The theme of my 16th birthday party was “Bella Figura”. My friends and I dressed up like chic Italians and strutted down the cobblestone streets of our outdoor shopping village to an Italian restaurant in my hometown. My cake was even Tiramisu! I was hooked on Italy, and couldn’t wait until the day I would finally get to visit.
Well, that day came this last week. Elise and I left on Friday morning for Rome. We spent 3 days strutting the streets, admiring the relaxed Italian lifestyle, eating unbelievable pasta, and waiting in lines with the rest of the Easter crowds. It was fantastic. Rome is not a place that can be done in a short weekend and I already can’t wait to return to see what I missed. We packed in as many of the big sites as we could but were limited by holiday closures and looooong lines. We waited 4 hours for the Sistine Chapel but learned our lesson and arrived at 7am to St. Peter’s Basilica and walked right in.
In some ways, Rome was exactly what I expected: narrow cobblestone streets and OLD OLD monuments and buildings. Unfortunately, we picked the wrong weekend and ended up walking with our umbrellas in the air the whole time. Any movie, postcard, or recount of a friend’s adventure had solidified my vision of Rome as a sun-filled warm city—which I know is true in the summer. It’s amazing how a vision can be morphed with a gray spring cloak. More then anything, it made me realize that Rome really is a city like any other, it is subject to weather and tourists and dirt. In the end though, it was still stunning. It is impossible to fully grasp the age that great place. I had to catch my breath when I walk into the Colosseum—and that was built well after Nero’s kingdom had come and gone.
On Easter morning, Elise I headed to the Vatican to arrive at 7:30 AM, 3 hours before mass begun. We had tickets and were thrilled when we found seats in the center of the fourth row. As the weather had predicted rain, the dry, blue sky of the morning was nice change of pace. About 30 minutes before the mass was to begin, it started to sprinkle, just a little bit, and the decision of a cardinal near the altar to put up his umbrella sparked a domino effect through 50,000 spectators. Elise returned from the bathroom asking why all of the umbrellas were up!! 10 minutes later, we joined the crowds, and blocked the now heavy stream. 40 minutes in, the wind picked up, and the 50+ nuns next to us decided to leave. We were determined to stand our ground. We were staring at the Pope!! However, with 10 minutes left in the mass, the rain reached an unbearable intensity at which our umbrellas were completely useless. The ground was covered with 1-inch of rushing water as evidenced by my canvas flats that were finally dry 3 days later. We joined the rest of the fleeing nuns and made it to a café before the onrush of the rest of the crowds. Sadly, our hostel had a “lock-out” time for cleaning until 4 PM so we spent the rest of the afternoon between two cafés. Like the rest of that weekend, Easter at the Vatican went beyond all expectations, but introduced to Roman café culture (very different then its Parisien counterpart) and we still did have a great view of the Pope!
I returned on Monday morning in time to prepare for Kelsey, my friend from high school who is studying in Brussels, to visit from Tuesday until Thursday night. I got the chance to play tour guide again and we probably walked 4-5 hours each day just seeing the sites. Starting tomorrow with the arrival of Sarah, my German sister within my Munich family, I will have a constant flow of visitors until mid-May. Today is my rest day, my feet need the break and I have homework to do in advance.
If I was surprised at all by Rome, I was even more surprised upon my return to Paris. I arrived to an apartment with working internet and decidedly fixed running water! Though they never actually did anything to the pipes, they are convinced that the longevity of the temporary fix must mean that it is really fixed. I don’t know how comfortable I am with this conclusion, but am satisfied to know that the hole in my bathroom wall will be repaired this week and that I no longer have to venture to McDonald’s for free wifi! As my mom recommends, if my showers once again turn into mini-floods of the restaurant below, I am going to “Let it rain”, maybe that will convince someone to take some action!
29 March 2008
20 March 2008
Somehow, in the past few months, I convinced myself that Sévres and not France, was the con artist behind all of the inconveniences of my daily life. Indeed, Sévres was the cause of my 2-hour metro ride each day, the cause of the extra charge on my Metro pass because of a change of address, the cause of my (STILL) delayed “carte de sejour”, the cause of my temporary residence at Lyndsey’s during the November strikes…etc…
Funny enough, I feel a bit nostalgic recounting all of that! These events weren’t just part of my experience in France, the made my experience during the first semester.
I was silly to believe that moving to Paris would solve all of my problems—that life would finally be free of the weekly frustrations. However, before I start up about the events of the last few weeks, I must disclaim that the next few paragraphs are not complaints. Though they have caused irritability and came as a bit of a reality check, I now understand them to be part of my life in Paris, in France. They are the stories that I send home, they are the events that make everyday and week here so different, so interesting.
I am now ending week 6 since taking possession of my new apartment in the Latin Quarter. That makes it week 8 since I was supposed to take possession of it (before they called to tell me that the construction was still unfinished). In short, it is STILL unfinished.
As relived in my blog upon my return from England, the apartment lacked both internet and running water. After stealing showers from friends for the first week of classes, the plumbers finally put a “temporary” block in the pipe that would prevent my showers from down-pouring on the heads of the customers in the restaurant below. This “temporary” block has now held for 3 weeks and counting (knock on wood!)—meaning that I am well-cleansed and that my apartment functions normally. There are minor inconveniences that come with this temporary block: like the 7 feet by 4 feet displaced wall from under my sink that now finds its home blocking half of the entry to my bathroom and completely covering the towel-heaters I was so excited to test out, like the 7 or 8 AM wake up calls I get from the carpenter ready to tear another hole in the ceiling downstairs so that the plumbers can access the pipes, like the big black box I have become accustomed to carrying in and out of the bathroom each morning with all of my toiletries (if left on the counter, they would be covered by chemicals and dust from the workers—who managed to destroy the brand new aluminum trash can on day 3)…
The permanent fix on my water was to come 3 weeks ago—in that time, the carpenter came and opened up the ceiling, the plumber came and I wasn’t home (they had lost my phone number), a week went by, more phone calls, no plumbers, and then yesterday morning: 7 AM—the carpenter closed the ceiling. He greeted me with a smile, asking if I was happy that my water was restored, I greeted him with a frown, asking why he was nailing up the ceiling. “So the plumber hasn’t come yet?” NO!! He continued nailing, I called my landlord. As of noon the day after, ceiling is completely closed up, no plumbers in sight, crossing my fingers that this temporary block can last a few years…
The internet is a whole different story, and when combined with a concurrent water problem and poor French has led to more then one awkward situation: You’re here for the wi-fi? No, can I look at the pipes? The internet? No, the bathroom. Oh….
The internet codes were in my mailbox upon arrival at the beginning of February along with the notification that the box was at the post office. Easy as that. In France? Never! The box was under my landlord’s name, meaning she needed to pick it up with an ID. My landlord lives in California, her friend, Mme Brizzi (the nicest French woman I have met) is managing the apartment from Paris. Two weeks later, after a fax and a long explanation, the box was in my living room. Time to set it up! For the non-computer savvy girl that I am, I was pretty proud to make it all the way to step 17 in the installation manual without a problem. “Plug the ADSL plug in the outlet”. When your baseboard is 2 cm too thick, preventing any type of ‘plugging-in’, this simple instruction becomes a mountain, in France, it becomes Everest. Two weeks after I notified Mme Brizzi of the problem, she called to say that the contractor was coming the next morning. The next afternoon, she called to say that the contractor’s brother had died and that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the following week. (Understandable of course, and just my luck.) This brings us to the present week. On Monday, my agent (a New Yorker who has lived in Paris for 25 years, and is great) decided enough was enough, grabbed my bread knife and hacked away. Baseboard removed, plug in…no signal. Wait, what? No signal? No the line is dead…. Yup! Since Monday, the contractor came, called the Telephone company, the Telephone company came, the technician shook his head, said the line wasn’t even connected to the box near the door, and left.
Update, March 20, 2008 at noon: No internet, only temporary running water. Otherwise perfect apartment.
Between the internet and the water, I have been on the phone with my landlord (in French) and my agent (in English) at least every other day for the last month, and can attest to a growing relationship with both. In most cases, the conversation begins: ---Bonjour, Mme Brizzi? -Ah, Oui, Cassie, ca va? (notice, we are long past the French formalities)---And then ends with a half laughing, half “tired of this already!” –Oui, c’est incroyable, c’est une catastrophe!, form of saying goodbye with the dim ray of hope that this time really will be the last goodbye—at least for a week!
I leave tomorrow morning for Rome. In January, my Dad managed to reserve me two tickets to mass on Easter Sunday at the Vatican. Elise and I return on Monday—if I were in CO, I would hope that the internet at least would be restored by then—but I’m in France, and I know better. I’m just taking a mini-vacation away from it…
I’m going to Italy. The land of late mornings (no 7am carpenters!), pasta (no worrying if there is water to boil!), and relatively happy people. Happy Easter!
Funny enough, I feel a bit nostalgic recounting all of that! These events weren’t just part of my experience in France, the made my experience during the first semester.
I was silly to believe that moving to Paris would solve all of my problems—that life would finally be free of the weekly frustrations. However, before I start up about the events of the last few weeks, I must disclaim that the next few paragraphs are not complaints. Though they have caused irritability and came as a bit of a reality check, I now understand them to be part of my life in Paris, in France. They are the stories that I send home, they are the events that make everyday and week here so different, so interesting.
I am now ending week 6 since taking possession of my new apartment in the Latin Quarter. That makes it week 8 since I was supposed to take possession of it (before they called to tell me that the construction was still unfinished). In short, it is STILL unfinished.
As relived in my blog upon my return from England, the apartment lacked both internet and running water. After stealing showers from friends for the first week of classes, the plumbers finally put a “temporary” block in the pipe that would prevent my showers from down-pouring on the heads of the customers in the restaurant below. This “temporary” block has now held for 3 weeks and counting (knock on wood!)—meaning that I am well-cleansed and that my apartment functions normally. There are minor inconveniences that come with this temporary block: like the 7 feet by 4 feet displaced wall from under my sink that now finds its home blocking half of the entry to my bathroom and completely covering the towel-heaters I was so excited to test out, like the 7 or 8 AM wake up calls I get from the carpenter ready to tear another hole in the ceiling downstairs so that the plumbers can access the pipes, like the big black box I have become accustomed to carrying in and out of the bathroom each morning with all of my toiletries (if left on the counter, they would be covered by chemicals and dust from the workers—who managed to destroy the brand new aluminum trash can on day 3)…
The permanent fix on my water was to come 3 weeks ago—in that time, the carpenter came and opened up the ceiling, the plumber came and I wasn’t home (they had lost my phone number), a week went by, more phone calls, no plumbers, and then yesterday morning: 7 AM—the carpenter closed the ceiling. He greeted me with a smile, asking if I was happy that my water was restored, I greeted him with a frown, asking why he was nailing up the ceiling. “So the plumber hasn’t come yet?” NO!! He continued nailing, I called my landlord. As of noon the day after, ceiling is completely closed up, no plumbers in sight, crossing my fingers that this temporary block can last a few years…
The internet is a whole different story, and when combined with a concurrent water problem and poor French has led to more then one awkward situation: You’re here for the wi-fi? No, can I look at the pipes? The internet? No, the bathroom. Oh….
The internet codes were in my mailbox upon arrival at the beginning of February along with the notification that the box was at the post office. Easy as that. In France? Never! The box was under my landlord’s name, meaning she needed to pick it up with an ID. My landlord lives in California, her friend, Mme Brizzi (the nicest French woman I have met) is managing the apartment from Paris. Two weeks later, after a fax and a long explanation, the box was in my living room. Time to set it up! For the non-computer savvy girl that I am, I was pretty proud to make it all the way to step 17 in the installation manual without a problem. “Plug the ADSL plug in the outlet”. When your baseboard is 2 cm too thick, preventing any type of ‘plugging-in’, this simple instruction becomes a mountain, in France, it becomes Everest. Two weeks after I notified Mme Brizzi of the problem, she called to say that the contractor was coming the next morning. The next afternoon, she called to say that the contractor’s brother had died and that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the following week. (Understandable of course, and just my luck.) This brings us to the present week. On Monday, my agent (a New Yorker who has lived in Paris for 25 years, and is great) decided enough was enough, grabbed my bread knife and hacked away. Baseboard removed, plug in…no signal. Wait, what? No signal? No the line is dead…. Yup! Since Monday, the contractor came, called the Telephone company, the Telephone company came, the technician shook his head, said the line wasn’t even connected to the box near the door, and left.
Update, March 20, 2008 at noon: No internet, only temporary running water. Otherwise perfect apartment.
Between the internet and the water, I have been on the phone with my landlord (in French) and my agent (in English) at least every other day for the last month, and can attest to a growing relationship with both. In most cases, the conversation begins: ---Bonjour, Mme Brizzi? -Ah, Oui, Cassie, ca va? (notice, we are long past the French formalities)---And then ends with a half laughing, half “tired of this already!” –Oui, c’est incroyable, c’est une catastrophe!, form of saying goodbye with the dim ray of hope that this time really will be the last goodbye—at least for a week!
I leave tomorrow morning for Rome. In January, my Dad managed to reserve me two tickets to mass on Easter Sunday at the Vatican. Elise and I return on Monday—if I were in CO, I would hope that the internet at least would be restored by then—but I’m in France, and I know better. I’m just taking a mini-vacation away from it…
I’m going to Italy. The land of late mornings (no 7am carpenters!), pasta (no worrying if there is water to boil!), and relatively happy people. Happy Easter!
12 March 2008
Part 3 of 3:
I arrived back in Paris the day before 2nd semester courses began, and two days before C left for Montreal (the next leg of her trip “around the world”). My bags finally were unpacked yesterday after an early morning goodbye—one of the hardest I have ever had to do. As an exchange student, you share a moment in time and in a place with the select number of others who chose to do the same thing. Half of our group has parted (including my “other half”) and the rest of us will go our separate ways in the next four months too. L is finished with courses, having completed her college degree, and is sticking around until the end of April and S’s program ends in early May. For the rest of our lives, we will all have these last months in common, an amazing, distant memory that had to end eventually. The good part is that I now have really great friends all over the world to visit!
The week before final exams, C and I packed up our Sèvres apartment and dragged months of accumulated kitchenware and suitcases back into Paris—to my new one-room studio. I have a giant futon in addition to my twin bed and so she camped out here for the remaining few weeks. On our last night in Sèvres we made dinner and watched a movie for the last time in our big space. The next day, we scrubbed every inch, made a final trip to the market for flowers for our landlords and took a few last minute pictures. Despite the distance—Sèvres was an experience in its own, something that only C and I know about—and love.
Now, a 20 minute walk through a garden to school and a 10 minute walk to Notre Dame, I can’t believe how we made it living so far away. My perfect studio is on the Rue Mouffetard, Paris’s oldest street—that the Roman carriages used to carry shipments. My building is 400 years old and the wooden door and beams in the ceiling attest to this. It was completely renovated before I moved in so everything is new. The street is a market street and has bars and restaurants—which make Saturdays impossible for sleep—the reason I spent $20 on earplugs in London. If you come to visit, they are essential—but worth it. As is the norm in Paris, nothing comes without its glitches, and my perfect studio has been without running water off and on for a month. Right now it is on temporarily—after the plumber’s 6th visit—but hopefully this will be made permanent after they fix the main building water pipe. Considering that this calls for the approval of several people, I am not counting on a speedy process—but maybe I can hope a little. I’m not sure how many times I can make the trek across town to Elise’s for a shower, or how long my dishes can go without washing…but I understand the complaints of the restaurant below when my 5 minutes showers result in a downpour directly on one of their customer’s tables. And of course, my internet is not installed yet—the plug won’t fit in the wall because the baseboard is too big but a face to face complaint to the contractor has gone without action for two days and tomorrow is the weekend.
Somehow though, I did manage to start to love Paris a little bit in the last few weeks. I know there are a lot of things I am going to miss about this city. My biggest concern is that I am going to get out of class in Boulder next autumn and wander the streets only to be disappointed with residential neighborhood after neighborhood. I have never once been bored in Paris and am constantly surprised by the things I stumble on. Yesterday, I took a side street on my way to the hardware store only to find a semi-truck surrounded by a handful of onlookers. I pulled out my camera after a man emerged from the nearest building with a giant bag of apples—a horse maybe? No, when the back doors opened—a baby elephant emerged. It took 30 seconds to take it from the truck to the building. 30 seconds later the street was empty, the crowd dispersed and an empty semi truck blocked the road. I love the way that in Paris you can be both anonymous and important at the same time. As I entered the BHV, no one new that only a minute beforehand I had been standing within feet of an elephant. I shared a secret with 15 other pedestrians on their way to work, to lunch, to home..
I arrived back in Paris the day before 2nd semester courses began, and two days before C left for Montreal (the next leg of her trip “around the world”). My bags finally were unpacked yesterday after an early morning goodbye—one of the hardest I have ever had to do. As an exchange student, you share a moment in time and in a place with the select number of others who chose to do the same thing. Half of our group has parted (including my “other half”) and the rest of us will go our separate ways in the next four months too. L is finished with courses, having completed her college degree, and is sticking around until the end of April and S’s program ends in early May. For the rest of our lives, we will all have these last months in common, an amazing, distant memory that had to end eventually. The good part is that I now have really great friends all over the world to visit!
The week before final exams, C and I packed up our Sèvres apartment and dragged months of accumulated kitchenware and suitcases back into Paris—to my new one-room studio. I have a giant futon in addition to my twin bed and so she camped out here for the remaining few weeks. On our last night in Sèvres we made dinner and watched a movie for the last time in our big space. The next day, we scrubbed every inch, made a final trip to the market for flowers for our landlords and took a few last minute pictures. Despite the distance—Sèvres was an experience in its own, something that only C and I know about—and love.
Now, a 20 minute walk through a garden to school and a 10 minute walk to Notre Dame, I can’t believe how we made it living so far away. My perfect studio is on the Rue Mouffetard, Paris’s oldest street—that the Roman carriages used to carry shipments. My building is 400 years old and the wooden door and beams in the ceiling attest to this. It was completely renovated before I moved in so everything is new. The street is a market street and has bars and restaurants—which make Saturdays impossible for sleep—the reason I spent $20 on earplugs in London. If you come to visit, they are essential—but worth it. As is the norm in Paris, nothing comes without its glitches, and my perfect studio has been without running water off and on for a month. Right now it is on temporarily—after the plumber’s 6th visit—but hopefully this will be made permanent after they fix the main building water pipe. Considering that this calls for the approval of several people, I am not counting on a speedy process—but maybe I can hope a little. I’m not sure how many times I can make the trek across town to Elise’s for a shower, or how long my dishes can go without washing…but I understand the complaints of the restaurant below when my 5 minutes showers result in a downpour directly on one of their customer’s tables. And of course, my internet is not installed yet—the plug won’t fit in the wall because the baseboard is too big but a face to face complaint to the contractor has gone without action for two days and tomorrow is the weekend.
Somehow though, I did manage to start to love Paris a little bit in the last few weeks. I know there are a lot of things I am going to miss about this city. My biggest concern is that I am going to get out of class in Boulder next autumn and wander the streets only to be disappointed with residential neighborhood after neighborhood. I have never once been bored in Paris and am constantly surprised by the things I stumble on. Yesterday, I took a side street on my way to the hardware store only to find a semi-truck surrounded by a handful of onlookers. I pulled out my camera after a man emerged from the nearest building with a giant bag of apples—a horse maybe? No, when the back doors opened—a baby elephant emerged. It took 30 seconds to take it from the truck to the building. 30 seconds later the street was empty, the crowd dispersed and an empty semi truck blocked the road. I love the way that in Paris you can be both anonymous and important at the same time. As I entered the BHV, no one new that only a minute beforehand I had been standing within feet of an elephant. I shared a secret with 15 other pedestrians on their way to work, to lunch, to home..
10 March 2008
Part 2 of 3:
On February 13th, I completed my last final exam at 11am and raced back to my apartment to grab my pre-packed backpack and head to Gare du Nord to catch my 3pm train to London. C walked me to the metro station on the way to her last exam and was making fun of me the whole way. Not only did I look like a total tourist with my sleeping bag strapped to my backcountry pack, but I was heading to the station a good 3 hours before departure. I had been anticipating this moment for months, and when it finally came, it was all I could do to keep from actually sprinting to the platform. It would be worth buying a Eurostar one way ticket just to go spend time inside the Gare du Nord station. Upon passing through security I entered the Anglosphere—English spoken everywhere—a nice familiarity. After checking in, I planted myself at a table, ordered a Diet Coke, and whipped out a magazine (the first I had looked through in months). Without mandatory reading or essays biting at my conscience, I sat perfectly guilt-free and awaited the boarding call. Thinking back, this is one of my favorite moments of the last few weeks. Never have I enjoyed free time so much, I suppose I have Sciences Po to thank for that.
The next 2 ½ weeks were spent trekking around England. The great part about being a junior in college is that I have five different friends studying in different parts of the UK right now, so lodging was free of charge and I got to spent serious bonding time with great friends. Part one was spent in London with Marsha, one of the most motivated and energetic people I know, and a vital part of my high school clan. She toured me around her London, taking me to monuments, Middle Eastern and Indian restaurants, the opera and, of course, shopping.
Four days later, I was on the opposite coast in Bristol visiting Sarah J. Sarah is basically my German sister and it is her family that I have stayed with in Munich twice already. She is a permanent student in Bristol (not on exchange) and so I got to see the university life of the town. We spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends at dinner, out for cider, and wandering the town. We took a day trip to Bath, something I never would have seen on my own, and one of the highlights of the whole trip. The Roman ruins were unbelievable—just one more reminder of how young the U.S. is.
An early morning train took me up the coast to Lancaster where I spent a few days with Jamin, one of my best friends from CU. Lancaster is a far cry from London, further off the tourist trail but its university influence and coastal location made it a place where I’d love to return. Jamin had the brilliant idea of renting bikes in the countryside, and after our taxi stopped a half mile from our destination, “Patty’s Farm Barn”, because the tide was covering the road, we knew that this day was not going to be ordinary. Six of us walked the remaining distance only to be greeted with bikes, air pumps, water bottles and maps (with the nearest pubs marked in ink). Our 4 hour ride took us along a rocky, windy and STUNNING coast, through hedge-lined pastures filled with sheep and cows, through a marina, and to a great pub where we washed down lunch with Guinness and finished the last leg in the sunset—returning to find that the water that had previously blocked our path had retreated almost beyond visibility. At the end, we all agreed that it was one of those perfect days that come out of nowhere. I got along with Jamin’s friends immediately and after 3 short days, I wasn’t ready to leave.
Scotland was another entirely different, but incredible, part of my trip. Sarah M is a friend from high school, a coworker from my summer at Ink!Coffee and one of my favorite hippies. It just so follows that my trip to Edinburgh, among visits to the main attractions and numerous pubs, would include a tour of health shops, a co-op, an alternative music club and a café that played movies in its pillow lined back room. While Sarah worked on a paper, I took a morning trip to Rosslyn Chapel (you know, the one from the DaVinci Code? Ha!). After six months in one of Europe’s “most beautiful cities”, I think I am qualified to say that this chapel was one of/if not THE most beautiful building I have ever seen. At 9am on a Wednesday morning, I was the only person inside and got little too spooked to go past the 6th stair down into the crypts. It’s OK, I’ll be back, this time with back up.
My final leg brought me full circle back to London to see Tina, who is the high school friend that I never have to worry about because each time we see each other it is like we had never parted. This time around, I got to see Tina’s London—low key and very reflective of a college student’s life, the perfect compliment to my tired body and depleted bank account. I was invited to go to Cambridge for the day with her school group. I now understand why people work their entire lives to go to this school. The town is gorgeous and the traditions run deep. I was tempted to buy a 70 ₤ monogrammed v-necked sweater to pretend I was a true student but knew that I could never pull it off. Like trying to fit in with Parisiens—I need a serious course in grace first.
On February 13th, I completed my last final exam at 11am and raced back to my apartment to grab my pre-packed backpack and head to Gare du Nord to catch my 3pm train to London. C walked me to the metro station on the way to her last exam and was making fun of me the whole way. Not only did I look like a total tourist with my sleeping bag strapped to my backcountry pack, but I was heading to the station a good 3 hours before departure. I had been anticipating this moment for months, and when it finally came, it was all I could do to keep from actually sprinting to the platform. It would be worth buying a Eurostar one way ticket just to go spend time inside the Gare du Nord station. Upon passing through security I entered the Anglosphere—English spoken everywhere—a nice familiarity. After checking in, I planted myself at a table, ordered a Diet Coke, and whipped out a magazine (the first I had looked through in months). Without mandatory reading or essays biting at my conscience, I sat perfectly guilt-free and awaited the boarding call. Thinking back, this is one of my favorite moments of the last few weeks. Never have I enjoyed free time so much, I suppose I have Sciences Po to thank for that.
The next 2 ½ weeks were spent trekking around England. The great part about being a junior in college is that I have five different friends studying in different parts of the UK right now, so lodging was free of charge and I got to spent serious bonding time with great friends. Part one was spent in London with Marsha, one of the most motivated and energetic people I know, and a vital part of my high school clan. She toured me around her London, taking me to monuments, Middle Eastern and Indian restaurants, the opera and, of course, shopping.
Four days later, I was on the opposite coast in Bristol visiting Sarah J. Sarah is basically my German sister and it is her family that I have stayed with in Munich twice already. She is a permanent student in Bristol (not on exchange) and so I got to see the university life of the town. We spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends at dinner, out for cider, and wandering the town. We took a day trip to Bath, something I never would have seen on my own, and one of the highlights of the whole trip. The Roman ruins were unbelievable—just one more reminder of how young the U.S. is.
An early morning train took me up the coast to Lancaster where I spent a few days with Jamin, one of my best friends from CU. Lancaster is a far cry from London, further off the tourist trail but its university influence and coastal location made it a place where I’d love to return. Jamin had the brilliant idea of renting bikes in the countryside, and after our taxi stopped a half mile from our destination, “Patty’s Farm Barn”, because the tide was covering the road, we knew that this day was not going to be ordinary. Six of us walked the remaining distance only to be greeted with bikes, air pumps, water bottles and maps (with the nearest pubs marked in ink). Our 4 hour ride took us along a rocky, windy and STUNNING coast, through hedge-lined pastures filled with sheep and cows, through a marina, and to a great pub where we washed down lunch with Guinness and finished the last leg in the sunset—returning to find that the water that had previously blocked our path had retreated almost beyond visibility. At the end, we all agreed that it was one of those perfect days that come out of nowhere. I got along with Jamin’s friends immediately and after 3 short days, I wasn’t ready to leave.
Scotland was another entirely different, but incredible, part of my trip. Sarah M is a friend from high school, a coworker from my summer at Ink!Coffee and one of my favorite hippies. It just so follows that my trip to Edinburgh, among visits to the main attractions and numerous pubs, would include a tour of health shops, a co-op, an alternative music club and a café that played movies in its pillow lined back room. While Sarah worked on a paper, I took a morning trip to Rosslyn Chapel (you know, the one from the DaVinci Code? Ha!). After six months in one of Europe’s “most beautiful cities”, I think I am qualified to say that this chapel was one of/if not THE most beautiful building I have ever seen. At 9am on a Wednesday morning, I was the only person inside and got little too spooked to go past the 6th stair down into the crypts. It’s OK, I’ll be back, this time with back up.
My final leg brought me full circle back to London to see Tina, who is the high school friend that I never have to worry about because each time we see each other it is like we had never parted. This time around, I got to see Tina’s London—low key and very reflective of a college student’s life, the perfect compliment to my tired body and depleted bank account. I was invited to go to Cambridge for the day with her school group. I now understand why people work their entire lives to go to this school. The town is gorgeous and the traditions run deep. I was tempted to buy a 70 ₤ monogrammed v-necked sweater to pretend I was a true student but knew that I could never pull it off. Like trying to fit in with Parisiens—I need a serious course in grace first.
08 March 2008
Part 1 of 3:
After a month long hiatus, I have built up quite the story book and so I’m writing it all out now and posting it in segments this week so as not to bore you to death in one blow. In truth, this is the first opportunity I have had to rest and really think it all through. I am sitting in a new apartment without Carly’s smiling face in the room next door. I’m back to school after an incredible two week vacation and the second semester is already looking like a stark contrast to the first. The most notable change is that I am now on the other side of my time in Paris. In exactly four months from today, I will be on a plane back to sunny Colorado. Somehow, in the last five weeks, between exams, moving, and traveling, I managed to finally fall for this city. I think it’s true that you have to leave a place for a little bit in order to really realize what you love about it.
The first two weeks of February were spent writing final essays and preparing for two final exams. At Sciences Po, a final exam usually consists of a 4-hour dissertation based on a question handed to you at the beginning of your time slot. Some tests even require you to write a paper in 30 minutes and to then give a presentation on your thoughts before a panel of examiners. For one of the first times this semester, I got lucky and both of my tests were only two-hour essays. The scary part is that they were worth 60 and 70 percent of my final grade, but I came out of both feeling pretty confident. I found out that I actually did learn a lot this semester even though I barely had time to breathe. Who would have guessed—the Sciences Po method does work?! As I packed up my room in Sèvres, I gathered all of my notes and readers from the semester and stared gawking at the height of the pile. I decided to weigh it. 11 kg in total (almost 22 pounds) and 6 pounds of that was just my paper from taking notes in class. Before taking it all to the recycling bin, I took a picture for proof. Now that it is all done and over, I can’t believe how I made it through. It was a semester I never hope to repeat but it also challenged me more then anything before and allowed me to find out just how much I am capable of.
Already, the second semester is proving to be much better. I completed my first week of classes today. I have four courses instead of seven meaning I have two days of no class each week. My “Painting Practices in Paris” class will earn me a needed art credit but will be a cultural experience as well. Every other class session, we meet in the Louvre to look at the originals that we are studying that week. You’re jealous, huh? Don’t worry, I have in no way suddenly become a slacker. One of my business courses is in French and between that and my French Language class, I will have to do four 10-minute presentations in French!!! This is my semester to learn the language and the culture. I have a list of about a million things I want to do and see including running a few road races and taking a chocolate soufflé baking class. To add to it, I have visitors every weekend from March 27th through May 15th (the perks of having an apartment with an extra futon in Paris).
After a month long hiatus, I have built up quite the story book and so I’m writing it all out now and posting it in segments this week so as not to bore you to death in one blow. In truth, this is the first opportunity I have had to rest and really think it all through. I am sitting in a new apartment without Carly’s smiling face in the room next door. I’m back to school after an incredible two week vacation and the second semester is already looking like a stark contrast to the first. The most notable change is that I am now on the other side of my time in Paris. In exactly four months from today, I will be on a plane back to sunny Colorado. Somehow, in the last five weeks, between exams, moving, and traveling, I managed to finally fall for this city. I think it’s true that you have to leave a place for a little bit in order to really realize what you love about it.
The first two weeks of February were spent writing final essays and preparing for two final exams. At Sciences Po, a final exam usually consists of a 4-hour dissertation based on a question handed to you at the beginning of your time slot. Some tests even require you to write a paper in 30 minutes and to then give a presentation on your thoughts before a panel of examiners. For one of the first times this semester, I got lucky and both of my tests were only two-hour essays. The scary part is that they were worth 60 and 70 percent of my final grade, but I came out of both feeling pretty confident. I found out that I actually did learn a lot this semester even though I barely had time to breathe. Who would have guessed—the Sciences Po method does work?! As I packed up my room in Sèvres, I gathered all of my notes and readers from the semester and stared gawking at the height of the pile. I decided to weigh it. 11 kg in total (almost 22 pounds) and 6 pounds of that was just my paper from taking notes in class. Before taking it all to the recycling bin, I took a picture for proof. Now that it is all done and over, I can’t believe how I made it through. It was a semester I never hope to repeat but it also challenged me more then anything before and allowed me to find out just how much I am capable of.
Already, the second semester is proving to be much better. I completed my first week of classes today. I have four courses instead of seven meaning I have two days of no class each week. My “Painting Practices in Paris” class will earn me a needed art credit but will be a cultural experience as well. Every other class session, we meet in the Louvre to look at the originals that we are studying that week. You’re jealous, huh? Don’t worry, I have in no way suddenly become a slacker. One of my business courses is in French and between that and my French Language class, I will have to do four 10-minute presentations in French!!! This is my semester to learn the language and the culture. I have a list of about a million things I want to do and see including running a few road races and taking a chocolate soufflé baking class. To add to it, I have visitors every weekend from March 27th through May 15th (the perks of having an apartment with an extra futon in Paris).
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