I can’t believe it. I can finally rest in peace. Everyone departs for their study abroad with the slight hope of gaining clarification on their life’s destination. Up until this afternoon, I’ve definitely received hints on what NOT to do (ie. Poly Sci, ie. Become a Sci Po professor…) but have not yet had any concrete blinking yellow signs pointing me to my ultimate fate. That was, however, until spending this afternoon reading in the Jardin de Tuileries. Yes, after spending 10 months abroad, I am happy to report that I may now return with a purpose and true goal. About an hour into my worry-free day in Paris, I was joined on my bench by a 30-something Parisien man whose first question to me was if I spoke French. Now normally, this situation would end in a disgruntled flee after yet another heartless rejection. Little was I to know that this man, however, was different. He would guide me to my destiny. Indeed, his second sentence startled me enough to break my well-trained non-different, ignorant expression into a side smirk (holding back all want to laugh out loud). “Pardon?” I had to be sure I heard it right.
--“You have beautiful feet.”
–“Thank you.”
--“May I take a picture of them?”
Again, I had to double check my hearing.—“Pardon?”
--“You have very beautiful feet, may I take a picture to display at an exposition? I can do it right here. You won’t have to go anywhere.”
And there you have it: my future career called to attention. Dad, mom, be proud. You sent me to Paris to learn and I return to you a foot model. Isn’t it every girl’s dream to be discovered among the many gems in the “City of lights”?
Of course, my modeling prospects ended as quickly as it had started with a polite “Non, merci” and yet another disgruntled flee.
Aside from gathering final life-influencing experiences, I’ve spent my last few days out truly enjoying Paris, not worrying about seeing all of the sites (Isaac arrives tomorrow and there will be plenty of time for that), and just relaxing in the sun. This past week, the FIVB Swatch World Beach Volleyball Tournament was in Paris. The mini stadium was set up on the Champs de Mars next to the Eiffel Tower and admission was free and any daylight hour that you wanted to attend. Elise and I went on Friday to fulfill her too-long, null volleyball quota and I ended up returning on Sunday (when everyone else was cramming for last exams) to watch the final matches: USA vs Germany men (USA won) and USA vs USA women (Walsh and May won) –and to hear the US national anthem played twice only to be cut off each time as it was preventing vital champagne celebrations. I walked away with the first tan lines I have seen since August, which probably contributed to my foot-model discovery this afternoon.
Saturday night was a repeat of what may have been my favorite night in Paris hence far. ‘Nuit Blanche’ was celebrated the first weekend in October and was a city-wide celebration in which all metros, parks and museums were kept open to the public through the night. This last Saturday was the “Fete de la Musique” with similar hours but this time with performers flying in from all over the world to play on the streets. On my way to meet my friends I watched a group of boys come out of the hostel across the street with guitars, it was a night for amateurs and professionals alike. We missed out on the free mystery concert given at the Hippodrome (the horse racing stadium in the Bois de Boulogne) because of a large group and some badly coordinated departure times. When other friends called to say that “Enrique is playing!...And now Kanye!” we were a bit disappointed but in the end were more then content wandering the streets from quarter to quarter listening to everything from Christian Rock, Reggae, Jazz, and good ol’ Rock ‘n Roll. We started the night at 5pm and my street didn’t go to sleep until after 6am. At one point we all stopped and sat along the Seine as the sun went down and 5 or 6 different bands played all around us. It was all the more perfect because we are leaving, we knew it. These next few days, I’ll be tour guide again, showing my brother around the city that I’ve grown to love so much. On Saturday, everyone will finally be done with exams leaving just a few hours for us to celebrate before Isaac and I make a dash for the night train.
Excited and sad all at the same time—I think I understand why they warn about re-entry shock upon returning to the US. I know I am going to miss Paris quite a bit. She is totally one of a kind. My experience here was just as unique and I know will never be the same no matter how often I return. From this side of the pond, home is exciting and from the other I’m sure that Paris will be the same. I would never trade in this experience for the world. As frustrating as it was at times, it was also a bigger "eye-opener" then I could have hoped for. Now, I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends and running in the mountains once again. I'll be sure to visit Paris plenty of times in my life, but don't know how long it may be. At least I can return sure of one thing, if all else fails, I’ll always have my feet to fall back on.
I’ll post once more when I return. Until then: I can’t wait to see you all!
24 June 2008
19 June 2008
It’s official! I’m done with Sciences Po. There is no longer a class or bureaucracy-related reason that I should ever set foot in the building again. This afternoon I went back one final time to turn in my pre-paid and self-addressed envelope that the Secretariat requires in order for us to receive our transcripts. I’m done! Of course, this new status receives jealous responses from my friends here, but even after a year of berating Sciences Po, I know I will miss a lot about the school. Maybe I won’t miss the lack of organization, strictly structured essays, or poor grading system, but I will miss the ancient building with its original elevators and the gymnase (café/lounge space) always filled with students. My time at Sciences Po pushed me farther then ever before and to share this experience with a few hundred equally-frustrated international students created a bond that few others can understand. Leaving will be surreal in the very least.
In between my last few classes, I’ve made efforts to get through the last few items on my check list. Evan (Canada), Evgenia (Russia) and I went to the Catacombes last week. If you’re claustrophobic, you’d hate this, but if not—it was awesome, and only a little creepy. The Catacombes is a series of underground tunnels originally used for mining during the 17th and 18th centuries. At the time of the French Revolution, the new government decided they wanted to clear out space around Paris’s churches and they exhumed and relocated all of the bones in cartfuls to the tunnels. They stacked the femurs on the bottom, the skulls in the middle and the arm bones on the top to form a wall all along the caves, throwing the other bones in heaps behind the wall and labeling each area with the name of the church that the bones were from. We got really lucky. We arrived at an off time—about 3:00 in the afternoon, and were let in for free… after wandering, obviously creeped out for 5 minutes, a security guard with a big flashlight adopted us and led us on a full tour of the caves, stopping to light up the piles in the back. There are 6 million bodies in the tunnels and some of the piles went back 60 meters. He even let us take pictures with a flash even though it was forbidden. It was great!
One of the cool things about Sciences Po is the traditional “diner de conference” (class dinner) at the end of the term. Last semester we went to a few restaurants and to a teacher’s penthouse in the 16th. This semester, we went to a few bars and had picnics… For my course in French on Innovation, we met at the Eiffel Tower and all were asked to bring a dish from our home country. Even though, the class was split: half international students and half French students, none of the French students came. I don’t know what this means and I’m not going to speculate anymore. I splurged and bought a 6 euro, 4oz jar of peanut butter at an American grocer in the Marais named “Thanksgiving” (go figure!). Paired with grape jam and sliced bread, it was surprisingly well-received and I didn’t feel so bad about the “no-cook” choice that represented my nation. Joanna, who studies at Yale, brought banana-bread… so represented the American contingent. Our professor for this course was incredible, and we all stayed until after midnight enjoying our hodge-podge of languages and cuisine.
My French language class decided to end with a walking tour instead of a dinner, which quickly turned into a visit to the French senate building (at the Jardin de Luxembourg) and after a flash of Sciences Po ID cards, attendance at a session where the Prime Minister was giving a speech. As cool as it was to be admitted in the middle of the speech (the sessions are open to the public but not usually to groups on such short notice), I will admit that fell asleep… multiple times… You’d think that after a year at a political science school, the Prime Minister’s presence would have intrigued me, but alas, I am a marketing major through and through.
Yesterday, Evan, Evgenia and I took another afternoon field trip to the Galleries Lafayette—but not to go shopping. Somehow I had passed the year, browsing the many floors at Gallery Lafayette, gawking at its window displays during Christmas, and never realized there was a rooftop terrace with one of the best (free) views of Paris. On a warm day, the terrace was full of people picnicking and sitting at the café enjoying the sun (and somewhat cleaner air!). We sat and talked about our year for a few hours. My nostalgia continued last night with another class picnic at the Pont des Arts. My Cross Cultural Management class (another phenomenal professor) was also split French/International, and again only the international students came. Again we stayed until after midnight, but this time it there were more sad faces at departure…
And so the week continues… each day, more people stressing about finals (beginning tomorrow) and talking about imminent departures. For most of us, this next weekend will be our last. With the end in sight, you’ll be happy to know that I have officially become Parisien, at least by definition of a book I read at the beginning of the year—yes, I finally, after 10 months of careful attention, finally took my eyes off of the sidewalk just long enough to step in dog poop. It was one of my prized memberships, in a club that little by little lost members through the year; I was one of the few left. My fault was that I let myself hope that I could leave with this status. Paris wouldn’t hear this naivety though, and with one week to go, I joined the masses scraping and rinsing in the puddles along the roads. I guess it was only fitting.
One week left… Isaac arrives on Wednesday. My apartment is barren and halfway through different stages of packing and cleaning. Weather.com has predicted the temperatures for all of my remaining time (sunny and beautiful…finally!), this can only mean that the end is near. Right now it all feels bittersweet and surreal. I don’t think it will actually hit until after I return. For now, plans have been made for last visits to pubs and favorite picnic spots… and final goodbyes.
In between my last few classes, I’ve made efforts to get through the last few items on my check list. Evan (Canada), Evgenia (Russia) and I went to the Catacombes last week. If you’re claustrophobic, you’d hate this, but if not—it was awesome, and only a little creepy. The Catacombes is a series of underground tunnels originally used for mining during the 17th and 18th centuries. At the time of the French Revolution, the new government decided they wanted to clear out space around Paris’s churches and they exhumed and relocated all of the bones in cartfuls to the tunnels. They stacked the femurs on the bottom, the skulls in the middle and the arm bones on the top to form a wall all along the caves, throwing the other bones in heaps behind the wall and labeling each area with the name of the church that the bones were from. We got really lucky. We arrived at an off time—about 3:00 in the afternoon, and were let in for free… after wandering, obviously creeped out for 5 minutes, a security guard with a big flashlight adopted us and led us on a full tour of the caves, stopping to light up the piles in the back. There are 6 million bodies in the tunnels and some of the piles went back 60 meters. He even let us take pictures with a flash even though it was forbidden. It was great!
One of the cool things about Sciences Po is the traditional “diner de conference” (class dinner) at the end of the term. Last semester we went to a few restaurants and to a teacher’s penthouse in the 16th. This semester, we went to a few bars and had picnics… For my course in French on Innovation, we met at the Eiffel Tower and all were asked to bring a dish from our home country. Even though, the class was split: half international students and half French students, none of the French students came. I don’t know what this means and I’m not going to speculate anymore. I splurged and bought a 6 euro, 4oz jar of peanut butter at an American grocer in the Marais named “Thanksgiving” (go figure!). Paired with grape jam and sliced bread, it was surprisingly well-received and I didn’t feel so bad about the “no-cook” choice that represented my nation. Joanna, who studies at Yale, brought banana-bread… so represented the American contingent. Our professor for this course was incredible, and we all stayed until after midnight enjoying our hodge-podge of languages and cuisine.
My French language class decided to end with a walking tour instead of a dinner, which quickly turned into a visit to the French senate building (at the Jardin de Luxembourg) and after a flash of Sciences Po ID cards, attendance at a session where the Prime Minister was giving a speech. As cool as it was to be admitted in the middle of the speech (the sessions are open to the public but not usually to groups on such short notice), I will admit that fell asleep… multiple times… You’d think that after a year at a political science school, the Prime Minister’s presence would have intrigued me, but alas, I am a marketing major through and through.
Yesterday, Evan, Evgenia and I took another afternoon field trip to the Galleries Lafayette—but not to go shopping. Somehow I had passed the year, browsing the many floors at Gallery Lafayette, gawking at its window displays during Christmas, and never realized there was a rooftop terrace with one of the best (free) views of Paris. On a warm day, the terrace was full of people picnicking and sitting at the café enjoying the sun (and somewhat cleaner air!). We sat and talked about our year for a few hours. My nostalgia continued last night with another class picnic at the Pont des Arts. My Cross Cultural Management class (another phenomenal professor) was also split French/International, and again only the international students came. Again we stayed until after midnight, but this time it there were more sad faces at departure…
And so the week continues… each day, more people stressing about finals (beginning tomorrow) and talking about imminent departures. For most of us, this next weekend will be our last. With the end in sight, you’ll be happy to know that I have officially become Parisien, at least by definition of a book I read at the beginning of the year—yes, I finally, after 10 months of careful attention, finally took my eyes off of the sidewalk just long enough to step in dog poop. It was one of my prized memberships, in a club that little by little lost members through the year; I was one of the few left. My fault was that I let myself hope that I could leave with this status. Paris wouldn’t hear this naivety though, and with one week to go, I joined the masses scraping and rinsing in the puddles along the roads. I guess it was only fitting.
One week left… Isaac arrives on Wednesday. My apartment is barren and halfway through different stages of packing and cleaning. Weather.com has predicted the temperatures for all of my remaining time (sunny and beautiful…finally!), this can only mean that the end is near. Right now it all feels bittersweet and surreal. I don’t think it will actually hit until after I return. For now, plans have been made for last visits to pubs and favorite picnic spots… and final goodbyes.
08 June 2008
Last week one of my good friends said to me “Parisiens change with the weather. Look, it’s sunny and warm and all of a sudden people are smiling.”
She couldn’t have been more right.
Last Monday afternoon after going into Sciences Po to get a few things, I walked to a café nearby school to sit and write. Two 1st year French college students were sitting at the table next to me. They leaned over to ask me a grammar clarification (so much for trying to blend in!) and we ended up talking for almost 2 hours: them in English and me in French. We talked about everything, stereotypes, soccer, school, etc… It was perfect. They were studying for their English final exam the next day and I had my French final on Tuesday as well. So sun in Paris brings conversation too.
Also, with more smiling faces, come more unsolicited approaches from certain French men. Over the last week, it has happened to me daily instead of just once or twice a week as was normal. It all came to a highpoint yesterday with a day-ending tally of 4 really earnest attempts. Its not me! I can attest for this. I have not changed appearance at all except for having horrible split ends! Yesterday in particular, I hadn’t showered in 30 hours and was feeling pretty gross since a pulled leg muscle has made me take a 2 week break from running. (It’s getting better, but it needs to heal fast, I am getting really antsy!). My favorite from yesterday ended with the unsuccessful solicitor making crying noises and rubbing his eyes. Really? Did it need to come to that?!
I’ve become a master at the “swift side glance then stare straight forward and pick up the pace”. I’ve become so good in fact that on Friday night a man looking for directions to the metro had to give a loud insulted “huff” before I realized he was an innocent and that I should have stopped and listened, which I then did. How this newly mastered skill will be translated once I return, I’m nervous to find out—you all may just have to remind me that not all 30-40 year-old men have a hidden agenda…
After one more week of classes, my last big paper is complete, another group project is finished and can estimate my remaining school work to be no more then 2 hours of effort. I will still have to attend classes through the 18th but as far as I am concerned, I am checked out of Sciences Po. This afternoon I spent an hour going through all of my books and papers from the past semester and though not the 15 pounds of last semester, my recycle pile was pretty impressive to say the least. From now through the end of June, my friends here are laden with papers and final exams. I’m one of the few lucky ones whose scheduling worked out like this. However, this now means I have an incredible amount of idle time on my hands, time that I have not had since before arriving in France, and for the first time I’ve become a little bored. Ha! I can’t believe I’m actually admitting to this! The truth is, after 2 months of visiting and revisiting monuments, parks and museums with visitors, I’m a bit tired of the highlights (that I still love!). My brother comes at the end of the month and I know I will see most of them all again with him. It’s just a matter of filling the time between now and then. My apartment is spotless, I’m very well-rested, I’m up to date on all US politics and news, I’m almost caught up on my long back-log of e-mails, and I confirmed and reconfirmed summer plans in CO. Now I’m working my way through Venice travel guides, and am reading a few books I picked up at the English bookstore. My real disappointment came in trying to make a few concrete plans for the weekends. Since arriving I’ve wanted to take a cooking class and travel to the southern Riviera. However, after 12 hours of fruitless internet searching yesterday, my limited budget just can’t match the summer demands. I really can’t complain though. I know have the time to do things I have wanted to do for months, especially read, and once the Paris sun comes out again (its been a week of clouds) I’ll be set up on park benches and cafés for the rest of the month.
My “to do before I leave list” is down to a handful now, full of checkmarks since its production in early October. It’s pretty amazing to see everything I have done. Today I went to St. Chapelle, a gothic cathedral built at the same time as Notre Dame but in 6 years as opposed to 200. It’s smaller of course but was built to house Jesus’ crown of thorns and is therefore surrounded by the most magnificent stain-glass windows I have ever seen; supposedly they depict the stories of the bible from Genesis through Judgment Day. I was in line next to 2 Texan boys, recent high school grads on a 24 day trip through Europe who reminded me all too much of my brothers! They told me about the French Open’s final challenge between Federer and Nadal—it would be shown at the Hotel de Ville (where they showed the rugby games in September) at 3pm. Though I knew the Open was going on, without a TV I haven’t been able to follow it. So at 3pm I went over to the Hotel de Ville and joined the crowds sitting on the pavement to watch Federer play (so they say) one of his worst matches ever. There were a few Spaniards there too though, and claiming victory in front of the Parisien crowd was all too good.
I arrived home to find an e-mail from the SNCF, one of two companies who run the Paris metro system. Strikes? Again?! You better believe it! Last week, RATP took a Wednesday off and this Tuesday it will be SNCF’s turn. President Sarkozy is not a favorite here. There is a strike season that the unions generally follow to the convenience of the locals. Historically, it’s October-November and sometimes mid-February if necessary. These recent strikes are cutting into tourist season and therefore the funds that make this city go. I’m guessing Sarkozy has a long, strike-filled term ahead of him. For me, these strikes are a far cry from last November. Unless I feel like heading up to Montmartre or to the outskirts, I can get around easily daily without taking the metro at all. I guess this is a good thing now that Lindsay has been back in the states since April. My 2nd home in Paris is now longer.
This time round however, the sun is out (well most of the time) and people don’t mind walking so much, smiling faces and all.
She couldn’t have been more right.
Last Monday afternoon after going into Sciences Po to get a few things, I walked to a café nearby school to sit and write. Two 1st year French college students were sitting at the table next to me. They leaned over to ask me a grammar clarification (so much for trying to blend in!) and we ended up talking for almost 2 hours: them in English and me in French. We talked about everything, stereotypes, soccer, school, etc… It was perfect. They were studying for their English final exam the next day and I had my French final on Tuesday as well. So sun in Paris brings conversation too.
Also, with more smiling faces, come more unsolicited approaches from certain French men. Over the last week, it has happened to me daily instead of just once or twice a week as was normal. It all came to a highpoint yesterday with a day-ending tally of 4 really earnest attempts. Its not me! I can attest for this. I have not changed appearance at all except for having horrible split ends! Yesterday in particular, I hadn’t showered in 30 hours and was feeling pretty gross since a pulled leg muscle has made me take a 2 week break from running. (It’s getting better, but it needs to heal fast, I am getting really antsy!). My favorite from yesterday ended with the unsuccessful solicitor making crying noises and rubbing his eyes. Really? Did it need to come to that?!
I’ve become a master at the “swift side glance then stare straight forward and pick up the pace”. I’ve become so good in fact that on Friday night a man looking for directions to the metro had to give a loud insulted “huff” before I realized he was an innocent and that I should have stopped and listened, which I then did. How this newly mastered skill will be translated once I return, I’m nervous to find out—you all may just have to remind me that not all 30-40 year-old men have a hidden agenda…
After one more week of classes, my last big paper is complete, another group project is finished and can estimate my remaining school work to be no more then 2 hours of effort. I will still have to attend classes through the 18th but as far as I am concerned, I am checked out of Sciences Po. This afternoon I spent an hour going through all of my books and papers from the past semester and though not the 15 pounds of last semester, my recycle pile was pretty impressive to say the least. From now through the end of June, my friends here are laden with papers and final exams. I’m one of the few lucky ones whose scheduling worked out like this. However, this now means I have an incredible amount of idle time on my hands, time that I have not had since before arriving in France, and for the first time I’ve become a little bored. Ha! I can’t believe I’m actually admitting to this! The truth is, after 2 months of visiting and revisiting monuments, parks and museums with visitors, I’m a bit tired of the highlights (that I still love!). My brother comes at the end of the month and I know I will see most of them all again with him. It’s just a matter of filling the time between now and then. My apartment is spotless, I’m very well-rested, I’m up to date on all US politics and news, I’m almost caught up on my long back-log of e-mails, and I confirmed and reconfirmed summer plans in CO. Now I’m working my way through Venice travel guides, and am reading a few books I picked up at the English bookstore. My real disappointment came in trying to make a few concrete plans for the weekends. Since arriving I’ve wanted to take a cooking class and travel to the southern Riviera. However, after 12 hours of fruitless internet searching yesterday, my limited budget just can’t match the summer demands. I really can’t complain though. I know have the time to do things I have wanted to do for months, especially read, and once the Paris sun comes out again (its been a week of clouds) I’ll be set up on park benches and cafés for the rest of the month.
My “to do before I leave list” is down to a handful now, full of checkmarks since its production in early October. It’s pretty amazing to see everything I have done. Today I went to St. Chapelle, a gothic cathedral built at the same time as Notre Dame but in 6 years as opposed to 200. It’s smaller of course but was built to house Jesus’ crown of thorns and is therefore surrounded by the most magnificent stain-glass windows I have ever seen; supposedly they depict the stories of the bible from Genesis through Judgment Day. I was in line next to 2 Texan boys, recent high school grads on a 24 day trip through Europe who reminded me all too much of my brothers! They told me about the French Open’s final challenge between Federer and Nadal—it would be shown at the Hotel de Ville (where they showed the rugby games in September) at 3pm. Though I knew the Open was going on, without a TV I haven’t been able to follow it. So at 3pm I went over to the Hotel de Ville and joined the crowds sitting on the pavement to watch Federer play (so they say) one of his worst matches ever. There were a few Spaniards there too though, and claiming victory in front of the Parisien crowd was all too good.
I arrived home to find an e-mail from the SNCF, one of two companies who run the Paris metro system. Strikes? Again?! You better believe it! Last week, RATP took a Wednesday off and this Tuesday it will be SNCF’s turn. President Sarkozy is not a favorite here. There is a strike season that the unions generally follow to the convenience of the locals. Historically, it’s October-November and sometimes mid-February if necessary. These recent strikes are cutting into tourist season and therefore the funds that make this city go. I’m guessing Sarkozy has a long, strike-filled term ahead of him. For me, these strikes are a far cry from last November. Unless I feel like heading up to Montmartre or to the outskirts, I can get around easily daily without taking the metro at all. I guess this is a good thing now that Lindsay has been back in the states since April. My 2nd home in Paris is now longer.
This time round however, the sun is out (well most of the time) and people don’t mind walking so much, smiling faces and all.
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