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.
28 May 2008
Yes! Finally she writes a new blog!
I have to apologize— I can make up a thousand excuses in the world but the truth is that although I am busy, this semester is 4 times less crazy then the last; somehow I managed to stay up to date then, so no justification is good enough.
It has been well over a month since my last post. My 15 visitors have come and gone and I am now well into my final projects and papers. Believe it or not (I can’t!), I will finish my Sciences Po education in just two and a half weeks before spending another two soaking in some final Paris memories. Then I head off to Venice and Munich for a few days with my 18-year old brother, who is now a high school graduate! Even while writing this, I don’t think I quite believe the words- My 11 month adventure is almost at a close. I am long past the days when I would wake up in a daze questioning which city (let alone: continent!) I am in; as was a daily occurrence in September and whether I noticed it or not, I have become a little bit more European everyday.
Don’t worry! I am a long way from a total transformation and I have a feeling that after only a few days back in Boulder, my mind will return to its comfortable origins.
For now however, I am trying to enjoy the time that I have left in between essays and exposés. Yesterday morning I gave my first (and only!) solo presentation in French (for my Innovation course). I have given a few others this year already but always with partners who covered my back during the Q and A section. Though my stomach was twirling the whole time, I felt pretty good about the feedback that I received afterward and more then anything was relieved to have it over! This afternoon diminished even more stress as it was D-day of a 2-month prepared, 2-hour group presentation. One of my favorite projects that I have ever worked on, we spent the last 10+ weeks preparing to present a full lecture on how to do business in China. After the past week of several after-midnight work sessions, I’ve never been closer to 5 classmates that I just met. Today, dressed in full Chinese costumes that we found near Sacre Coeur, we entertained the class with a 2008 Olympic Games overview, negotiation role plays, fortune cookies, Mandarin lessons, a dancing dragon, and a dozen youtube videos. A large portion of our grade was boredom prevention… J Tonight, I’m breathing a bit more easily! Now, only one more group project (this one is only a very non-threatening 10 minutes long) and one paper stand between me and a transcript bearing the marks of a very intense (and incredible) year at Sciences Po.
Summer arrived with the tourists in late March. Since then, 15 friends have passed through my doors and slept on my futon (once it even slept 3 at a time!). Working on the few free days that I had in between visitors in order to stay ahead of my school work, I spent the last 2 months joining the tourist crowds and then ducking out of them again to sit at cafés with my friends, trying to let them in on a little bit of my Paris experience. After 7 different trips to the Eiffel Tower, 3 to Versailles, and 4 to the Louvre, I will admit that I’m probably done with the big sites for the rest of the year. In most cases, however, having them all here had great perks. From the joyous “ooohs” of the ever enthusiastic Marsha to the laid back day trip to Giverny with Tina, my eyes were reopened to the excitement that I first felt in September. I showed them things that I loved and they gave me tour guide tips which led to new adventures and discoveries in buildings and parks that I pass everyday. Then there are the perks to having your great friends stay over— unending conversation, cooking dinners for 2+, and even a surprise birthday (Thanks Jamin, Landon and Kristen!). I could go on and on with stories but now realize that I have to save something good to tell you all when I return in a month!
The person who made me appreciate Paris the most, however, was my dad. He came and went in just 5 days -- his first trip to Europe. He gave me a pretty difficult (if not impossible) task before arriving—“I don’t want to go to any museums or monuments.” Hmmm. J This is my dad- the man who decided on our 1999 trip to Disney World two weeks in advance, the man who let me go skydiving for my graduation present instead of getting me a wristwatch like my other friends’ parents, the man who (frequently) veers onto a mountain gravel road on our way home from church leading to a 2-hour drive going ‘nowhere’… Over the years, he taught me to choose experiences over things—a character that I love best about him—and so it fits that a trip to Paris should include as little line-waiting as possible, and should be full of afternoons at cafés and nights with bottles of wine: and it did. We walked miles—and MILES through the streets each day. I managed to get him out to Versailles for one of them and we spent a much of it in the gardens—returning to Paris via Sèvres to pass by my old apartment. I still can’t get over his expression when he saw the Roman baths near the Cluny Museum—“they are HOW old?!!” Of course, after 8 months, he was destined to be my favorite visitor—but it wasn’t until I saw him sitting at a café outside of the metro stop waiting for me that I realized how excited I really was to see him.
I can only imagine the homecoming in July—
Before I sign off to get some much needed sleep, I want to assure you that I will be keeping up this blog in the next month. With 2 weeks to do 2 assignments, and then 2 more to be a bum in Paris… I want to spend some time writing to you all. Keep your eyes out for a new post soon!
I have to apologize— I can make up a thousand excuses in the world but the truth is that although I am busy, this semester is 4 times less crazy then the last; somehow I managed to stay up to date then, so no justification is good enough.
It has been well over a month since my last post. My 15 visitors have come and gone and I am now well into my final projects and papers. Believe it or not (I can’t!), I will finish my Sciences Po education in just two and a half weeks before spending another two soaking in some final Paris memories. Then I head off to Venice and Munich for a few days with my 18-year old brother, who is now a high school graduate! Even while writing this, I don’t think I quite believe the words- My 11 month adventure is almost at a close. I am long past the days when I would wake up in a daze questioning which city (let alone: continent!) I am in; as was a daily occurrence in September and whether I noticed it or not, I have become a little bit more European everyday.
Don’t worry! I am a long way from a total transformation and I have a feeling that after only a few days back in Boulder, my mind will return to its comfortable origins.
For now however, I am trying to enjoy the time that I have left in between essays and exposés. Yesterday morning I gave my first (and only!) solo presentation in French (for my Innovation course). I have given a few others this year already but always with partners who covered my back during the Q and A section. Though my stomach was twirling the whole time, I felt pretty good about the feedback that I received afterward and more then anything was relieved to have it over! This afternoon diminished even more stress as it was D-day of a 2-month prepared, 2-hour group presentation. One of my favorite projects that I have ever worked on, we spent the last 10+ weeks preparing to present a full lecture on how to do business in China. After the past week of several after-midnight work sessions, I’ve never been closer to 5 classmates that I just met. Today, dressed in full Chinese costumes that we found near Sacre Coeur, we entertained the class with a 2008 Olympic Games overview, negotiation role plays, fortune cookies, Mandarin lessons, a dancing dragon, and a dozen youtube videos. A large portion of our grade was boredom prevention… J Tonight, I’m breathing a bit more easily! Now, only one more group project (this one is only a very non-threatening 10 minutes long) and one paper stand between me and a transcript bearing the marks of a very intense (and incredible) year at Sciences Po.
Summer arrived with the tourists in late March. Since then, 15 friends have passed through my doors and slept on my futon (once it even slept 3 at a time!). Working on the few free days that I had in between visitors in order to stay ahead of my school work, I spent the last 2 months joining the tourist crowds and then ducking out of them again to sit at cafés with my friends, trying to let them in on a little bit of my Paris experience. After 7 different trips to the Eiffel Tower, 3 to Versailles, and 4 to the Louvre, I will admit that I’m probably done with the big sites for the rest of the year. In most cases, however, having them all here had great perks. From the joyous “ooohs” of the ever enthusiastic Marsha to the laid back day trip to Giverny with Tina, my eyes were reopened to the excitement that I first felt in September. I showed them things that I loved and they gave me tour guide tips which led to new adventures and discoveries in buildings and parks that I pass everyday. Then there are the perks to having your great friends stay over— unending conversation, cooking dinners for 2+, and even a surprise birthday (Thanks Jamin, Landon and Kristen!). I could go on and on with stories but now realize that I have to save something good to tell you all when I return in a month!
The person who made me appreciate Paris the most, however, was my dad. He came and went in just 5 days -- his first trip to Europe. He gave me a pretty difficult (if not impossible) task before arriving—“I don’t want to go to any museums or monuments.” Hmmm. J This is my dad- the man who decided on our 1999 trip to Disney World two weeks in advance, the man who let me go skydiving for my graduation present instead of getting me a wristwatch like my other friends’ parents, the man who (frequently) veers onto a mountain gravel road on our way home from church leading to a 2-hour drive going ‘nowhere’… Over the years, he taught me to choose experiences over things—a character that I love best about him—and so it fits that a trip to Paris should include as little line-waiting as possible, and should be full of afternoons at cafés and nights with bottles of wine: and it did. We walked miles—and MILES through the streets each day. I managed to get him out to Versailles for one of them and we spent a much of it in the gardens—returning to Paris via Sèvres to pass by my old apartment. I still can’t get over his expression when he saw the Roman baths near the Cluny Museum—“they are HOW old?!!” Of course, after 8 months, he was destined to be my favorite visitor—but it wasn’t until I saw him sitting at a café outside of the metro stop waiting for me that I realized how excited I really was to see him.
I can only imagine the homecoming in July—
Before I sign off to get some much needed sleep, I want to assure you that I will be keeping up this blog in the next month. With 2 weeks to do 2 assignments, and then 2 more to be a bum in Paris… I want to spend some time writing to you all. Keep your eyes out for a new post soon!
14 April 2008
I come from a long line of hostesses. Not from a line of formal, bureaucrat-schmoozing housewives, but from an extended and immediate family that likes to host gatherings and be with friends. If you visit any of the houses of my grandparents and aunts, you will see how this translates into cleanliness and an always welcoming home. Indeed, growing up, my brothers and I learned this with "cleaning Friday (and sometimes Saturday)" while our friends were out in the neighborhood. After moving to Colorado, our back deck became a perfect setup, and my mother is the master of the last minute salad and appetizers, while my father enjoys playing grill-sergeant.
Upon entering college, my laundry-savvy and semi-cooking skills translated into advisor for a few friends.
After Kelsey left at the beginning of the month, I took a few days to play catch up before Sarah J arrived to visit Paris for the first time. S is an easy person to show around because of her already global-adventurous attitude. When I was in class, she just jumped on the suburban train and headed for Versailles or the Eiffel Tower. For her first time in Paris, I think she had the city pretty well mapped after only 5 days.
On the 8th, I turned 21 but didn't get to enjoy the U.S.-ritual celebrations...this will have to wait for my return. Instead, a group of us went to a super famous jazz club called "La Caveau de la Huchette". The location is incredible, in underground caves that have hosted everything from Knights of the Templar meetings to Revolutionary executions to the beginning of the Swing sensation. I can't complain, how many people can say they turned 21 where someone had their head chopped off 250 years earlier?? :)
SNOW!!! It was just overnight but was enough to stick to the windshields in the morning!!
Upon entering college, my laundry-savvy and semi-cooking skills translated into advisor for a few friends.
It wasn't until this last month however, that I finally realized the extent of my 'hostess blood'.
After Kelsey left at the beginning of the month, I took a few days to play catch up before Sarah J arrived to visit Paris for the first time. S is an easy person to show around because of her already global-adventurous attitude. When I was in class, she just jumped on the suburban train and headed for Versailles or the Eiffel Tower. For her first time in Paris, I think she had the city pretty well mapped after only 5 days.
On the 8th, I turned 21 but didn't get to enjoy the U.S.-ritual celebrations...this will have to wait for my return. Instead, a group of us went to a super famous jazz club called "La Caveau de la Huchette". The location is incredible, in underground caves that have hosted everything from Knights of the Templar meetings to Revolutionary executions to the beginning of the Swing sensation. I can't complain, how many people can say they turned 21 where someone had their head chopped off 250 years earlier?? :)
In just a few hours, Jamin arrives with a few friends and will stay for a week before I welcome, Sarah M, with Tina to follow, then my German family, then Marsha, and then my dad! Of course, trained since birth for this moment, my homework is done weeks ahead of time, my studio is clean, and I have a big list of places I think are pretty awesome in Paris. Now I just have to cross my fingers for the rain to stop! :) For once, I can truly appreciate the dreaded friday afternoons of my childhood. (Thanks mom!)
Sometimes pictures tell stories better then words, and so here is a recap of the last few weeks:
For one of the first times since I have been here, I broke out the "hoodie" so despised here, to join S in my school pride! 
Out to dinner in Montmartre, we went to a super touristy place serving wine in baby bottles. The 65 year-old woman next to us was smart and squeeze it out into her water glass, we preferred not to be so classy for once.
Spring has arrived. One friday afternoon at the garden beside Notre Dame.
Every 1st Friday of the month, Notre Dame placed the Jesus's crown of thorns on display. Real or not, the church is packed with people in veneration. This is as close as we could get without waiting in an unending line.
The Paris Marathon was on April 6th, as a true Boulder-ite, I was at the finish line to cheer them on! The first picture is the winner.
Out to dinner in Montmartre, we went to a super touristy place serving wine in baby bottles. The 65 year-old woman next to us was smart and squeeze it out into her water glass, we preferred not to be so classy for once.
Spring has arrived. One friday afternoon at the garden beside Notre Dame.
Every 1st Friday of the month, Notre Dame placed the Jesus's crown of thorns on display. Real or not, the church is packed with people in veneration. This is as close as we could get without waiting in an unending line.The Paris Marathon was on April 6th, as a true Boulder-ite, I was at the finish line to cheer them on! The first picture is the winner.
A wedding party on the Seine.
The Cluny Middle Ages Museum
These are the original heads of the kings at the front of Notre Dame, chopped off during the Revolution and found buried in a backyard about 20 years ago. Noseless of course!
SNOW!!! It was just overnight but was enough to stick to the windshields in the morning!!
The Sonia Rykiel window display next to my school. The dogs move. There is a window next to this where the woman has a bunch of men on a leash too.
Down in the caves of the jazz club.
29 March 2008
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!
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!
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).
25 January 2008
There are somethings about Paris that make the list of must-sees, and must-dos for anyone coming for a short stay. I will compile a list at the end of my year here and leave it as the last entry--a relic of a year gone by.
There are also a million little adventures to be had. Thousands of things are happening everyday in this city and these are part of what makes it such a great place to live. Every city has their quirks--and--well, Paris has quite a few. Most things can be appreciated in passing: The angry strikers lining the street in November, the equally angry 13-year olds in the Parc de St. Cloud every Friday morning on their required run for class, the man outside of Notre Dame last Sunday just about to take off on his "bike ride around the world", etc... These are the things that you can not escape when living in a big city, they are the moments that give Paris her character.
Most of the time I prefer to be the passerby, smiling under my French "face" and taking pictures when possible. Over this last semester, I have gathered quite a collection of these moments. Most will have to wait until I return as I can't access all of my pictures--but I can share a few from this past month:
A Rolls Royce parked outside of the Armani Emporium on my way to class. Was the big guy checking out his merchandise?!
Of course the BEST Converses come in neon orange and purple/turquoise!
Harder to see, this is a funeral at St. Germain de Pres: the church near my school. The crowds were massive and there were news crews everywhere. We learned it was "Carlos" a famous French singer who lived on the block.
Sometimes, however, it is just as cool to be right in the thick of it. This last weekend, my French Revolution and Napoleon course took a walking tour of "revolutionary Paris". We met at 1pm and C and I returned home at midnight after a full day of wandering the streets of Paris, seeing the houses where Robespierre, Danton, and Marat lived (and it Marat's case--and died), eating crepes outside the Concergerie where Marie Antoinette was held prisoner before her execution, passing by the home of Dr. Guillotine--the inventor of the "more humanitarian" killing machine, and enjoying a dinner at a pizza place with the rest of our mixed francophone/anglophone class. Here is our American professor standing up on a post next to the Louvre. We picked up a few tourists on our way.
At 7pm we reached the Church of the Madeleine with intention of WATCHING the planned event for that night. It was the anniversary of Louis XVIth sentence to death in 1793 and we had heard rumors that the Action Francaise was putting on a procession to commemorate the event. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by 200 members. Royalists. Monarchists. After playing up the American tourist facade, we learned that they are a group of very Catholic, old money, families who believe that Louis was "murdered". They are for a monarchy--to them, the French republic is the down fall of society. Keep in mind, this was over 200 years ago. They even passed out fliers for their next meeting where they would be discussing the necessity for a return to the Franc--no more Euro!! The handed us candles and song sheets and began to march and sing.. at this point, there was little we could do and we were enveloped by the crowd and carried along to the church where Louis and Marie Antoinette are buried. Here, the laid flowers at their graves and made speeches. Most entertaining of all was that the participants were all members of conservative, upper class families: there were little boys in scouts uniforms, and girls in pea coats and the best leather boots, there were elderly women in furs and 20 year-old men sporting white scarfs. Not the kind of crowd you would have expected. The whole route was lined with media and people watched from their apartments perched nice and high--unlike us--they were safe from being identified as part of this extremist crowd. In the end, it was one Paris moment among many, but one that I will never forget.
I think this video will better illustrate: Steph and Carly are the ones with the gasping faces!
17 January 2008
As my days in Paris have turned from weeks to months, I have become more and more confident in my ability to live on my own. I have mastered the transportation system and can find my way around most quarters without pulling out a map (the trick is to always know where you are in relation to the Seine). With the days of organizing and setting up accounts behind me, I am now able to charge my cell phone and transfer/withdrawal money without any hassles. I know where to find the freshest produce, the cheapest nylons and the European equivalent to baking soda. I know when to avoid certain museums and when to arrive to make it into the library at the Centre Pompidou in under an hour. I am a regular at the shoe repair shop. I may have found the only café in Paris (besides Starbucks) which allows you to sit for hours with books after only ordering a coffee. (Café de l’Industrie at Metro: Bastille). These and the always necessary “don’t mess with me” Paris face combine to create the perfect all-knowing façade that allows one to wander the streets without drawing unwanted attention. At times, even I am convinced that I have truly become a partial Parisien “femme”. Of course, this is just the time when Paris decides to remind me that—even in the smallest ways—I am not.
Example #1) On Monday morning, I finally decided to gather up my 3 weeks worth of laundry (some of it from before the holidays!) and roll my overstuffed suitcase down to the Laundromat. I have given up on waiting for a clear day—no matter the forecast, it always manages to rain on the day I need to carry pounds of clothes 15 minutes into downtown Sèvres (without free hands, I can’t carry an umbrella!). On this particular morning, the owner of the Laundromat was doing his daily check-up and had a good laugh when I entered with soaking hair. It turns out that this was a good ice breaker. As I loaded the machines, he told me about his ambitions to be a pilot and travel the world and gave me tips about which dryer worked the fastest. “Seulement 2 fois!” (Meaning that my towels would be dry in 16 minutes on high heat! This was actually a very nice thing to find out—as it had been taking an average of 3 hours with the machine I had been using all semester.) It wasn’t until just before starting the wash that I once again became the naïve foreigner. “Avez-vous la lessive?” –Oui, of course I had detergent, it was in my hand! Or at least…as I soon learned—the fabric softener was in my hand. It turned out I have been washing my clothes with it all semester—not with detergent. My impulse to by the container with the first word I understood “hypo-allergenique” at the beginning of the year had led to repeat purchases of the same product without further review. You can imagine my mother’s response when I informed her of this. I had indeed succumbed to that French stereotype of not washing! Don’t worry, I think there must have been some cleaning agent in it, they always smelled good! It was a good thing that the “laverie” sold detergent by the cup.
My second example is not quite as good, but was equally entertaining to the witnesses I am sure. After my 3rd pair of shoes (the ones I had had fixed earlier) fell victim to the elements of Paris streets, I had the brilliant idea of bringing my remaining boots to the repair shop for some preventative work. Unfortunately, this meant that I was left with the choice of running shoes (definitely not an option) or flats to wear to class on one of the rainiest days yet. Aware of the hazards of this choice, I made the extra effort of placing importance on the position of each step as I walked to class that morning. Of course, a momentary loss of focus—caused by a forgotten ‘bisous’ as I parted from a friend—led to a cartoon-esque slip and inevitable collision with the ground outside of the café we had just occupied. Waiters came running and pedestrians and café-people-watchers goggled.
At least I am sure to be remembered when I return—both to my Laundromat and the café.
I am quickly realizing that trial-and-error is certainly the most effective method of learning and am convinced that the title of this blog site should have been “Cassie’s Final Attempt to Find Grace.”
Example #1) On Monday morning, I finally decided to gather up my 3 weeks worth of laundry (some of it from before the holidays!) and roll my overstuffed suitcase down to the Laundromat. I have given up on waiting for a clear day—no matter the forecast, it always manages to rain on the day I need to carry pounds of clothes 15 minutes into downtown Sèvres (without free hands, I can’t carry an umbrella!). On this particular morning, the owner of the Laundromat was doing his daily check-up and had a good laugh when I entered with soaking hair. It turns out that this was a good ice breaker. As I loaded the machines, he told me about his ambitions to be a pilot and travel the world and gave me tips about which dryer worked the fastest. “Seulement 2 fois!” (Meaning that my towels would be dry in 16 minutes on high heat! This was actually a very nice thing to find out—as it had been taking an average of 3 hours with the machine I had been using all semester.) It wasn’t until just before starting the wash that I once again became the naïve foreigner. “Avez-vous la lessive?” –Oui, of course I had detergent, it was in my hand! Or at least…as I soon learned—the fabric softener was in my hand. It turned out I have been washing my clothes with it all semester—not with detergent. My impulse to by the container with the first word I understood “hypo-allergenique” at the beginning of the year had led to repeat purchases of the same product without further review. You can imagine my mother’s response when I informed her of this. I had indeed succumbed to that French stereotype of not washing! Don’t worry, I think there must have been some cleaning agent in it, they always smelled good! It was a good thing that the “laverie” sold detergent by the cup.
My second example is not quite as good, but was equally entertaining to the witnesses I am sure. After my 3rd pair of shoes (the ones I had had fixed earlier) fell victim to the elements of Paris streets, I had the brilliant idea of bringing my remaining boots to the repair shop for some preventative work. Unfortunately, this meant that I was left with the choice of running shoes (definitely not an option) or flats to wear to class on one of the rainiest days yet. Aware of the hazards of this choice, I made the extra effort of placing importance on the position of each step as I walked to class that morning. Of course, a momentary loss of focus—caused by a forgotten ‘bisous’ as I parted from a friend—led to a cartoon-esque slip and inevitable collision with the ground outside of the café we had just occupied. Waiters came running and pedestrians and café-people-watchers goggled.
At least I am sure to be remembered when I return—both to my Laundromat and the café.
I am quickly realizing that trial-and-error is certainly the most effective method of learning and am convinced that the title of this blog site should have been “Cassie’s Final Attempt to Find Grace.”
11 January 2008
It has been one week since I dropped my mom off at Charles de Gaulle to fly back to the Colorado—meaning I have now been converted back to “student” status and can’t get away playing “tourist” if I feel particularly intimidated by a Parisien. A non French-speaking mother in your back pocket transforms a 20-something girl on her own into an unapproachable traveler—not worth the effort: whether to shady men on the street with only one agenda or to bureaucrats who feel it is their responsibility to lecture on the necessity of integration into the culture. In a way it is nice to return to my adventurous independent life where I learn something new everyday but that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss my mom more then ever right now.
For two and a half weeks, we were les tourists that I have mocked since arrival. We wandered the streets with cameras in hand, flocked to the Mona Lisa upon entering the Louvre, and braved the long lines at the base of the Eiffel Tower (though it wasn’t until the 3rd attempt that we were patient enough to manage an ascent). However, we also had our non-tourist moments: walking back to my house in Sèvres at the end of the day, passing directly through the metro entrance instead of standing for 15 minutes looking at maps, and making a gigantic pot of soup that would last us for 4 dinners and a lunch with Stephanie and her mom.
We saw an outstanding amount of monuments and museums, quarters and cafés and I had a great time playing tour guide—showing my mom all of my favorite things. One of our best nights was at the Opera Garnier with S and her mom. We secured cheap box seats on a last-minute decision the night before and were fascinated with the regal atmosphere and the dress of the obvious regulars. The building has become one of, if not my favorite in all of Paris and was the inspiration for the Phantom of the Opera with its underground caves. We saw Alcina, a story about an enchantress who lures men onto her island and then turns them into rocks and trees. This meant that the stage was full of men in all stages of dress (or not). I imagine the performance would have been good, had not the main male character been replaced with a female understudy! Not only was it difficult to distinguish which female was singing but it was a love story after all and you can picture some of the scenes. We still enjoyed it for the experience but the two couples in front of us began to make disapproving faces from the minute the curtains opened and left us an empty box for the last act! Judging by the 4 fur coats that lined the coat racks and the 160 Euro ticket stub they left on the seat, they could afford to be picky—they would probably return the next week. Needless to say, we were pretty excited about our luck.
We spent the holidays in Munich with the Junkers. Strange as it was not to be home in Boulder or Iowa for Christmas, we were happy with our snow-covered ground and amazing hosts. We arrived on Christmas Eve to be greeted by Sarah (her parents and brother spent a few days with family in north Germany before coming back before New Year’s). Heike had dressed the house to its best with lights, candles and a tree and had pre-prepared dinner for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after. When New Year’s Eve came along, they took us to a play and shared every Bavarian and German New Year’s tradition—you never knew there are so many things you HAVE to do on New Year’s! At midnight, I was in the city with Sarah while my mom stayed back home in the farm suburb with Heike and Heiner but we both had the same experience. Private fireworks are legal for the few days surrounding New Year’s and every house participated. Though I’m sure the smoke that covered the city for 15 afterward did nothing to help save the environment, it was truly spectacular.
My life for those few weeks seems very distant in that it was so different from the life that I have been living in Paris for the past 4 months. Finals week is two weeks away and I am right back into school mode with a presentation last Wednesday and a paper turned in this morning. After a lengthy class registration (including many e-mails, complaints and phone calls of course), my next semester will be much lighter and my most difficult semester will be behind me. Only 4 more weeks!
For now, I am back to the books but will be using my study breaks wisely—enjoying the working Paris scene. The city is no longer full of visitors, the winter winds have picked up, and the seasonal Soldes are in full swing. (The Soldes are nation wide sales lasting 6 weeks: this happens twice a year and is the only time that stores are allowed to discount below the prices at which they acquired their items). My French teacher was explaining this time of the year to us. Now that the tourists are gone, the Parisiens flock into the streets—shopping and dining with friends. Though the Fête de Rois (King’s Day) is officially on January 6th—12 days after Christmas, families will get together throughout the month of January to faire le gateau (eat the King’s Cake—whoever finds the bean inside has to buy the cake the next year) and celebrate the return to school and work. This is one thing I truly love about the French. Maybe they have too many holidays, but they enjoy every moment, every month, even cold January.
It hasn’t been easy getting back into my everyday routine. Paris has been a very different experience then what I originally engineered and the holiday break was a reminder of some of the simplicity of life back home. But Paris was never supposed to be easy. I have learned so much already and know that the next semester will be full of even more, though very different, experiences that I will remember forever. I can honestly say that I am not ready to go home and am glad I decided to come for the year. While many of my friends are preparing to go home in a month, I am happy knowing that I will get to see that other side of Paris still.
For two and a half weeks, we were les tourists that I have mocked since arrival. We wandered the streets with cameras in hand, flocked to the Mona Lisa upon entering the Louvre, and braved the long lines at the base of the Eiffel Tower (though it wasn’t until the 3rd attempt that we were patient enough to manage an ascent). However, we also had our non-tourist moments: walking back to my house in Sèvres at the end of the day, passing directly through the metro entrance instead of standing for 15 minutes looking at maps, and making a gigantic pot of soup that would last us for 4 dinners and a lunch with Stephanie and her mom.
We saw an outstanding amount of monuments and museums, quarters and cafés and I had a great time playing tour guide—showing my mom all of my favorite things. One of our best nights was at the Opera Garnier with S and her mom. We secured cheap box seats on a last-minute decision the night before and were fascinated with the regal atmosphere and the dress of the obvious regulars. The building has become one of, if not my favorite in all of Paris and was the inspiration for the Phantom of the Opera with its underground caves. We saw Alcina, a story about an enchantress who lures men onto her island and then turns them into rocks and trees. This meant that the stage was full of men in all stages of dress (or not). I imagine the performance would have been good, had not the main male character been replaced with a female understudy! Not only was it difficult to distinguish which female was singing but it was a love story after all and you can picture some of the scenes. We still enjoyed it for the experience but the two couples in front of us began to make disapproving faces from the minute the curtains opened and left us an empty box for the last act! Judging by the 4 fur coats that lined the coat racks and the 160 Euro ticket stub they left on the seat, they could afford to be picky—they would probably return the next week. Needless to say, we were pretty excited about our luck.
We spent the holidays in Munich with the Junkers. Strange as it was not to be home in Boulder or Iowa for Christmas, we were happy with our snow-covered ground and amazing hosts. We arrived on Christmas Eve to be greeted by Sarah (her parents and brother spent a few days with family in north Germany before coming back before New Year’s). Heike had dressed the house to its best with lights, candles and a tree and had pre-prepared dinner for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after. When New Year’s Eve came along, they took us to a play and shared every Bavarian and German New Year’s tradition—you never knew there are so many things you HAVE to do on New Year’s! At midnight, I was in the city with Sarah while my mom stayed back home in the farm suburb with Heike and Heiner but we both had the same experience. Private fireworks are legal for the few days surrounding New Year’s and every house participated. Though I’m sure the smoke that covered the city for 15 afterward did nothing to help save the environment, it was truly spectacular.
My life for those few weeks seems very distant in that it was so different from the life that I have been living in Paris for the past 4 months. Finals week is two weeks away and I am right back into school mode with a presentation last Wednesday and a paper turned in this morning. After a lengthy class registration (including many e-mails, complaints and phone calls of course), my next semester will be much lighter and my most difficult semester will be behind me. Only 4 more weeks!
For now, I am back to the books but will be using my study breaks wisely—enjoying the working Paris scene. The city is no longer full of visitors, the winter winds have picked up, and the seasonal Soldes are in full swing. (The Soldes are nation wide sales lasting 6 weeks: this happens twice a year and is the only time that stores are allowed to discount below the prices at which they acquired their items). My French teacher was explaining this time of the year to us. Now that the tourists are gone, the Parisiens flock into the streets—shopping and dining with friends. Though the Fête de Rois (King’s Day) is officially on January 6th—12 days after Christmas, families will get together throughout the month of January to faire le gateau (eat the King’s Cake—whoever finds the bean inside has to buy the cake the next year) and celebrate the return to school and work. This is one thing I truly love about the French. Maybe they have too many holidays, but they enjoy every moment, every month, even cold January.
It hasn’t been easy getting back into my everyday routine. Paris has been a very different experience then what I originally engineered and the holiday break was a reminder of some of the simplicity of life back home. But Paris was never supposed to be easy. I have learned so much already and know that the next semester will be full of even more, though very different, experiences that I will remember forever. I can honestly say that I am not ready to go home and am glad I decided to come for the year. While many of my friends are preparing to go home in a month, I am happy knowing that I will get to see that other side of Paris still.
06 December 2007
For the first time in weeks (maybe even months), my heart is beating at a comfortable rhythm. I stepped out of my last course of the day, and didn’t rush off to study Edmund Burke at the library, nor to research EU policies on my computer, nor to argue with one of the many frustrating institutions constantly trying to make life difficult. I survived Sciences Po midterms…
“Midterms” is the nice way to put it, actually. My last 3 weeks (and weekends) have consisted of research paper after research paper with a test and presentation here and there. Unlike most schools in the states, Sciences Po doesn’t have a week of exams to test your comprehension. The lecture courses normally give a test while the electives normally consist of an essay or presentation. I say “normally” because this is not always the case and ---- sticking with the trend now so apparent in my year abroad----somehow I fell away from the model again. English courses in general give more assignments versus the courses in French that assume you are doing the readings and give you one BIG (4 hours) exam at the end of the semester. Personally, I prefer the English approach as it is what I am most accustomed to. When my SEVEN English classes decided to follow this rule, the results were not pretty. I hope to never repeat the weekend that I just emerged from…and to spare you from a gut-wrenching stomach-ache, I won’t go into details. In short, it included: me, 4 days, a laptop, about 15 books (to be fair, I didn’t read them ALL cover to cover…), pajamas and a lamp that was rarely distinguished.
I survived however, and surfaced with 2 especially brilliant research paper (oh I wish!) to cross off the slowly shrinking list on my wall. I haven’t stopped smiling since Monday night at 5:02. The ice-skating rink at the Hotel de Ville is frozen and dancing with all levels of skaters (some who think they are much better then they really are!). The lights on the Grande Rue just behind our house are now lit and include a glittering, blue “Joyeux Fêtes!” The Champs-Elysées was (supposedly) illuminated last week. The wooden huts that had been standing outside of my church (St. Germain des Pres) for 2 weeks have now revealed their true identity: adorned with tinsel and holly, serving mulled wine, and selling every Christmassy item you could ever imagine—les Marchés de Noël have arrived in full force. Besides the onslaught of tourists and increasingly un- navigable department stores, Paris is utterly perfect right now. Now that I am breathing again, everything is ten times more fantastic then before –when I was catching glances of it all from inside libraries.
The cool thing about Paris is that even if you are stuck inside studying, you can do it inside an engineering masterpiece. I spent one whole day inside the Centre Pompidou last week. The building is built “inside-out” so that you can see all of its guts. When it was first built, a lot of people didn’t like it, it was an eye sore in the middle of the monotonous 18th Century buildings. I think it’s just cool. Th
e facility is the home to rotating exhibitions, an art galler
y, a cinema….and one amazing library. It is so amazing that my French Revolution professor forbid us to go on Sunday when the line to get in can reach 2+ hours. Lucky for me, I only had to wait 1! It’s an open stacks library: meaning that you can’t check the books out but it has more then enough space to read and work while looking out over fountains and tourists down below. To think that so many people come to Paris—and even to the Centre Pompidou--without ever seeing it makes me appreciate the chance to be a student here. (Even if it means an over-abundance of work!)
As if the lines at the Centre Pompidou weren’t enough, I got another test of my patience 2 weeks ago as I lined up outside the Billancourt-Boulogne prefecture to find out the status on my still non-existent Carte de Sejour. I arrived at 7am (it opened at 9) and was the first at the door—only to be followed 30 seconds later by 3 others…the line grew unceasingly until reaching about 200 when the doors finally opened. The wait wasn’t as bad as it sounds...knowing what to expect, I had brought homework and bundled up—but never could have predicted having to put up with the most annoying French man I have yet to meet—standing just behind me the entire time. I honestly didn’t know that someone could have so many criticisms of a place they have never been…I responded with a few “well, most Americans are not George Bush…” but avoided stating too much opinion. At least I got to practice my French. After 2 hours of waiting, I finally got up to the counter, proudly presented my temporary carte de sejour and demanded to know why—2.5 months after getting my temporary card and 0.5 months before it expires, I still had not had my medical exam to receive the real card. The woman smiled…yup…she smirked… “C’est normal! Vous avez besoin d’être patiente.” The expiration date of my temporary pass is on December 24th…and there is NO way I am going to go to the doctor on Christmas Eve… “Be patient”—I would like to know the definition of that word here!
I now have one more thing to add to my list of “Things that make me an official Paris resident—aka..NOT a tourist!” I had to get my boot fixed this week and hunted down a leather repair man online. When I got there I realized I didn’t know any French vocabulary about materials or shoes (“the leather on the toe is ripping at the seam”, etc…) So I pointed and used as much as I could…she took the boot, smiled, and told me to come back the next day…5 euro later, I have a perfect boot! (PS…that backpack of shoes is coming in handy…Paris has already eaten 2 of my shoes whole…the boots would make 3!!).
Carly’s sister, Emma, has arrived to stay with us for the next 2 months. Believe it or not, this now makes me the shorted one in a household of 3! They disappeared to Vienna last weekend—leaving me a perfectly silent study space and returned to help put up paper snowflakes. We hosted “Carly and Cassie’s Christmas Calamity”—clever I know! It included far too much sugar: hot cocoa and cookie-decorating. You never appreciate American super markets until you try to bake in France. After hunting down the closest things to US baking soda and flour we could find (the type in the stores here is meant for bread…the trick is to buy the Monoprix Bio one) …we cut out our own shapes with a knife before ruining a perfectly baked first batch---a side effect of the absence of (my now very-admired friend) Pam!! Greasing up the pan with enormous amounts of butter led to the production of some delicious and pretty creative cookies. After a few pans of the normal stuff—angels, trees, snowmen etc… we decided to make the most Christmassy items we could think of. This included among others…a penguin, an intricate gift-box, and, my favorite (if only because it was mine…) a Christmas ham! Who knew that a night with a few Australians, Americans, and Canadians-- a good month before the holiday season --could bring so much cheer?!
PS. My dad just e-mailed me to tell me about the package bomb in Paris today—I hadn’t heard about it yet! It was near the Champs d’Elysées and close to the homes of some of my friends…definitely a reality check in this Paris Wonderland.
“Midterms” is the nice way to put it, actually. My last 3 weeks (and weekends) have consisted of research paper after research paper with a test and presentation here and there. Unlike most schools in the states, Sciences Po doesn’t have a week of exams to test your comprehension. The lecture courses normally give a test while the electives normally consist of an essay or presentation. I say “normally” because this is not always the case and ---- sticking with the trend now so apparent in my year abroad----somehow I fell away from the model again. English courses in general give more assignments versus the courses in French that assume you are doing the readings and give you one BIG (4 hours) exam at the end of the semester. Personally, I prefer the English approach as it is what I am most accustomed to. When my SEVEN English classes decided to follow this rule, the results were not pretty. I hope to never repeat the weekend that I just emerged from…and to spare you from a gut-wrenching stomach-ache, I won’t go into details. In short, it included: me, 4 days, a laptop, about 15 books (to be fair, I didn’t read them ALL cover to cover…), pajamas and a lamp that was rarely distinguished.
I survived however, and surfaced with 2 especially brilliant research paper (oh I wish!) to cross off the slowly shrinking list on my wall. I haven’t stopped smiling since Monday night at 5:02. The ice-skating rink at the Hotel de Ville is frozen and dancing with all levels of skaters (some who think they are much better then they really are!). The lights on the Grande Rue just behind our house are now lit and include a glittering, blue “Joyeux Fêtes!” The Champs-Elysées was (supposedly) illuminated last week. The wooden huts that had been standing outside of my church (St. Germain des Pres) for 2 weeks have now revealed their true identity: adorned with tinsel and holly, serving mulled wine, and selling every Christmassy item you could ever imagine—les Marchés de Noël have arrived in full force. Besides the onslaught of tourists and increasingly un- navigable department stores, Paris is utterly perfect right now. Now that I am breathing again, everything is ten times more fantastic then before –when I was catching glances of it all from inside libraries.
The cool thing about Paris is that even if you are stuck inside studying, you can do it inside an engineering masterpiece. I spent one whole day inside the Centre Pompidou last week. The building is built “inside-out” so that you can see all of its guts. When it was first built, a lot of people didn’t like it, it was an eye sore in the middle of the monotonous 18th Century buildings. I think it’s just cool. Th
e facility is the home to rotating exhibitions, an art gallery, a cinema….and one amazing library. It is so amazing that my French Revolution professor forbid us to go on Sunday when the line to get in can reach 2+ hours. Lucky for me, I only had to wait 1! It’s an open stacks library: meaning that you can’t check the books out but it has more then enough space to read and work while looking out over fountains and tourists down below. To think that so many people come to Paris—and even to the Centre Pompidou--without ever seeing it makes me appreciate the chance to be a student here. (Even if it means an over-abundance of work!)As if the lines at the Centre Pompidou weren’t enough, I got another test of my patience 2 weeks ago as I lined up outside the Billancourt-Boulogne prefecture to find out the status on my still non-existent Carte de Sejour. I arrived at 7am (it opened at 9) and was the first at the door—only to be followed 30 seconds later by 3 others…the line grew unceasingly until reaching about 200 when the doors finally opened. The wait wasn’t as bad as it sounds...knowing what to expect, I had brought homework and bundled up—but never could have predicted having to put up with the most annoying French man I have yet to meet—standing just behind me the entire time. I honestly didn’t know that someone could have so many criticisms of a place they have never been…I responded with a few “well, most Americans are not George Bush…” but avoided stating too much opinion. At least I got to practice my French. After 2 hours of waiting, I finally got up to the counter, proudly presented my temporary carte de sejour and demanded to know why—2.5 months after getting my temporary card and 0.5 months before it expires, I still had not had my medical exam to receive the real card. The woman smiled…yup…she smirked… “C’est normal! Vous avez besoin d’être patiente.” The expiration date of my temporary pass is on December 24th…and there is NO way I am going to go to the doctor on Christmas Eve… “Be patient”—I would like to know the definition of that word here!
I now have one more thing to add to my list of “Things that make me an official Paris resident—aka..NOT a tourist!” I had to get my boot fixed this week and hunted down a leather repair man online. When I got there I realized I didn’t know any French vocabulary about materials or shoes (“the leather on the toe is ripping at the seam”, etc…) So I pointed and used as much as I could…she took the boot, smiled, and told me to come back the next day…5 euro later, I have a perfect boot! (PS…that backpack of shoes is coming in handy…Paris has already eaten 2 of my shoes whole…the boots would make 3!!).
Carly’s sister, Emma, has arrived to stay with us for the next 2 months. Believe it or not, this now makes me the shorted one in a household of 3! They disappeared to Vienna last weekend—leaving me a perfectly silent study space and returned to help put up paper snowflakes. We hosted “Carly and Cassie’s Christmas Calamity”—clever I know! It included far too much sugar: hot cocoa and cookie-decorating. You never appreciate American super markets until you try to bake in France. After hunting down the closest things to US baking soda and flour we could find (the type in the stores here is meant for bread…the trick is to buy the Monoprix Bio one) …we cut out our own shapes with a knife before ruining a perfectly baked first batch---a side effect of the absence of (my now very-admired friend) Pam!! Greasing up the pan with enormous amounts of butter led to the production of some delicious and pretty creative cookies. After a few pans of the normal stuff—angels, trees, snowmen etc… we decided to make the most Christmassy items we could think of. This included among others…a penguin, an intricate gift-box, and, my favorite (if only because it was mine…) a Christmas ham! Who knew that a night with a few Australians, Americans, and Canadians-- a good month before the holiday season --could bring so much cheer?!
PS. My dad just e-mailed me to tell me about the package bomb in Paris today—I hadn’t heard about it yet! It was near the Champs d’Elysées and close to the homes of some of my friends…definitely a reality check in this Paris Wonderland.
28 November 2007
It's midterms week(s) here so I am posting an e-mail I just received from the American Embassy in Paris before dashing off for more Mitterand vs de Gaulle and 20th century French Foreign Policy.
The e-mail was just a word of caution and I can honestly say that I haven't noticed one change in American perception in the last few days...but its just nice to know we have people looking out for us!
"US Embassy-Paris Warden Message
November 27, 2007
On Sunday, November 25, 2007 riots broke out in the Paris suburbs of Villiers-le-Bel and Arnouville after two teenagers were killed when their motorbike collided with a police car. Youths in the area began stoning police and firemen, injuring 21 police officers and setting fire to four buildings and 28 cars. The investigation into the crash that sparked the riots is ongoing. Similar riots continued Monday night November 26 with youths throwing Molotov cocktails at public security officers and setting fire to cars, businesses and a library. The press has reported that an American business was one of the four buildings set ablaze, but there is no indication that American businesses or citizens are in any way being singled out or specifically targeted. Tensions between police and youths in some Parisian suburbs have been notable in recent years. The U.S. Embassy reminds American citizens to pay close attention to local news reports and police instructions, and to remain clear of demonstrations or large gatherings of people. While most of the unrest in years past transpired during the evening hours, the Embassy encourages Americans to remain vigilant at all hours if traveling near Villiers-le-Bel and surrounding districts. Even demonstrations intended to be peaceful can turn confrontational and possibly escalate into violence. American citizens are therefore urged to avoid the areas of demonstrations if possible, and to exercise caution if within the vicinity of any demonstrations. "
The e-mail was just a word of caution and I can honestly say that I haven't noticed one change in American perception in the last few days...but its just nice to know we have people looking out for us!
"US Embassy-Paris Warden Message
November 27, 2007
On Sunday, November 25, 2007 riots broke out in the Paris suburbs of Villiers-le-Bel and Arnouville after two teenagers were killed when their motorbike collided with a police car. Youths in the area began stoning police and firemen, injuring 21 police officers and setting fire to four buildings and 28 cars. The investigation into the crash that sparked the riots is ongoing. Similar riots continued Monday night November 26 with youths throwing Molotov cocktails at public security officers and setting fire to cars, businesses and a library. The press has reported that an American business was one of the four buildings set ablaze, but there is no indication that American businesses or citizens are in any way being singled out or specifically targeted. Tensions between police and youths in some Parisian suburbs have been notable in recent years. The U.S. Embassy reminds American citizens to pay close attention to local news reports and police instructions, and to remain clear of demonstrations or large gatherings of people. While most of the unrest in years past transpired during the evening hours, the Embassy encourages Americans to remain vigilant at all hours if traveling near Villiers-le-Bel and surrounding districts. Even demonstrations intended to be peaceful can turn confrontational and possibly escalate into violence. American citizens are therefore urged to avoid the areas of demonstrations if possible, and to exercise caution if within the vicinity of any demonstrations. "
21 November 2007
In just under 20 hours, Middle America will wake up to the Macy’s Day Parade, turkey and football. In just under 20 hours, I will be sitting in my “EU as an International Actor” tutorial going over the guidelines for our six-page research paper due in 2 weeks. Tomorrow night I will have to forego the tryptophan-induced coma and study for a presentation the next day on Marie Antoinette.
Actually, Thanksgiving came much more quickly then I expected and besides the awesome display in the clothing shop next to my school (portraying two mannequins sitting down to enjoy a gold, sparkling, rayon/cotton/other synthetic fabric-turkey), there haven’t been many reminders to make me think of the holiday I will be missing. In truth, I LOVE Thanksgiving though maybe not as much as Christmas and New Year’s (the latter which I regard as the most perfect day of the year), and will definitely be thinking of my family and cousins celebrating in CO tomorrow. No doubt they will be enjoying a turkey- compliment of my dad’s favorite obsession: his Weber Smoker-- which he bought the weekend I went to college 2 years ago—.I’m pretty sure it was meant to fill the huge vacancy I left behind! :) When we moved to CO 7 years ago, I had to learn to accept a Thanksgiving without the grandparents and aunts and uncles (who I will be thinking about on Saturday!) I had grown up with. We made up our own tradition with Ham (not Turkey), Breckenridge, and our second family: The Bennett’s. This Thanksgiving is going to come and go without any of that but it will all be back in 12 months—so I think I’ll be ok this year in Paris. So today I am sending love back home!---
The strikes have continued this week hitting a climax yesterday with all fonctionnaires (civil servants) going on strike too. They called it “Black Tuesday”. I managed to make it home on Saturday morning (after a VERY squished metro ride) only to return to the city 4 hours later to meet my friend Caitlin from high school (who was visiting Paris for the day) and learn that my line (9) had closed for the night. I spent the night at Lyndsey’s to finally make it home on Sunday night to sleep in my bed for the first time in 6 days. There was talk that the strike would continue this week but after a week of living out of a bag I had convinced myself it wouldn’t happen and was caught off guard Monday night with the need to call L to ask if I could sleep in her bed, use her shower, and live in her apartment YET again the next night. I’ve told her to let me know when she is sick of me and wants her life back—but she’s been more then welcoming…I’ve been making dinner and washing dishes to try to be helpful…though now on my 7th night here out of 9 days, I owe her BIG. On Tuesday morning, metros were basically at a standstill, so Carly and I made the two hour trek from Sèvres to school (lugging a book bag and duffel of clothes)—it is not a journey I want to repeat again. Tonight (Wednesday) I am at L’s for what I think is think is the last night (the metros are starting to run again in better intervals). A week of sleepovers has been great girly fun though (forcing me to do my work during the day) and has included cooking experiments, Gilmore Girls, and even a night at the ‘Grand Prix Figure Skating Championships’! Tonight we’re paying tribute to home with a few reruns of “Friends’ Thanksgivings.” I’ve started to get used to the idea of living IN Paris—maybe I am going to miss these strikes? But only a bit.
On Sunday, I experienced human nature in its truest form on my packed metro ride home. An African man who had been standing next to me, sat in one of the 4 permanent seats when another person got up to leave. Upon sitting down, the woman next to him (about 35-yrs old) made a snide racist comment which I didn’t hear. The whole crowd within hearing distance (and because it was squished there were about 20 at least) immediately started to jeer at the woman. A “Nelson Mandela”esque man spoke up and started talking to her very calmly (it was all in French so I didn’t catch it all) saying “You can’t think like that, you can’t be like that.” He then started telling her that “it wasn’t the fault of anyone, not of the government, not of the man, it was just because of the strike”. From what I interpreted, she must have said something blaming the man for the current situation. The man left got up immediately after she said had insulted him and so she put her feet up on the empty seat, put an unlit cigar in her mouth, and started to cry, and cry and cry. 30-seconds later, a family got on and 2 little kids started telling jokes to their parents…everyone around me had smiles on their faces… It was amazing to see the extremes in that kind of environment.
I finally climbed the Eiffel tower on Saturday night with Caitlin and L. I was pretty cool to finally see the full layout of the city and realize how huge it really is. I only climbed to the 2 floor though, you have to take an elevator to the top—I’m waiting to do that with my mom: who is coming in just under a month!!
With the holidays in full swing, the swarms of tourists are here. I missed the summer season arriving on September 1st but now I understand why Parisians say the fall is the best time to visit—when it is not too hot and there aren’t lines everywhere. Even the grocery stores have been affected. Today I saw an American tour group on Le Rue de l’Opera and had to take a double take—I understand now why there is an American stereotype of being big. After 3 months surrounded by skinny, short people—a group of largely overweight and tall Americans came as a shock. I couldn’t stop staring. :)
Well, don’t let this stop you from enjoying our yummy holiday—Happy Thanksgiving!!
PS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my Dad! Only 2 more years until the big 5-0!
Actually, Thanksgiving came much more quickly then I expected and besides the awesome display in the clothing shop next to my school (portraying two mannequins sitting down to enjoy a gold, sparkling, rayon/cotton/other synthetic fabric-turkey), there haven’t been many reminders to make me think of the holiday I will be missing. In truth, I LOVE Thanksgiving though maybe not as much as Christmas and New Year’s (the latter which I regard as the most perfect day of the year), and will definitely be thinking of my family and cousins celebrating in CO tomorrow. No doubt they will be enjoying a turkey- compliment of my dad’s favorite obsession: his Weber Smoker-- which he bought the weekend I went to college 2 years ago—.I’m pretty sure it was meant to fill the huge vacancy I left behind! :) When we moved to CO 7 years ago, I had to learn to accept a Thanksgiving without the grandparents and aunts and uncles (who I will be thinking about on Saturday!) I had grown up with. We made up our own tradition with Ham (not Turkey), Breckenridge, and our second family: The Bennett’s. This Thanksgiving is going to come and go without any of that but it will all be back in 12 months—so I think I’ll be ok this year in Paris. So today I am sending love back home!---
The strikes have continued this week hitting a climax yesterday with all fonctionnaires (civil servants) going on strike too. They called it “Black Tuesday”. I managed to make it home on Saturday morning (after a VERY squished metro ride) only to return to the city 4 hours later to meet my friend Caitlin from high school (who was visiting Paris for the day) and learn that my line (9) had closed for the night. I spent the night at Lyndsey’s to finally make it home on Sunday night to sleep in my bed for the first time in 6 days. There was talk that the strike would continue this week but after a week of living out of a bag I had convinced myself it wouldn’t happen and was caught off guard Monday night with the need to call L to ask if I could sleep in her bed, use her shower, and live in her apartment YET again the next night. I’ve told her to let me know when she is sick of me and wants her life back—but she’s been more then welcoming…I’ve been making dinner and washing dishes to try to be helpful…though now on my 7th night here out of 9 days, I owe her BIG. On Tuesday morning, metros were basically at a standstill, so Carly and I made the two hour trek from Sèvres to school (lugging a book bag and duffel of clothes)—it is not a journey I want to repeat again. Tonight (Wednesday) I am at L’s for what I think is think is the last night (the metros are starting to run again in better intervals). A week of sleepovers has been great girly fun though (forcing me to do my work during the day) and has included cooking experiments, Gilmore Girls, and even a night at the ‘Grand Prix Figure Skating Championships’! Tonight we’re paying tribute to home with a few reruns of “Friends’ Thanksgivings.” I’ve started to get used to the idea of living IN Paris—maybe I am going to miss these strikes? But only a bit.
On Sunday, I experienced human nature in its truest form on my packed metro ride home. An African man who had been standing next to me, sat in one of the 4 permanent seats when another person got up to leave. Upon sitting down, the woman next to him (about 35-yrs old) made a snide racist comment which I didn’t hear. The whole crowd within hearing distance (and because it was squished there were about 20 at least) immediately started to jeer at the woman. A “Nelson Mandela”esque man spoke up and started talking to her very calmly (it was all in French so I didn’t catch it all) saying “You can’t think like that, you can’t be like that.” He then started telling her that “it wasn’t the fault of anyone, not of the government, not of the man, it was just because of the strike”. From what I interpreted, she must have said something blaming the man for the current situation. The man left got up immediately after she said had insulted him and so she put her feet up on the empty seat, put an unlit cigar in her mouth, and started to cry, and cry and cry. 30-seconds later, a family got on and 2 little kids started telling jokes to their parents…everyone around me had smiles on their faces… It was amazing to see the extremes in that kind of environment.
I finally climbed the Eiffel tower on Saturday night with Caitlin and L. I was pretty cool to finally see the full layout of the city and realize how huge it really is. I only climbed to the 2 floor though, you have to take an elevator to the top—I’m waiting to do that with my mom: who is coming in just under a month!!
With the holidays in full swing, the swarms of tourists are here. I missed the summer season arriving on September 1st but now I understand why Parisians say the fall is the best time to visit—when it is not too hot and there aren’t lines everywhere. Even the grocery stores have been affected. Today I saw an American tour group on Le Rue de l’Opera and had to take a double take—I understand now why there is an American stereotype of being big. After 3 months surrounded by skinny, short people—a group of largely overweight and tall Americans came as a shock. I couldn’t stop staring. :)
Well, don’t let this stop you from enjoying our yummy holiday—Happy Thanksgiving!!
PS. HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my Dad! Only 2 more years until the big 5-0!
16 November 2007
Winter has officially hit. Today’s high is about 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Luckily, it has been dry, so no ice or slush or snow, though I think I would be ok with a bit of the latter. Snow and I go way back and sometimes you just need a bit of a winter wonderland to make you reassess your surroundings.
In Paris, the cold rarely brings snow—but often brings STRIKES. Yes. Yet again Paris is at a standstill (well, at least the metros are…people tend to go on with their business without much notice or change of pace). I have been staying at Lyndsey’s since Tuesday (it’s Thursday now) and they predict the strikes will continue through the weekend—I think it may be time for me to start paying rent. I am crossing my fingers that the lines will be at least partially running by Saturday so that I can drag my heavy suitcase back to Sévres and get the rest of the books that I left at home to work on my 3 papers. (The work is never-ending!!) After last week though: 1 paper and 1 presentation down!! If I can stay focused for 4 more weeks I can enjoy a work-free Christmas break and return in January to write 1 more paper and study for finals in February—at the rate of speed that the last month went by, I will be home free before I know it! AND today marks exactly 1 month before my mom arrives for a holiday extravaganza!
We did get some rain on Sunday and for once I truly appreciated its timing even though it ended with me returning home to hang my shirt up to dry. With the imminent strike, I knew I only had one chance to do laundry and lugged my bags the 15 minutes to the nearest laverie. Parisian men are persistent—they have to be…the girls here are too beautiful and the men are too short... J I know this, I knew this, and I have a million stories to be assured of it…but the most persistent of them all earns the “blog-worthy” status. The laundramat was pretty busy for a Sunday and I was lucky to get there in time to claim the last 2 washing machines. There was a 35ish-looking man using the dryers directly across from my machine and in the normal French courtesy, he said hello when I arrived. Upon switching my wet clothes to the dryer, he politely encouraged me to use the dryer he had just finished with at it was “le plus chaud” (warmest) and even gave me an empty basket to transfer my clothes in. Though, in the US, I would have thought nothing of his extra efforts except for courtesy (especially as he had a good 15 years on me), I have been trained to remain suspicious here no matter what. When he packed up his bags and left with a quick “bonne journée” I was pleasantly surprised. That is—until I emerged from the laundramat into the rain 1 minute later to see him pause 50 feet away, turn around, and follow me in the opposite direction down the main street. As it was raining, I had started walking at a pretty brisk pace from the beginning---of course, 20 seconds later I hear a “Miss” from behind me. Thinking that I may have forgotten something, I paused just long enough for him to catch up and upon verifying that his intentions were not to return something that I had dropped (his first question was “where are you from?”) I continued my quick pace down the street. He, however, continued…staying right at my pace though about 10 feet behind…and asked one question after another to which my repeated short response was “No” (Do you live here? Do you speak French? Are you studying in Paris?...) This continued for about 3 minutes through the rain until…finally out of breath he commented that I walk very fast. This was my chance to escape, “Yes, I am late, I have to go, goodbye.” I picked up my pace even more…but wasn’t far enough to hear his last plea: “I phone you?” It turned out that the last 5 minutes of non-response, no eye contact and sprinting through the rain had done nothing more then encourage him that I was indeed interested in him.
November 11th is a national holiday in Paris as well and is celebrated every year with a laying of a wreath by the President at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Arc de Triomph (yes I finally went there!). Carly is in a “Memoirs of French Monuments and Celebrations” course and her class received an invitation from Sarkozy to attend the festivities and sit front and center (needless to say, I was a bit jealous). I tagged along and made plans to meet L and Elise while C went through the rows of security to the front. We found a good place right along the Champs d’Elysees right behind two secret service officers on motorcycles (very James Bond…). Representatives of the different branches of the military (some on horseback), bands, and a motorcade of ambassadors from around the world all filed past toward the arc until just 5 minutes to 11am when Monsieur President himself drove past, window down, arm waving. The whole even lasted about a half an hour with poems, speeches, the laying of wreaths and an inspection of the armed forces. President Sarkozy walked to a place about 20 feet from us to greet a few veterans, then got back in his motorcade and drove off. I was pretty surprised at how short he really is in person but was more surprised at the security. My bag was checked and I was wanded over before entering the street lining the route but C (who was within 5 feet of Sarkozy) never was checked once. Though I agree that Sarkozy does not have a third of the amount of enemies as Bush, I was pretty shocked that nothing more was done—I guess a bunch of white college students from a political science university with invitations aren’t much of a threat.
Despite the freezing temperatures, Paris has been absolutely GORGEOUS the last week. Bright blue skies (Since I haven’t left the city, I can’t see the smog!) and people all bundled up. Last night L and I walked home from our study session at Starbucks (which turned into a cultural experience of its own as the union workers staged their protest parade right along the Rue de l’Opera where I was already stationed cozy in my chair with my hot cup of Christmas Blend) taking a route that passed the Gallery Lafayette. Just like that---I fell in love with Paris all over again. They put up temporary scaffolding surrounding the entire building and covered it with lights that change to look like stain-glass windows. Each of the window displays was above and beyond anything that I have ever seen and included everything from mannequins with hair forming never-ending strings of garland to flying penguins and talking moose. It was truly magical—all it needed was a bit of snow. Now in the spirit, L and I rushed home (well—to her home) to turn on “The Rat Pack’s Christmas Hits” and decided a caroling expedition may be necessary in a few weeks—unknowingly to L, I have no intention to follow through on that proposal…ha!
In Paris, the cold rarely brings snow—but often brings STRIKES. Yes. Yet again Paris is at a standstill (well, at least the metros are…people tend to go on with their business without much notice or change of pace). I have been staying at Lyndsey’s since Tuesday (it’s Thursday now) and they predict the strikes will continue through the weekend—I think it may be time for me to start paying rent. I am crossing my fingers that the lines will be at least partially running by Saturday so that I can drag my heavy suitcase back to Sévres and get the rest of the books that I left at home to work on my 3 papers. (The work is never-ending!!) After last week though: 1 paper and 1 presentation down!! If I can stay focused for 4 more weeks I can enjoy a work-free Christmas break and return in January to write 1 more paper and study for finals in February—at the rate of speed that the last month went by, I will be home free before I know it! AND today marks exactly 1 month before my mom arrives for a holiday extravaganza!
We did get some rain on Sunday and for once I truly appreciated its timing even though it ended with me returning home to hang my shirt up to dry. With the imminent strike, I knew I only had one chance to do laundry and lugged my bags the 15 minutes to the nearest laverie. Parisian men are persistent—they have to be…the girls here are too beautiful and the men are too short... J I know this, I knew this, and I have a million stories to be assured of it…but the most persistent of them all earns the “blog-worthy” status. The laundramat was pretty busy for a Sunday and I was lucky to get there in time to claim the last 2 washing machines. There was a 35ish-looking man using the dryers directly across from my machine and in the normal French courtesy, he said hello when I arrived. Upon switching my wet clothes to the dryer, he politely encouraged me to use the dryer he had just finished with at it was “le plus chaud” (warmest) and even gave me an empty basket to transfer my clothes in. Though, in the US, I would have thought nothing of his extra efforts except for courtesy (especially as he had a good 15 years on me), I have been trained to remain suspicious here no matter what. When he packed up his bags and left with a quick “bonne journée” I was pleasantly surprised. That is—until I emerged from the laundramat into the rain 1 minute later to see him pause 50 feet away, turn around, and follow me in the opposite direction down the main street. As it was raining, I had started walking at a pretty brisk pace from the beginning---of course, 20 seconds later I hear a “Miss” from behind me. Thinking that I may have forgotten something, I paused just long enough for him to catch up and upon verifying that his intentions were not to return something that I had dropped (his first question was “where are you from?”) I continued my quick pace down the street. He, however, continued…staying right at my pace though about 10 feet behind…and asked one question after another to which my repeated short response was “No” (Do you live here? Do you speak French? Are you studying in Paris?...) This continued for about 3 minutes through the rain until…finally out of breath he commented that I walk very fast. This was my chance to escape, “Yes, I am late, I have to go, goodbye.” I picked up my pace even more…but wasn’t far enough to hear his last plea: “I phone you?” It turned out that the last 5 minutes of non-response, no eye contact and sprinting through the rain had done nothing more then encourage him that I was indeed interested in him.
November 11th is a national holiday in Paris as well and is celebrated every year with a laying of a wreath by the President at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Arc de Triomph (yes I finally went there!). Carly is in a “Memoirs of French Monuments and Celebrations” course and her class received an invitation from Sarkozy to attend the festivities and sit front and center (needless to say, I was a bit jealous). I tagged along and made plans to meet L and Elise while C went through the rows of security to the front. We found a good place right along the Champs d’Elysees right behind two secret service officers on motorcycles (very James Bond…). Representatives of the different branches of the military (some on horseback), bands, and a motorcade of ambassadors from around the world all filed past toward the arc until just 5 minutes to 11am when Monsieur President himself drove past, window down, arm waving. The whole even lasted about a half an hour with poems, speeches, the laying of wreaths and an inspection of the armed forces. President Sarkozy walked to a place about 20 feet from us to greet a few veterans, then got back in his motorcade and drove off. I was pretty surprised at how short he really is in person but was more surprised at the security. My bag was checked and I was wanded over before entering the street lining the route but C (who was within 5 feet of Sarkozy) never was checked once. Though I agree that Sarkozy does not have a third of the amount of enemies as Bush, I was pretty shocked that nothing more was done—I guess a bunch of white college students from a political science university with invitations aren’t much of a threat.
Despite the freezing temperatures, Paris has been absolutely GORGEOUS the last week. Bright blue skies (Since I haven’t left the city, I can’t see the smog!) and people all bundled up. Last night L and I walked home from our study session at Starbucks (which turned into a cultural experience of its own as the union workers staged their protest parade right along the Rue de l’Opera where I was already stationed cozy in my chair with my hot cup of Christmas Blend) taking a route that passed the Gallery Lafayette. Just like that---I fell in love with Paris all over again. They put up temporary scaffolding surrounding the entire building and covered it with lights that change to look like stain-glass windows. Each of the window displays was above and beyond anything that I have ever seen and included everything from mannequins with hair forming never-ending strings of garland to flying penguins and talking moose. It was truly magical—all it needed was a bit of snow. Now in the spirit, L and I rushed home (well—to her home) to turn on “The Rat Pack’s Christmas Hits” and decided a caroling expedition may be necessary in a few weeks—unknowingly to L, I have no intention to follow through on that proposal…ha!
07 November 2007
Spectacle in Sevres?!
It turns out Sevres DOES have more then a few inhabitants and right now they are all lined up outside my backyard watching the 20+ fire trucks lining my street. Coming home from class today, I was greeted with a road full of lights and men in black and yellow. My house backs to the street and is perched on a hill above it, so I decided I would go home to see what was happening instead of join the dozens of Sevrians craning their necks. Sure enough, when I opened my back window I saw the line of black smoke coming out of the apartment complex directly across the street. I decided to follow suit and watch the event unfold from my window. I even broke out some popcorn. Nobody was wheeled away in a stretcher but they did put the ladders up to the windows a few times. About an hour later, the trucks are still there but the smoke is just barely visible.
Climbing the ladder!
They went on like this for 3 blocks!
This week seems to be full of tragedy. On Sunday night, I returned home from a run along the Seine with my friend Evan (Canadian) pretty shaken up. Often (and by 'often' I mean once every 2-3 weeks) I have arrived at the metro station to find a crowd of people waiting on the platform for a delayed train. The announcement on the loud speaker is usually something to the tune of "Il y a une grave accident avec une voyageur..."- "There is a serious accident with a voyager..." I had always assumed that it meant that someone was sick or fainted until Lyndsey told me that it was widely understood to mean that some one had committed suicide. After that, everytime it happened I would get chills. You could see it in the faces of the others on the platform too...to be late for work because someone decided to jump in front of a train. On Sunday night--I was on that train. We had just taken off to the next stop when there was a thump and a yell from the driver--as I was in the front car...we could hear it pretty well and everyone froze. They only stopped the car for about 20 seconds and then continued to the next station. For a few minutes I was unsure if anything had actually happened. Sure enough, when we got to the next stop, the driver jumped out (with the whitest face I have ever seen), used the emergency phone, and told everyone to unload onto the platform. Another man came running, said some things really fast to the driver and jumped in to take the empty train away. The driver grabbed all of his stuff and booked it out of there, he was really shaken up. So there I was...standing on a platform with 70 other people just waiting--thinking-- The way that they reacted was like clockwork. It was so bizarre to me to get on to another train 15 minutes later and be on my way home...
On a lighter note-- It turns out that Sarkozy (the French President) and Bush are now BFF's. I'm not sure what to think about this but it makes an entertaining read. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/11/06/AR2007110602756.html?hpid=artslot
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