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 3rd 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.
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