just had time to close out of Facebook when the program director poked her head in and told us it was time to start.

You could fairly easily see everyone fidgeting and looking around anxiously during the U.S. Embassy talk that preceded the food. Even though I was just as hungry as everyone else, I became increasingly nervous as the speech wound on. Someone in our group had actually been robbed the day before and she warned us again about the dangers of Parisian streets  and how we should never walk around alone at night or during the day and how we should close our windows at night and when we leave the house. Bri never used to but she started. I guess I haven’t really been here long enough to feel like it’s MY city and to feel completely safe here but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll cause me to be more cautious and aware of my surroundings, not like I’m not already. I always keep my purse close to me and make sure it’s closed when I’m in crowded areas or on the metro. In that sense, I don’t think I could ever really live here in Paris; in France, yes, but not in Paris. I feel like it would be impossible for me to not be afraid. I guess that’s another reason why I’m so glad The Italian (as we call him) will be arriving soon. The more people that are around, the safer I’ll feel. In any case, I’m not doing anything stupid like walking around alone at night or getting into taxis with people I don’t know or handing out my phone number or talking to strangers or drinking large quantities or alcohol and then trying to sit on a low wall and falling backwards into a coma (that was one of the stories the woman from the embassy told us). As long as I’m careful not to make myself an obvious victim, I should be ok.

On a happier note, the culinary presentation was DELICIOUS. We were all given a plastic wine glass with a colored napkin inside (mine was brown) when we walked through the door and then Elisabeth (the cultural director) passed around plates of very dry bread that apparently awakens the taste buds (or is that the wine or the aperitif?) Elisabeth had set up on a table two sets of cheese, baguette, and red wine and asked us if we could tell the difference. After looking at the label on the cheese, we realized that the difference was in the price; the cheese in one setting had been bought from Carrefour, a large supermarket chain, whereas the other had been bought from a specialty cheese shop. Elisabeth then went on to explain the quality over quantity argument for which I giver her credit because I can’t imagine a harder audience to sell this to than students who essentially have no money. I mean of course I understand that what she’s saying is completely true and if I were hosting a part or if I were wealthy enough to do so, I would probably buy the more expensive, and therefore better, cheese. As it is, I would rather feed myself for the whole semester and also be able to buy some souvenirs, rather than eat out every night or buy ‘the good stuff.’ Maybe it’s because I’m not a real Parisienne but to me, food is food. In any case, there followed a PowerPoint naming all of the specialty stores and how the Real Parisians go to each place for specific goods, instead of going to a super market and getting everything done in one fell swoop, absolutely untrue because the supermarkets are always busy when I go inside them. It’s true that there are many more specialty stores here than in the US. There is a cheese shop, patisserie, boulangerie, butcher, fish market etc everywhere you look. It’s absolutely possible, given the time, to buy everything at it’s own place. The convenience stores here are very different, too; it’s true that chocolate bars abound but it’s very difficult to find real junk food: greasy chips or M&Ms are actually quite expensive. I could probably buy two bars of lindt chocolate for the same amount of money as a medium bag of M&Ms. The only downside is that I paid 1€35 for a pack of five bars of chocolate. I’m staying strong though: I bought them on Sunday and I’ve only eaten one bar and a half J

After the PowerPoint, we were separated according to napkin color and sent to one of four rooms where we would sample one of the four regions of French cuisine. My group went first to Aquitaine in the south of France. The major city in this part of France is Bourdeax, where both red and white wines are made. For each region, we sampled the wine, an entrée (or two), a cheese and a dessert. In Aquitaine, I tried the wine (red), the pate (tasted like gourmet meatloaf), brebis cheese (sheep cheese), and some sort of Rum cake that had a really weird texture on the inside. The next stop was somewhere in the east of France, I forget exactly where but it was actually my favorite place food-wise. The wine was red (which I could have done without), the entrée was something that tasted exactly like tuna fish, like from the can mixed with mayonnaise but when someone mentioned they could taste mayonnaise, Elisabeth said there was none. The cheese was goat cheese which I would just eat every day for the rest of my life, given the chance and the certainty that I would never gain any weight, and the dessert was something called opera cake. Its like tiramisu with the layers but just with more layers of different kinds of cream. There were actually two desserts at this station and the other was a kind of cookie that I’ve seen in all the patisseries and the name escapes me but they’re very, very sweet and airy inside and topped with balls of sugar. The third station was another name I’ve forgotten and it was my least favorite anyway: just a lot of cold cuts and some cheese I didn’t like and elephant ears for dessert. The last place, I remember, was Normandie and instead of wine we had cider (delicious). The entrée was blood sausage or something and it tasted ok but was pretty gross smelling and feeling and it got under my fingernails. We tried two types of Camembert for the cheese, one from the supermarket and one from the specialty shop. To be honest, and maybe it’s just because I’m so used to the supermarket kind, I thought the better quality one was too strong and I actually preferred the supermarket brand. For dessert, we had mini chausse aux pommes, which are basically semi-circle shaped apple tarts that are usually as big as my hand.

When everyone had finished, the presenter of that meal instructed us to return to room A, where we had started. Once there, Elisabeth informed us that our next task would be a treasure hunt in the immediate area surrounding the BU facility. She split us into two groups, A and B, which she then divided further into 4 groups. Group A would start at the Champs de Mars and learn how to play Petanque, then begin their hunt, whereas group B would start at the end of the hunt and work their way backwards to play Petanque if they had time. Each group had to be back at the Champs de Mars by 4 because the next item on the list was a one-man marionette show for kids. Scavenger hunt was fun but a little tedious; the marionette show, on the other hand, was terrifying. One man did all the voices and he kept making the puppets scream really loudly and then all the kids would scream and all the babies would start crying and he did this like THREE TIMES. I’m not really entirely sure what the point of seeing the puppet show was supposed to be, but it ended up showing us how different French audiences are from American audiences. For example, there was one baby that got so scared the first time the guy screamed that it wouldn't stop crying the entire time and the mother just kept hushing it and rubbing it’s back! Correct me if I’m wrong but that would NOT fly in American theaters. That mom would be getting death stares from the other children and mothers alike. I enjoy French humor when I understand it and unfortunately, I wasn’t able to understand as much as I would have liked to today but the narrator spoke very quickly and also the children in the audience never stopped talking. This puppeteer had NO trouble engaging his audience. He had riled them up so much that they were screaming almost non-stop. By the end of the show I was frustrated and deaf. Oh and by the way the show was named Madame Biscotine and the Devil and featured Madame Biscotine, her obviously Asian neighbor sporting a stereotypical cap, a robe, and a long thin braid down his back, and the devil who wanted to take Madame Biscotine to hell for reasons I was unable to ascertain. Towards the end, this really started getting good. The devil slammed the Asian in the back of the head with a baseball bat but I guess he has a really hard head (?) because he got back up and head butted the devil in the stomach, knocking him out long enough for the Asian to throw him off-stage.

The next item on the list was the cinema in the Latin Quarter for a French movie (long and depressing but featuring Juliette Binoche and my other favorite French actor, Romain Duris) and then crepes after that. I got a cheese and chicken something; it wasn't called a crepe, but I did get a crepe for dessert: nutella crepe. DELICIOUS. I actually usually get a crepe if I’m going to be eating out because they’re fairly cheap. The bathroom in the crepe place was just out of this world. I took a video because it was just so crazy that I wanted to remember it forever. One of the guys (well, the only guy) in our group brought a few of us with him inside because he wanted to show us. The first room was a sort of antechamber with just a sink and a flashing neon light and tons of stickers on the bathroom door that changed color depending on the light. The toilet stall though, was absolutely divine: there was a disco ball sort of thing that shot little spotlights all over the room. I took a video of that too. Some woman came in while I was taking a video of the anteroom and gave me a really confused look and then walked back out.

Everyone sort of trickled out of the crepe places in twos and threes. Two others and myself took our time walking back along the Seine passing Notre Dame, The Louvre and various other landmarks on our way to the Eiffel Tower, just in time to see it sparkle which it does each night, every hour on the hour. Pictures don’t do it justice so I took a video instead and I really want to make it the background on my phone.

We return so late each night and I hate going right to sleep so I always blog or read a little and then before I know it, it’s 2am. We don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow until 2pm when we’re meeting at Paris8 but a friend and I made plans to meet in the city at 11 to find a Carrefour (big supermarket). Arranging plans with people here is SO difficult without a phone OR internet so I have to wait until someone is online and then just constantly email them. Hopefully all will be fixed soon. Miss and love you all. 

Day 3

I think it’s safe to say we’re still working out our sleep schedules. Last night I was up until 2 reading because I didn’t feel tired until then. I was also strangely ravenous around one, one-thirty, a hunger that I calmed with some delicious but cheap French chocolate. Unfortunately, due to this late night activity I woke up but did not get up with my alarm, instead deciding to nap until ten, destroying my plans of a productive morning. Between ten and twelve (when I left to meet a friend on the Champs de mars for lunch), I managed to get dressed and have some jam on bread (no toaster) and chocolate. Like I said, not a productive morning. I may have watched pride and prejudice while getting ready. It was another jeans and t-shirt day. Out the door by twelve and took the metro to meet my friend. I had just eaten but she shared her baguette and brie and we chatted about linguistics as we waited for two other group members to arrive. It turns out all four of us are on the linguistics track which I wasn’t aware of previously. At two-fifteen, we started moseying over to the BU center for that day’s orientation and I had enough time to stop into the computer lab to e-mail dad before heading downstairs to learn about my course load for the coming semester. In many ways, I wish I hadn’t. The French class is going to bring up bad memories of the only professor I’ve had at BU and I’m just terrified that this woman will be just like her. For Monday (5 days), we have to either pair up with someone or, alone, walk around one of the 20 arrondissements of Paris and prepare a five-minute presentation with a photo slideshow about the arrondissement. I am definitely not looking forward to THAT but at least we’re allowed to have a partner. At the BU facility, we’re taking an advanced French course and a seminar with the program director, called Penser a la contemporain, about Paris in the contemporary world. Once we started classes in mid-October, we’ll be taking classes both at the BU facility and Paris8 Université but there are certain linguistics classes that I might have to take at the Ècole Normale Superieur which would mean travel to three places. Good thing I got that unlimited métro pass because I’m going to need it. The program director and the french professor both handed out syllabi and reading materials and some magazines to direct us to cultural attractions in the area. We have to produce a journal with critiques of five cultural expositions that we have attended over the semester. At least two or three of them will be arranged by one of the BU-Paris8 agents but for the majority, we’re on our own. The program director also mentioned (in French which is why I’m a little fuzzy on the details) a grand project that we will each complete individually over the course of the semester. I am not very optimistic about this project, or about discussing it with him one-on-one which he said we would be doing in the coming weeks but for now I have more important things to worry about, like printing out photos for the university and my metro pass (called the carte navigo). We’re going to the University on Thursday and we need to bring our own photos that they’ll put on our student ID cards. Since I already needed one for my carte navigo, I put that at the top of my list of things to do.

After the presentation, we were all scared and very hungry so the consensus was to pick up some food on the way and then picnic in the Jardin des Tuilleries. We only made it as far as Les Invalides, however before my housemate had a shoe emergency and had to take the metro home. The remaining group of mixed contemporary studies and internship studies, myself included, made our way across the huge lawn in front of Hotel des Invalides and into the winding Parisian streets to the nearest market to buy supplies for a late lunch picnic. For only spending 2-4€ a piece, we made off with two baguettes, some wine, chocolate, cheese, three kinds of meat, nutella, cookies that looked like elephant ear pastries and apricot jam (for the cheese). It was definitely a win in every sense of the word. We all sat in a circle and ate and talked about everything that came into our minds. Two of the people with us had been to Paris before and were regaling us of their previous adventures (tear-gassed at the World Cup finals because they were next to a bunch of people causing trouble) and gave us some advice on what we should or should not do. Should: get an unlimited metro pass each month (check). We’ll be thanking ourselves when it gets colder and we don’t have to walk but also it’s unlimited so once you pay the 60€ up front, you can go anywhere anytime which really allows you to see more than you would if you were constantly worrying about the metro cost; use your student ID to try to get into all museums. One of the girls got into the Louvre free and she said it’s worth a shot but most museums have a set time when they are free to either students or everyone; try to speak French even with your friends because it's the only way you’re going to really immerse yourself in the culture. Should not: spend too much time on skype or talking to people from home (already disobeying that but it’s not like I’m contacting each one of you individually, that’s WHY I created the blog); try to jump the turnstile in the metro because it’s a fine of 50€ (although one girl had a story about a French person she knew who lived in France for two and a half years and never paid for the metro. He got caught twice and paid $100€ for two and half years of using the metro. It’s impressive but she urged us not to try it. She also warned us the people might try to jump in behind us to get out of paying and that it happens often so not to be alarmed). We stayed there until nearly seven, when another linguistics student and I decided to call it quits and get home before we wasted the entire evening lounging on the grass. One the way back to the metro station (we decided to walk to the nearest line 6 station since it would be a straight shot to my house and she would get off halfway and change to a different line. On the way we talked about Mel Brooks movies and how they are a favorite among fans of Monty Python. Bri tried calling me earlier but I missed her call and since I realized last night that my phone would allow me to neither text nor call her back, I am just going to buy a cheap pay as you go phone here. The phone itself is going to be 30€ or less and comes with 10 minutes (5€) already installed. A text costs 0,13€ so 5€ is about 35 texts which is all right. I really only need it to stay in contact with my friends here and I can use it if I ever come back to France. I thought about getting a sim card for my blackberry but I don’t know exactly how that will work and the last thing I want to do is mess with my blackberry so I’ll keep the blackberry for calling home but until my internet starts working I really need a phone here and I’m willing to pay $37 for it.

When I got back to the house, Bri was already there. She was waiting for me to get home so we could go have our pictures taken for the student ID and the metro card because she had seen a photo booth in the market. She went first and hers came out fine but then I tried and it ate my money so then Bri had to go buy bananas to break my 5 because the machine only takes exact change, which I did not have. It then proceeded to eat the rest of my change and it wouldn’t give it back or let me start over so I gave up and am going to try again tomorrow, armed with more change. The photos look way too big anyway, even if I cut the border off, my face still won’t fit in the allocated box on the metro card. It’s so stupid that we even need a photo on that anyway. The photo booth we found in a different market was more expensive AND it told me not to smile so all in all, I spent about 8€ on photos that suck and that I probably won’t end up using anyway. Thanks Paris. I did find a Phone House on the way to this other market so I’ll be swinging by there tomorrow morning if they’re open. Instead of going immediately back to our house, Bri and I walked the opposite way up the street to an area we hadn’t previously explored and found (gasp!) stores open past nine o’clock!! We found a crêperie/café that we will probably make our own once we have enough homework to justify going there. For now I think I just need to figure out how to use the coffee maker in our kitchen because it’s been REALLY hard to get going in the morning without some caffeine. France isn’t really big on take-out coffee places. They’re mostly of a ‘sit-down breakfast’ mindset but I don’t have time for that sort of tomfoolery so I think tonight I’ll look for some directions on how to make coffee…

<10 minutes later>

Well I certainly won’t be making my own coffee in the mornings. They have a drip pot but allegedly I have to A) buy filters (not a crime) and B) Pour boiling water into the coffee grounds. Why do I even need the coffee machine?! For all that nonsense I could just get a filter and grounds and pour hot water over it into a cup! Why do I even have to plug the coffee machine in?!! This is why I need to find a Starbucks. It’s not because I need American things to feel comfortable, it’s because I need my damn coffee on the go because I have things to do. Already midnight; these days go by so quickly! Going to go to bed now and get up early (hopefully). I have to shower in the morning and then run to that supermarket, buy something to break the bills I have and then try that photo booth again. I’m torn between going to the one near me (where there works a horrible woman who is the quintessential Parisian working class woman. She is constantly aggravated, constantly yawning and constantly just being unnecessarily rude. I’m sure she also constantly hates on Americans but that’s beside the point). I have to be at the BU facility for 11 for a talk about the US Embassy and then lots of food because they’re teaching us how to eat (and drink) like the French, then some other stuff and then a movie and then CREPES FOR DINNER!!! I am very excited because these are the first crepes I will have had in Paris because I am poor and have better things to spend my money on (except not any more because while Bri and I were wandering around we found that late night crepe place advertising crepes for 4,50€ which is equivalent to less than $6 which, as all of you Bostonians know, is pretty good for a decent sized crepe. They also sell gelato shakes on which I can see myself spending a lot of my parents hard earned money. It’s all about the education. By the way mom and dad, some girl in our group said that you could get the $55 I paid for my second bag at the airport refunded on taxes under ‘education’ expenses. I would look into it if I were you; maybe you can get my crepes refunded too!

Day 2

Sorry I never posted yesterday, it's been a little crazy settling in and everything but I will endeavor to post as religiously as possible from now on because I know all of my readers are dying to see how I'm adapting to a life lived in sophistication. Here goes:

Mom, dad and I met at the train station at 9 to take the 9:20 train to Penn Station for the first leg of the journey. From there we took the Long Island Railroad to JFK and a shuttle to my terminal. I remembered the LIRR from my trip last year to visit a friend on Long Island. The airport was huge but fairly easy to navigate and I checked my bags quickly. I was still sore about paying the $55 but everyone else that I had spoken to planned on doing the same so at least I knew I wasn’t over packing. While waiting for my roommate, dad, mom, and I ate upstairs in the food court. Well, they ate. I was too nervous. I could feel the nerves racing up my back and down my arms into the palms of my hands and my heart. I just kept waiting for my body to reach its adrenaline production limit. I felt a little better after meeting my roommate and her friend because I REALLY didn't want to go through security alone. As usual though, it's never as bad as you think it will be and it barely took us five minutes. On the other side, we bought magazines and candy (I bought Yorks). At the gate we connected with other students from BU and from other schools going to Paris as well. We chatted for a while until we heard them call our flight. We gathered our things and slowly lined up because we had no idea what numbers they were calling or what order they planned on boarding the plane so we figured everything would be fined if we made our way to the back of the line. In line I feel like I must have asked everyone around me if any of them just felt like giving up now and going home and I became increasingly anxious as the responses were all in the negatives. I began to wonder if maybe deep down I really did not want to go to Paris and I nearly stepped out of line and called my parents. Only my pride stopped me; how could I possibly face anyone again after chickening out like that? So I handed the woman my boarding pass and realized that was my last chance; for better of for worse I was going to France…

Unfortunately our seats were scattered because we were technically all flying alone so at first I was seated next to a possibly French man (I say possibly because he spoke excellent English) who immediately alerted me of the fact that we rode a 208 (280). At my blank expression he pulled out the safety manual and pointed out that two levels of windows. I had never been on a two-story plane before and questioned its ability to stay in the sky and not fall straight back to earth out of sheer heaviness. The man read his book and I was left to worry in peace for a while, until two girls presumably traveling together approached me, wondering if I would switch with one of them so they could sit together. Since one stranger was as good to me as another, I said yes and she showed me her ticket so I could find her seat. To my surprise (and later chagrin), it was a window seat in the second row of economy class with no seat in front of me so plenty of leg room but no television (again…hence the chagrin). I sat next to a man and a woman who I assumed were married (I later found out that they had just met which was very surprising to me because they talked almost the entire flight) and spoke Arabic. I forget what actually happened but I remember the man asking me if I knew French and if I was French or American and what I was doing on a French flight and if I was studying in France, why didn’t I speak French? I know this all sounds very rude and a little unnerving but I am positive that he didn’t just come out and ask direct questions, it came up in conversation. At that point however, the woman informed me (in French) that she spoke French and would be happy to help me practice by speaking to me. For the entirety of the flight we spoke to each other only in French because she spoke very little English and I speak zero Arabic. When later we conversed about French professors and how the wrong professor can force you to hate the language (cough cough), she told me her ‘Madame’ was very kind and is the reason that this woman became a French teacher and remained so for five years. She is now a supervisor of other French teachers. We continued like this throughout the flight, talking about the food and she encouraged me to order in French (which I did ‘le boeuf s’il-vous plait’). I remember falling asleep with about three hours to go and waking up every now and then. One of the times that I woke up, I remember her telling me that I am very nice and asking my name and then telling me hers.

The flight passed more quickly than I expected and when we landed, the woman wished me luck in Paris. I followed a girl from BU to the baggage claim where my luggage must have been the absolute last bag off the plane. There were amazingly some girls who actually only checked one bag (and one who checked three) but after feeling how cold it is here (and seeing how much the Laundromats cost) I’m glad I packed the extra clothes. My roommate and I decided to take a taxi because with our bags, we really weren’t up to figuring out the metro, although it’s easy enough when you have to the time to study it. Leaving the airport, I got stuck in one of those automatic revolving door because the group behind me decided to try and fit their entire party in one section and the doors weren’t moving. Finally I told them as politely as possible that they had to many people and it was THEIR fault, not MINE that the doors weren’t moving. Eventually made it out. The taxi driver was very polite and accommodating and took our bags to and from the car. My roommate made some conversation with him regarding the name of our street (just who WAS Elisa Lemonnier?) and how many times we should kiss our host family (twice: one on each cheek, but it’s four in the south, and three in the west). Upon arrival at 8 Rue Elisa Lemonnier (where you should send large packages only because I really don’t want to trouble them. All letters and small bundles should be sent Boston University, Stefanie Rich, 3 bis Rue Jean-Pierre Bloch, 75015 Paris, France. Oh and if you send any packages to the first address make sure it says Madame D’Antin, Stefanie Rich and then the address because obviously I don’t have my own mailbox here at the home stay), we halted by the front door with no obvious means of getting in. Quickly I pulled out the file BU had given us regarding the family and just as I typed in the newly discovered door code, the old man in the red blazer that had been standing across the street talking to the taxi driver came over and recited a sequence of letters that I belatedly realized matched our door code. We uneasily thanked him and moved our stuff into the foyer. Waiting for us (so we thought) was a woman and two men who taught us how to use the elevator like they had expected us and our bags to come tumbling through their front door at that very moment. When they were certain we could manage on our own, they bid us good day. For whatever reason, I’m glad they were there because we never could have managed that elevator on our own. It's a small glass affair with two doors, one of which won’t close completely if one is too close to it. Due to its size, we had to send our luggage up first and then go up after it. At the third floor we faced three doors and no indication to which one was ours. My housemate knocked on the door to our right, behind which we heard the sounds of a vacuum and because of this they did not hear US knocking. When no answer was forthcoming, I knocked on the central door. When a voice from inside asked our names, I gave them and in answer, we heard the sound of a hundred deadbolts unlocking. The door opened, affording us the view of a squat, red-haired woman who did not match the description of ‘Madame D’Antin: Consultat.’ This is because it wasn’t. She directed us downstairs to Madame D’Antin’s quarters and, undaunted; we forwent the elevator and lugged our luggage down one flight of stairs. Knocking on the center door once again, we met Madame D’Antin’s oldest daughter (whose name escapes me because I did not understand it in the first place) who wondered why we were downstairs and not on the 3^rd floor where our rooms were. We explained that only door with an answer pointed us downstairs and she wondered aloud if he mother were perhaps still cleaning (hence the vacuum sound). She was very sorry that we had to carry our baggage back up a floor but we were all too happy to oblige our host family, trying to start out on the very best of terms. Madame D’Antin had finished vacuuming by the time we made it up and as she showed us in and allowed us to pick our rooms, she explained that they had just yesterday returned from vacation and as a result, were still in the middle of preparing for our arrival. Per usual, I picked the wrong room: of the 100% of our combined furniture, I have about 20% in my room and my housemate has the rest. It’s completely my fault though; I chose my room because I was standing in it at the moment. The one thing it does have going for it though is TONS of natural light. My room faces the street and my housemate’s room looks out onto the courtyard. To give it even more character (not that it needs it, the whole house is SO FRENCH. Everything is mismatching and the windows are huge and open all the way and the furniture is so tiny) there’s this huge iron structure hanging from the ceiling and it looks kind of like a music staff but at the end of the bars there are these little iron sprigs of trees and at the bottom there’s a sun. I’ll include some pictures later. The mother informed us that the group dinner is usually Sunday night at 7 but since they had just returned and still had a lot to do, we would be having lunch around 1 (it was actually 2 when we ate). It took us most of the 3 hours we had before lunch to unpack and get our rooms in order, We wanted to inspect the bathroom and kitchen but the mother was in there cleaning. We were just poking around the kitchen after she had left when there was a knock on the door and in came a teenage boy with so much hair. My housemate understood whatever he said whereas I did not at all. This would be a preview of the entire dinner to follow.

If I speak better than her than she understands 20 times better than I do and between us I think that is the far more useful skill. The family was SO kind and helpful though. They were tirelessly patient through ‘catering,’ ‘environmental science,’ and ‘egg nog.’ This last one was just between my housemate and I and the oldest girl (there are three girls from 23-12 and three boys from 19-8) and the father. Obviously the result is that they do not have eggnog in France meaning that mom had better order a sufficient amount for the week of my return to the states. Lunch consisted of some sort of tomato, cheese, and corn salad, potato chips and bread. Then came the cheese platter and THEN the chocolate. I had coffee with dessert (pudding) hoping it would give my some energy but combined with the wine from dinner I kind of just felt like my heart was going to explode. Because it was a Sunday, nothing was really open but my housemate and I still roused ourselves enough to go exploring and sure enough we found somewhere to buy shampoo and conditioner and things. Unfortunately, I realized later that night in the shower that I had actually bought three different shower gels instead. One of the sons was in our apartment trying to fix the Internet so I had to call Bri (my housemate) and ask her if she would bring me my plastic make-up case where I had packed mini bottles of shampoo and conditioner just in case I didn’t find time to go shopping on the first day. The showerhead is one of those moveable ones that you can put into a cradle when you aren’t using it which is fine, except the cradle is broke so you either have to hold it between your legs, under your arm, of lay it gently over the faucet and pray it doesn't fall over and spray everywhere. All in all I think I managed a pretty short shower (I forgot my razor and am too cheap to buy one here so shaving is out of the question even if I wanted to until mom visits in October).

Bri conked out at 8 but I stayed awake a little longer to pick out my clothes and read a little more. As I pulled my jeans and T-shirt off the shelves in my room, from behind my closed door I heard the sounds of the back staircase door opening and footsteps. Since it was only 8, I wasn’t really freaked out and just assumed it was Madame D’Antin checking to see if we were asleep or what we were up to. I asked Bri in the morning if she had gotten up to go to the bathroom and she said no but asked me if I had, closer to midnight. I told her I hadn’t even woken up then and she told me she had heard footsteps then also. That, I couldn’t explain but the walls ARE very thin here so it could have been upstairs or next-door.

I slept for twelve hours, waking up only twice while my body adjusted to me sleeping at what seemed to be three in the afternoon and was up a few minutes before my alarm at 8am. We had to be at the BU facility by 10 and we didn’t know how long the metro would take or really how to get there so we decided to give ourselves plenty of time and left the house by 8:30. The metro only took around 20 minutes but I think the ride to the university is going to be a little longer, especially because we have to change lines two or three times. Needless to say we were in the area well before we needed to be so we set about getting some breakfast. As we walked down the rue de Souffren, we suddenly saw the Eiffel Tower erupting from behind the trees in front of us. It was quite a shock to just see it so nonchalantly like that but I’m going to be honest: I thought it would be bigger. I mean it’s big but not that big. Bri had bought a chocolate croissant, some grapes and a baguette and I bought a carton of blackberries. We ate our breakfast on some steps in from of the Champs de Mars which is a park leading to the Eiffel Tower. I was glad I went light later because they had croissants and sandwiches for us at the BU facility. The morning was consumed by orientation followed by lunch and a group photo on the champs de mars and a boat tour of Paris. After that my news friends and I trooped over to a phone store to get cheap cell phones. It was a good deal, 30euro for the cell phone, it comes with ten minutes and then it’s 5euro for every ten minutes after that but I feel like it would could just as much if I did it my way. I already paid a fortune for my metro card that cost 65euro. It’s an unlimited metro pass for the month of September. It’s also a predictable expense for every month. I have to put my photo on it. France is a very strict and scary place with all these ultimatums and things you MUST NOT do, like give your monthly pass to someone else (sorry Spence) to use because they have the right to unexpectedly ask you for your identification. At Monoprix (their expensive target) I successfully bought shampoo and conditioner and then we parted for the night.

By some miracle I had internet when we got home so I tried to do as much as I could but it cut out again before I could post anything to the blog (hence this super-long post. Hope you guys don’t get too bored reading it all in one shot). It was just as well because Bri and I had to go food shopping. We went to a place right up the street called Intermarché (cheaper than monoprix). Since we don’t like many of the same foods, we decided to just buy separate groceries and split the things we both needed like toilet paper and toothpaste. As of now I am surviving the next week on bread, jam, chocolate, pears, peaches and milk. The good part is that it only cost 12euro. I bought rice too but I need to get some sort of curry paste and chicken before I can make that. We went to Monoprix again after that because Bri needed a towel and a sweater and I took the opportunity to buy cheap notebooks. All the school supplies are on sale here too. It’s so cool though, they have a word for the going-back to school of all the students and it’s “la rentrée”: the return.

After that we just came back and ate the food we’d bought and I had some tea and hot chocolate courtesy of Spencer. It’s 12:50am right now and the Internet hasn’t been working all night. Bri is out with another girl in the program so I took the alone time to type out all 6 pages of this post. I can’t even properly immerse myself without the Internet or radio. Maybe I should by a little radio to keep in my room.