The theme of my 16th birthday party was “Bella Figura”. My friends and I dressed up like chic Italians and strutted down the cobblestone streets of our outdoor shopping village to an Italian restaurant in my hometown. My cake was even Tiramisu! I was hooked on Italy, and couldn’t wait until the day I would finally get to visit.
Well, that day came this last week. Elise and I left on Friday morning for Rome. We spent 3 days strutting the streets, admiring the relaxed Italian lifestyle, eating unbelievable pasta, and waiting in lines with the rest of the Easter crowds. It was fantastic. Rome is not a place that can be done in a short weekend and I already can’t wait to return to see what I missed. We packed in as many of the big sites as we could but were limited by holiday closures and looooong lines. We waited 4 hours for the Sistine Chapel but learned our lesson and arrived at 7am to St. Peter’s Basilica and walked right in.
In some ways, Rome was exactly what I expected: narrow cobblestone streets and OLD OLD monuments and buildings. Unfortunately, we picked the wrong weekend and ended up walking with our umbrellas in the air the whole time. Any movie, postcard, or recount of a friend’s adventure had solidified my vision of Rome as a sun-filled warm city—which I know is true in the summer. It’s amazing how a vision can be morphed with a gray spring cloak. More then anything, it made me realize that Rome really is a city like any other, it is subject to weather and tourists and dirt. In the end though, it was still stunning. It is impossible to fully grasp the age that great place. I had to catch my breath when I walk into the Colosseum—and that was built well after Nero’s kingdom had come and gone.
On Easter morning, Elise I headed to the Vatican to arrive at 7:30 AM, 3 hours before mass begun. We had tickets and were thrilled when we found seats in the center of the fourth row. As the weather had predicted rain, the dry, blue sky of the morning was nice change of pace. About 30 minutes before the mass was to begin, it started to sprinkle, just a little bit, and the decision of a cardinal near the altar to put up his umbrella sparked a domino effect through 50,000 spectators. Elise returned from the bathroom asking why all of the umbrellas were up!! 10 minutes later, we joined the crowds, and blocked the now heavy stream. 40 minutes in, the wind picked up, and the 50+ nuns next to us decided to leave. We were determined to stand our ground. We were staring at the Pope!! However, with 10 minutes left in the mass, the rain reached an unbearable intensity at which our umbrellas were completely useless. The ground was covered with 1-inch of rushing water as evidenced by my canvas flats that were finally dry 3 days later. We joined the rest of the fleeing nuns and made it to a café before the onrush of the rest of the crowds. Sadly, our hostel had a “lock-out” time for cleaning until 4 PM so we spent the rest of the afternoon between two cafés. Like the rest of that weekend, Easter at the Vatican went beyond all expectations, but introduced to Roman café culture (very different then its Parisien counterpart) and we still did have a great view of the Pope!
I returned on Monday morning in time to prepare for Kelsey, my friend from high school who is studying in Brussels, to visit from Tuesday until Thursday night. I got the chance to play tour guide again and we probably walked 4-5 hours each day just seeing the sites. Starting tomorrow with the arrival of Sarah, my German sister within my Munich family, I will have a constant flow of visitors until mid-May. Today is my rest day, my feet need the break and I have homework to do in advance.
If I was surprised at all by Rome, I was even more surprised upon my return to Paris. I arrived to an apartment with working internet and decidedly fixed running water! Though they never actually did anything to the pipes, they are convinced that the longevity of the temporary fix must mean that it is really fixed. I don’t know how comfortable I am with this conclusion, but am satisfied to know that the hole in my bathroom wall will be repaired this week and that I no longer have to venture to McDonald’s for free wifi! As my mom recommends, if my showers once again turn into mini-floods of the restaurant below, I am going to “Let it rain”, maybe that will convince someone to take some action!
29 March 2008
20 March 2008
Somehow, in the past few months, I convinced myself that Sévres and not France, was the con artist behind all of the inconveniences of my daily life. Indeed, Sévres was the cause of my 2-hour metro ride each day, the cause of the extra charge on my Metro pass because of a change of address, the cause of my (STILL) delayed “carte de sejour”, the cause of my temporary residence at Lyndsey’s during the November strikes…etc…
Funny enough, I feel a bit nostalgic recounting all of that! These events weren’t just part of my experience in France, the made my experience during the first semester.
I was silly to believe that moving to Paris would solve all of my problems—that life would finally be free of the weekly frustrations. However, before I start up about the events of the last few weeks, I must disclaim that the next few paragraphs are not complaints. Though they have caused irritability and came as a bit of a reality check, I now understand them to be part of my life in Paris, in France. They are the stories that I send home, they are the events that make everyday and week here so different, so interesting.
I am now ending week 6 since taking possession of my new apartment in the Latin Quarter. That makes it week 8 since I was supposed to take possession of it (before they called to tell me that the construction was still unfinished). In short, it is STILL unfinished.
As relived in my blog upon my return from England, the apartment lacked both internet and running water. After stealing showers from friends for the first week of classes, the plumbers finally put a “temporary” block in the pipe that would prevent my showers from down-pouring on the heads of the customers in the restaurant below. This “temporary” block has now held for 3 weeks and counting (knock on wood!)—meaning that I am well-cleansed and that my apartment functions normally. There are minor inconveniences that come with this temporary block: like the 7 feet by 4 feet displaced wall from under my sink that now finds its home blocking half of the entry to my bathroom and completely covering the towel-heaters I was so excited to test out, like the 7 or 8 AM wake up calls I get from the carpenter ready to tear another hole in the ceiling downstairs so that the plumbers can access the pipes, like the big black box I have become accustomed to carrying in and out of the bathroom each morning with all of my toiletries (if left on the counter, they would be covered by chemicals and dust from the workers—who managed to destroy the brand new aluminum trash can on day 3)…
The permanent fix on my water was to come 3 weeks ago—in that time, the carpenter came and opened up the ceiling, the plumber came and I wasn’t home (they had lost my phone number), a week went by, more phone calls, no plumbers, and then yesterday morning: 7 AM—the carpenter closed the ceiling. He greeted me with a smile, asking if I was happy that my water was restored, I greeted him with a frown, asking why he was nailing up the ceiling. “So the plumber hasn’t come yet?” NO!! He continued nailing, I called my landlord. As of noon the day after, ceiling is completely closed up, no plumbers in sight, crossing my fingers that this temporary block can last a few years…
The internet is a whole different story, and when combined with a concurrent water problem and poor French has led to more then one awkward situation: You’re here for the wi-fi? No, can I look at the pipes? The internet? No, the bathroom. Oh….
The internet codes were in my mailbox upon arrival at the beginning of February along with the notification that the box was at the post office. Easy as that. In France? Never! The box was under my landlord’s name, meaning she needed to pick it up with an ID. My landlord lives in California, her friend, Mme Brizzi (the nicest French woman I have met) is managing the apartment from Paris. Two weeks later, after a fax and a long explanation, the box was in my living room. Time to set it up! For the non-computer savvy girl that I am, I was pretty proud to make it all the way to step 17 in the installation manual without a problem. “Plug the ADSL plug in the outlet”. When your baseboard is 2 cm too thick, preventing any type of ‘plugging-in’, this simple instruction becomes a mountain, in France, it becomes Everest. Two weeks after I notified Mme Brizzi of the problem, she called to say that the contractor was coming the next morning. The next afternoon, she called to say that the contractor’s brother had died and that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the following week. (Understandable of course, and just my luck.) This brings us to the present week. On Monday, my agent (a New Yorker who has lived in Paris for 25 years, and is great) decided enough was enough, grabbed my bread knife and hacked away. Baseboard removed, plug in…no signal. Wait, what? No signal? No the line is dead…. Yup! Since Monday, the contractor came, called the Telephone company, the Telephone company came, the technician shook his head, said the line wasn’t even connected to the box near the door, and left.
Update, March 20, 2008 at noon: No internet, only temporary running water. Otherwise perfect apartment.
Between the internet and the water, I have been on the phone with my landlord (in French) and my agent (in English) at least every other day for the last month, and can attest to a growing relationship with both. In most cases, the conversation begins: ---Bonjour, Mme Brizzi? -Ah, Oui, Cassie, ca va? (notice, we are long past the French formalities)---And then ends with a half laughing, half “tired of this already!” –Oui, c’est incroyable, c’est une catastrophe!, form of saying goodbye with the dim ray of hope that this time really will be the last goodbye—at least for a week!
I leave tomorrow morning for Rome. In January, my Dad managed to reserve me two tickets to mass on Easter Sunday at the Vatican. Elise and I return on Monday—if I were in CO, I would hope that the internet at least would be restored by then—but I’m in France, and I know better. I’m just taking a mini-vacation away from it…
I’m going to Italy. The land of late mornings (no 7am carpenters!), pasta (no worrying if there is water to boil!), and relatively happy people. Happy Easter!
Funny enough, I feel a bit nostalgic recounting all of that! These events weren’t just part of my experience in France, the made my experience during the first semester.
I was silly to believe that moving to Paris would solve all of my problems—that life would finally be free of the weekly frustrations. However, before I start up about the events of the last few weeks, I must disclaim that the next few paragraphs are not complaints. Though they have caused irritability and came as a bit of a reality check, I now understand them to be part of my life in Paris, in France. They are the stories that I send home, they are the events that make everyday and week here so different, so interesting.
I am now ending week 6 since taking possession of my new apartment in the Latin Quarter. That makes it week 8 since I was supposed to take possession of it (before they called to tell me that the construction was still unfinished). In short, it is STILL unfinished.
As relived in my blog upon my return from England, the apartment lacked both internet and running water. After stealing showers from friends for the first week of classes, the plumbers finally put a “temporary” block in the pipe that would prevent my showers from down-pouring on the heads of the customers in the restaurant below. This “temporary” block has now held for 3 weeks and counting (knock on wood!)—meaning that I am well-cleansed and that my apartment functions normally. There are minor inconveniences that come with this temporary block: like the 7 feet by 4 feet displaced wall from under my sink that now finds its home blocking half of the entry to my bathroom and completely covering the towel-heaters I was so excited to test out, like the 7 or 8 AM wake up calls I get from the carpenter ready to tear another hole in the ceiling downstairs so that the plumbers can access the pipes, like the big black box I have become accustomed to carrying in and out of the bathroom each morning with all of my toiletries (if left on the counter, they would be covered by chemicals and dust from the workers—who managed to destroy the brand new aluminum trash can on day 3)…
The permanent fix on my water was to come 3 weeks ago—in that time, the carpenter came and opened up the ceiling, the plumber came and I wasn’t home (they had lost my phone number), a week went by, more phone calls, no plumbers, and then yesterday morning: 7 AM—the carpenter closed the ceiling. He greeted me with a smile, asking if I was happy that my water was restored, I greeted him with a frown, asking why he was nailing up the ceiling. “So the plumber hasn’t come yet?” NO!! He continued nailing, I called my landlord. As of noon the day after, ceiling is completely closed up, no plumbers in sight, crossing my fingers that this temporary block can last a few years…
The internet is a whole different story, and when combined with a concurrent water problem and poor French has led to more then one awkward situation: You’re here for the wi-fi? No, can I look at the pipes? The internet? No, the bathroom. Oh….
The internet codes were in my mailbox upon arrival at the beginning of February along with the notification that the box was at the post office. Easy as that. In France? Never! The box was under my landlord’s name, meaning she needed to pick it up with an ID. My landlord lives in California, her friend, Mme Brizzi (the nicest French woman I have met) is managing the apartment from Paris. Two weeks later, after a fax and a long explanation, the box was in my living room. Time to set it up! For the non-computer savvy girl that I am, I was pretty proud to make it all the way to step 17 in the installation manual without a problem. “Plug the ADSL plug in the outlet”. When your baseboard is 2 cm too thick, preventing any type of ‘plugging-in’, this simple instruction becomes a mountain, in France, it becomes Everest. Two weeks after I notified Mme Brizzi of the problem, she called to say that the contractor was coming the next morning. The next afternoon, she called to say that the contractor’s brother had died and that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the following week. (Understandable of course, and just my luck.) This brings us to the present week. On Monday, my agent (a New Yorker who has lived in Paris for 25 years, and is great) decided enough was enough, grabbed my bread knife and hacked away. Baseboard removed, plug in…no signal. Wait, what? No signal? No the line is dead…. Yup! Since Monday, the contractor came, called the Telephone company, the Telephone company came, the technician shook his head, said the line wasn’t even connected to the box near the door, and left.
Update, March 20, 2008 at noon: No internet, only temporary running water. Otherwise perfect apartment.
Between the internet and the water, I have been on the phone with my landlord (in French) and my agent (in English) at least every other day for the last month, and can attest to a growing relationship with both. In most cases, the conversation begins: ---Bonjour, Mme Brizzi? -Ah, Oui, Cassie, ca va? (notice, we are long past the French formalities)---And then ends with a half laughing, half “tired of this already!” –Oui, c’est incroyable, c’est une catastrophe!, form of saying goodbye with the dim ray of hope that this time really will be the last goodbye—at least for a week!
I leave tomorrow morning for Rome. In January, my Dad managed to reserve me two tickets to mass on Easter Sunday at the Vatican. Elise and I return on Monday—if I were in CO, I would hope that the internet at least would be restored by then—but I’m in France, and I know better. I’m just taking a mini-vacation away from it…
I’m going to Italy. The land of late mornings (no 7am carpenters!), pasta (no worrying if there is water to boil!), and relatively happy people. Happy Easter!
12 March 2008
Part 3 of 3:
I arrived back in Paris the day before 2nd semester courses began, and two days before C left for Montreal (the next leg of her trip “around the world”). My bags finally were unpacked yesterday after an early morning goodbye—one of the hardest I have ever had to do. As an exchange student, you share a moment in time and in a place with the select number of others who chose to do the same thing. Half of our group has parted (including my “other half”) and the rest of us will go our separate ways in the next four months too. L is finished with courses, having completed her college degree, and is sticking around until the end of April and S’s program ends in early May. For the rest of our lives, we will all have these last months in common, an amazing, distant memory that had to end eventually. The good part is that I now have really great friends all over the world to visit!
The week before final exams, C and I packed up our Sèvres apartment and dragged months of accumulated kitchenware and suitcases back into Paris—to my new one-room studio. I have a giant futon in addition to my twin bed and so she camped out here for the remaining few weeks. On our last night in Sèvres we made dinner and watched a movie for the last time in our big space. The next day, we scrubbed every inch, made a final trip to the market for flowers for our landlords and took a few last minute pictures. Despite the distance—Sèvres was an experience in its own, something that only C and I know about—and love.
Now, a 20 minute walk through a garden to school and a 10 minute walk to Notre Dame, I can’t believe how we made it living so far away. My perfect studio is on the Rue Mouffetard, Paris’s oldest street—that the Roman carriages used to carry shipments. My building is 400 years old and the wooden door and beams in the ceiling attest to this. It was completely renovated before I moved in so everything is new. The street is a market street and has bars and restaurants—which make Saturdays impossible for sleep—the reason I spent $20 on earplugs in London. If you come to visit, they are essential—but worth it. As is the norm in Paris, nothing comes without its glitches, and my perfect studio has been without running water off and on for a month. Right now it is on temporarily—after the plumber’s 6th visit—but hopefully this will be made permanent after they fix the main building water pipe. Considering that this calls for the approval of several people, I am not counting on a speedy process—but maybe I can hope a little. I’m not sure how many times I can make the trek across town to Elise’s for a shower, or how long my dishes can go without washing…but I understand the complaints of the restaurant below when my 5 minutes showers result in a downpour directly on one of their customer’s tables. And of course, my internet is not installed yet—the plug won’t fit in the wall because the baseboard is too big but a face to face complaint to the contractor has gone without action for two days and tomorrow is the weekend.
Somehow though, I did manage to start to love Paris a little bit in the last few weeks. I know there are a lot of things I am going to miss about this city. My biggest concern is that I am going to get out of class in Boulder next autumn and wander the streets only to be disappointed with residential neighborhood after neighborhood. I have never once been bored in Paris and am constantly surprised by the things I stumble on. Yesterday, I took a side street on my way to the hardware store only to find a semi-truck surrounded by a handful of onlookers. I pulled out my camera after a man emerged from the nearest building with a giant bag of apples—a horse maybe? No, when the back doors opened—a baby elephant emerged. It took 30 seconds to take it from the truck to the building. 30 seconds later the street was empty, the crowd dispersed and an empty semi truck blocked the road. I love the way that in Paris you can be both anonymous and important at the same time. As I entered the BHV, no one new that only a minute beforehand I had been standing within feet of an elephant. I shared a secret with 15 other pedestrians on their way to work, to lunch, to home..
I arrived back in Paris the day before 2nd semester courses began, and two days before C left for Montreal (the next leg of her trip “around the world”). My bags finally were unpacked yesterday after an early morning goodbye—one of the hardest I have ever had to do. As an exchange student, you share a moment in time and in a place with the select number of others who chose to do the same thing. Half of our group has parted (including my “other half”) and the rest of us will go our separate ways in the next four months too. L is finished with courses, having completed her college degree, and is sticking around until the end of April and S’s program ends in early May. For the rest of our lives, we will all have these last months in common, an amazing, distant memory that had to end eventually. The good part is that I now have really great friends all over the world to visit!
The week before final exams, C and I packed up our Sèvres apartment and dragged months of accumulated kitchenware and suitcases back into Paris—to my new one-room studio. I have a giant futon in addition to my twin bed and so she camped out here for the remaining few weeks. On our last night in Sèvres we made dinner and watched a movie for the last time in our big space. The next day, we scrubbed every inch, made a final trip to the market for flowers for our landlords and took a few last minute pictures. Despite the distance—Sèvres was an experience in its own, something that only C and I know about—and love.
Now, a 20 minute walk through a garden to school and a 10 minute walk to Notre Dame, I can’t believe how we made it living so far away. My perfect studio is on the Rue Mouffetard, Paris’s oldest street—that the Roman carriages used to carry shipments. My building is 400 years old and the wooden door and beams in the ceiling attest to this. It was completely renovated before I moved in so everything is new. The street is a market street and has bars and restaurants—which make Saturdays impossible for sleep—the reason I spent $20 on earplugs in London. If you come to visit, they are essential—but worth it. As is the norm in Paris, nothing comes without its glitches, and my perfect studio has been without running water off and on for a month. Right now it is on temporarily—after the plumber’s 6th visit—but hopefully this will be made permanent after they fix the main building water pipe. Considering that this calls for the approval of several people, I am not counting on a speedy process—but maybe I can hope a little. I’m not sure how many times I can make the trek across town to Elise’s for a shower, or how long my dishes can go without washing…but I understand the complaints of the restaurant below when my 5 minutes showers result in a downpour directly on one of their customer’s tables. And of course, my internet is not installed yet—the plug won’t fit in the wall because the baseboard is too big but a face to face complaint to the contractor has gone without action for two days and tomorrow is the weekend.
Somehow though, I did manage to start to love Paris a little bit in the last few weeks. I know there are a lot of things I am going to miss about this city. My biggest concern is that I am going to get out of class in Boulder next autumn and wander the streets only to be disappointed with residential neighborhood after neighborhood. I have never once been bored in Paris and am constantly surprised by the things I stumble on. Yesterday, I took a side street on my way to the hardware store only to find a semi-truck surrounded by a handful of onlookers. I pulled out my camera after a man emerged from the nearest building with a giant bag of apples—a horse maybe? No, when the back doors opened—a baby elephant emerged. It took 30 seconds to take it from the truck to the building. 30 seconds later the street was empty, the crowd dispersed and an empty semi truck blocked the road. I love the way that in Paris you can be both anonymous and important at the same time. As I entered the BHV, no one new that only a minute beforehand I had been standing within feet of an elephant. I shared a secret with 15 other pedestrians on their way to work, to lunch, to home..
10 March 2008
Part 2 of 3:
On February 13th, I completed my last final exam at 11am and raced back to my apartment to grab my pre-packed backpack and head to Gare du Nord to catch my 3pm train to London. C walked me to the metro station on the way to her last exam and was making fun of me the whole way. Not only did I look like a total tourist with my sleeping bag strapped to my backcountry pack, but I was heading to the station a good 3 hours before departure. I had been anticipating this moment for months, and when it finally came, it was all I could do to keep from actually sprinting to the platform. It would be worth buying a Eurostar one way ticket just to go spend time inside the Gare du Nord station. Upon passing through security I entered the Anglosphere—English spoken everywhere—a nice familiarity. After checking in, I planted myself at a table, ordered a Diet Coke, and whipped out a magazine (the first I had looked through in months). Without mandatory reading or essays biting at my conscience, I sat perfectly guilt-free and awaited the boarding call. Thinking back, this is one of my favorite moments of the last few weeks. Never have I enjoyed free time so much, I suppose I have Sciences Po to thank for that.
The next 2 ½ weeks were spent trekking around England. The great part about being a junior in college is that I have five different friends studying in different parts of the UK right now, so lodging was free of charge and I got to spent serious bonding time with great friends. Part one was spent in London with Marsha, one of the most motivated and energetic people I know, and a vital part of my high school clan. She toured me around her London, taking me to monuments, Middle Eastern and Indian restaurants, the opera and, of course, shopping.
Four days later, I was on the opposite coast in Bristol visiting Sarah J. Sarah is basically my German sister and it is her family that I have stayed with in Munich twice already. She is a permanent student in Bristol (not on exchange) and so I got to see the university life of the town. We spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends at dinner, out for cider, and wandering the town. We took a day trip to Bath, something I never would have seen on my own, and one of the highlights of the whole trip. The Roman ruins were unbelievable—just one more reminder of how young the U.S. is.
An early morning train took me up the coast to Lancaster where I spent a few days with Jamin, one of my best friends from CU. Lancaster is a far cry from London, further off the tourist trail but its university influence and coastal location made it a place where I’d love to return. Jamin had the brilliant idea of renting bikes in the countryside, and after our taxi stopped a half mile from our destination, “Patty’s Farm Barn”, because the tide was covering the road, we knew that this day was not going to be ordinary. Six of us walked the remaining distance only to be greeted with bikes, air pumps, water bottles and maps (with the nearest pubs marked in ink). Our 4 hour ride took us along a rocky, windy and STUNNING coast, through hedge-lined pastures filled with sheep and cows, through a marina, and to a great pub where we washed down lunch with Guinness and finished the last leg in the sunset—returning to find that the water that had previously blocked our path had retreated almost beyond visibility. At the end, we all agreed that it was one of those perfect days that come out of nowhere. I got along with Jamin’s friends immediately and after 3 short days, I wasn’t ready to leave.
Scotland was another entirely different, but incredible, part of my trip. Sarah M is a friend from high school, a coworker from my summer at Ink!Coffee and one of my favorite hippies. It just so follows that my trip to Edinburgh, among visits to the main attractions and numerous pubs, would include a tour of health shops, a co-op, an alternative music club and a café that played movies in its pillow lined back room. While Sarah worked on a paper, I took a morning trip to Rosslyn Chapel (you know, the one from the DaVinci Code? Ha!). After six months in one of Europe’s “most beautiful cities”, I think I am qualified to say that this chapel was one of/if not THE most beautiful building I have ever seen. At 9am on a Wednesday morning, I was the only person inside and got little too spooked to go past the 6th stair down into the crypts. It’s OK, I’ll be back, this time with back up.
My final leg brought me full circle back to London to see Tina, who is the high school friend that I never have to worry about because each time we see each other it is like we had never parted. This time around, I got to see Tina’s London—low key and very reflective of a college student’s life, the perfect compliment to my tired body and depleted bank account. I was invited to go to Cambridge for the day with her school group. I now understand why people work their entire lives to go to this school. The town is gorgeous and the traditions run deep. I was tempted to buy a 70 ₤ monogrammed v-necked sweater to pretend I was a true student but knew that I could never pull it off. Like trying to fit in with Parisiens—I need a serious course in grace first.
On February 13th, I completed my last final exam at 11am and raced back to my apartment to grab my pre-packed backpack and head to Gare du Nord to catch my 3pm train to London. C walked me to the metro station on the way to her last exam and was making fun of me the whole way. Not only did I look like a total tourist with my sleeping bag strapped to my backcountry pack, but I was heading to the station a good 3 hours before departure. I had been anticipating this moment for months, and when it finally came, it was all I could do to keep from actually sprinting to the platform. It would be worth buying a Eurostar one way ticket just to go spend time inside the Gare du Nord station. Upon passing through security I entered the Anglosphere—English spoken everywhere—a nice familiarity. After checking in, I planted myself at a table, ordered a Diet Coke, and whipped out a magazine (the first I had looked through in months). Without mandatory reading or essays biting at my conscience, I sat perfectly guilt-free and awaited the boarding call. Thinking back, this is one of my favorite moments of the last few weeks. Never have I enjoyed free time so much, I suppose I have Sciences Po to thank for that.
The next 2 ½ weeks were spent trekking around England. The great part about being a junior in college is that I have five different friends studying in different parts of the UK right now, so lodging was free of charge and I got to spent serious bonding time with great friends. Part one was spent in London with Marsha, one of the most motivated and energetic people I know, and a vital part of my high school clan. She toured me around her London, taking me to monuments, Middle Eastern and Indian restaurants, the opera and, of course, shopping.
Four days later, I was on the opposite coast in Bristol visiting Sarah J. Sarah is basically my German sister and it is her family that I have stayed with in Munich twice already. She is a permanent student in Bristol (not on exchange) and so I got to see the university life of the town. We spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends at dinner, out for cider, and wandering the town. We took a day trip to Bath, something I never would have seen on my own, and one of the highlights of the whole trip. The Roman ruins were unbelievable—just one more reminder of how young the U.S. is.
An early morning train took me up the coast to Lancaster where I spent a few days with Jamin, one of my best friends from CU. Lancaster is a far cry from London, further off the tourist trail but its university influence and coastal location made it a place where I’d love to return. Jamin had the brilliant idea of renting bikes in the countryside, and after our taxi stopped a half mile from our destination, “Patty’s Farm Barn”, because the tide was covering the road, we knew that this day was not going to be ordinary. Six of us walked the remaining distance only to be greeted with bikes, air pumps, water bottles and maps (with the nearest pubs marked in ink). Our 4 hour ride took us along a rocky, windy and STUNNING coast, through hedge-lined pastures filled with sheep and cows, through a marina, and to a great pub where we washed down lunch with Guinness and finished the last leg in the sunset—returning to find that the water that had previously blocked our path had retreated almost beyond visibility. At the end, we all agreed that it was one of those perfect days that come out of nowhere. I got along with Jamin’s friends immediately and after 3 short days, I wasn’t ready to leave.
Scotland was another entirely different, but incredible, part of my trip. Sarah M is a friend from high school, a coworker from my summer at Ink!Coffee and one of my favorite hippies. It just so follows that my trip to Edinburgh, among visits to the main attractions and numerous pubs, would include a tour of health shops, a co-op, an alternative music club and a café that played movies in its pillow lined back room. While Sarah worked on a paper, I took a morning trip to Rosslyn Chapel (you know, the one from the DaVinci Code? Ha!). After six months in one of Europe’s “most beautiful cities”, I think I am qualified to say that this chapel was one of/if not THE most beautiful building I have ever seen. At 9am on a Wednesday morning, I was the only person inside and got little too spooked to go past the 6th stair down into the crypts. It’s OK, I’ll be back, this time with back up.
My final leg brought me full circle back to London to see Tina, who is the high school friend that I never have to worry about because each time we see each other it is like we had never parted. This time around, I got to see Tina’s London—low key and very reflective of a college student’s life, the perfect compliment to my tired body and depleted bank account. I was invited to go to Cambridge for the day with her school group. I now understand why people work their entire lives to go to this school. The town is gorgeous and the traditions run deep. I was tempted to buy a 70 ₤ monogrammed v-necked sweater to pretend I was a true student but knew that I could never pull it off. Like trying to fit in with Parisiens—I need a serious course in grace first.
08 March 2008
Part 1 of 3:
After a month long hiatus, I have built up quite the story book and so I’m writing it all out now and posting it in segments this week so as not to bore you to death in one blow. In truth, this is the first opportunity I have had to rest and really think it all through. I am sitting in a new apartment without Carly’s smiling face in the room next door. I’m back to school after an incredible two week vacation and the second semester is already looking like a stark contrast to the first. The most notable change is that I am now on the other side of my time in Paris. In exactly four months from today, I will be on a plane back to sunny Colorado. Somehow, in the last five weeks, between exams, moving, and traveling, I managed to finally fall for this city. I think it’s true that you have to leave a place for a little bit in order to really realize what you love about it.
The first two weeks of February were spent writing final essays and preparing for two final exams. At Sciences Po, a final exam usually consists of a 4-hour dissertation based on a question handed to you at the beginning of your time slot. Some tests even require you to write a paper in 30 minutes and to then give a presentation on your thoughts before a panel of examiners. For one of the first times this semester, I got lucky and both of my tests were only two-hour essays. The scary part is that they were worth 60 and 70 percent of my final grade, but I came out of both feeling pretty confident. I found out that I actually did learn a lot this semester even though I barely had time to breathe. Who would have guessed—the Sciences Po method does work?! As I packed up my room in Sèvres, I gathered all of my notes and readers from the semester and stared gawking at the height of the pile. I decided to weigh it. 11 kg in total (almost 22 pounds) and 6 pounds of that was just my paper from taking notes in class. Before taking it all to the recycling bin, I took a picture for proof. Now that it is all done and over, I can’t believe how I made it through. It was a semester I never hope to repeat but it also challenged me more then anything before and allowed me to find out just how much I am capable of.
Already, the second semester is proving to be much better. I completed my first week of classes today. I have four courses instead of seven meaning I have two days of no class each week. My “Painting Practices in Paris” class will earn me a needed art credit but will be a cultural experience as well. Every other class session, we meet in the Louvre to look at the originals that we are studying that week. You’re jealous, huh? Don’t worry, I have in no way suddenly become a slacker. One of my business courses is in French and between that and my French Language class, I will have to do four 10-minute presentations in French!!! This is my semester to learn the language and the culture. I have a list of about a million things I want to do and see including running a few road races and taking a chocolate soufflé baking class. To add to it, I have visitors every weekend from March 27th through May 15th (the perks of having an apartment with an extra futon in Paris).
After a month long hiatus, I have built up quite the story book and so I’m writing it all out now and posting it in segments this week so as not to bore you to death in one blow. In truth, this is the first opportunity I have had to rest and really think it all through. I am sitting in a new apartment without Carly’s smiling face in the room next door. I’m back to school after an incredible two week vacation and the second semester is already looking like a stark contrast to the first. The most notable change is that I am now on the other side of my time in Paris. In exactly four months from today, I will be on a plane back to sunny Colorado. Somehow, in the last five weeks, between exams, moving, and traveling, I managed to finally fall for this city. I think it’s true that you have to leave a place for a little bit in order to really realize what you love about it.
The first two weeks of February were spent writing final essays and preparing for two final exams. At Sciences Po, a final exam usually consists of a 4-hour dissertation based on a question handed to you at the beginning of your time slot. Some tests even require you to write a paper in 30 minutes and to then give a presentation on your thoughts before a panel of examiners. For one of the first times this semester, I got lucky and both of my tests were only two-hour essays. The scary part is that they were worth 60 and 70 percent of my final grade, but I came out of both feeling pretty confident. I found out that I actually did learn a lot this semester even though I barely had time to breathe. Who would have guessed—the Sciences Po method does work?! As I packed up my room in Sèvres, I gathered all of my notes and readers from the semester and stared gawking at the height of the pile. I decided to weigh it. 11 kg in total (almost 22 pounds) and 6 pounds of that was just my paper from taking notes in class. Before taking it all to the recycling bin, I took a picture for proof. Now that it is all done and over, I can’t believe how I made it through. It was a semester I never hope to repeat but it also challenged me more then anything before and allowed me to find out just how much I am capable of.
Already, the second semester is proving to be much better. I completed my first week of classes today. I have four courses instead of seven meaning I have two days of no class each week. My “Painting Practices in Paris” class will earn me a needed art credit but will be a cultural experience as well. Every other class session, we meet in the Louvre to look at the originals that we are studying that week. You’re jealous, huh? Don’t worry, I have in no way suddenly become a slacker. One of my business courses is in French and between that and my French Language class, I will have to do four 10-minute presentations in French!!! This is my semester to learn the language and the culture. I have a list of about a million things I want to do and see including running a few road races and taking a chocolate soufflé baking class. To add to it, I have visitors every weekend from March 27th through May 15th (the perks of having an apartment with an extra futon in Paris).
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
03 November 2007
Thanks to all for the words of encouragement this week…it was definitely appreciated.
My train arrived back in Paris just a few hours ago. The last week was more then a blur but the last 2 days couldn’t have been more perfect. On Thursday morning, Steph and I boarded our train to Champagne for a few days of serious R & R. After spending the first day trekking around the town of Epernay, touring the Moet & Chandon Champagne house and hunting down the only open grocery store (it was All Saint’s Day—a state recognized holiday in France), we checked into our hotel room at 4pm only to fall immediately asleep and crawl out of bed 15 hours later. Obviously it was more then needed.
On Friday, we had our chance to really experience the region and went on a tour of a local grower’s vineyards and production facilities. It was amazing to see the amount of work put toward production and to understand what it truly means to be an artisan completely devoted to your life’s work. Nathalie and Max own 6 hectares of vineyards in Champagne and work year round along with Max’s parents to produce their own family name Champagne. They inherited the land from family and intend to keep it forever—a smart decision as each hectare of Champagne’s limited 35,000 hectares of vineyards is worth upwards of a million Euro. They work year round pruning, maintaining, picking, juicing, fermenting, bottling, labeling, and selling their product and I think they can’t be making much more then an average farmer. The amount of physical labor is unbelievable but you can tell that they truly love their business. Nathalie picked up 5 of us from the tourist office in Epernay and drove us in her 9 person van through the countryside to their home/ B&B to pick up 2 Italian guests (Georgio and Georgia—a very cute couple of newlyweds) before taking us up to her vineyards in the rolling hills above their village. Even though harvest was about a month ago and the leaves have become brown and are falling from the vines, the hills were still gorgeous. Nathalie did not skip a beat and if you ever have any interest I will be happy to share my new expertise in Champagne making with you! (Even when I am on vacation I can’t get away from learning!!) After touring their fermentation/bottling area and caves, we got to taste a few of their wines and left with a bottle of Rosé for Steph’s birthday later this month. This was easily my favorite part of the trip---well, maybe second to the sleep and REAL shower. 
This weekend couldn’t have come at a better time. This last week left me needing to truly reassess what I am doing here and set a few priorities. Sciences Po’s workload has proved to be much more then I originally gauged and I have struggled to accept that much of the remainder of this semester is going to have to be spent with my head in books. I came to Paris as a student—and in particular, to Sciences Po as a student with an intention to work hard in my courses. I also came to Paris as a 20-year old girl with an endless curiosity and a need for adventure. The real trouble comes in balancing the two of these things. This past week it just became too much and after a few discussions with my parents and advisors I decided to try to drop a course. Unfortunately, the “system” isn’t as flexible as I had hoped and it looks like I am stuck unless I want to risk a severe drop in my GPA by accepting an “F”. Solution: Next semester I am only taking 4 classes (as opposed to the 7 now) and am saving my travels and explorations for a time when I can truly enjoy them. For now, I am going to do my best to study IN Paris…in cafés and museums (I have started to become a regular at the Louvre—using my 15Euro/year Carte de Jeunes to gain entry and organize myself in a corner next to a 1500-yr old statue with my book).
Carly, Steph and I have finally come to accept the fact that the American café culture does not exist in Paris. Indeed, Paris’s café culture is much more developed then that of the US—with waiters who know much of their clientele by name—but it is not the student friendly culture that we are in constant need of. When I walk through the streets now, I am constantly staring into the windows of the nearest cafés to see if there is anyone reading or writing—so far no luck. Our sad alternative (as recommended by Steph’s language teacher) is that old time love-hate relation: Starbucks. I’ve been there 3 times in the last week, each time spending at least 4 hours successfully uninterrupted along side C and S.
I made it a necessity to spend some time this break satisfying my long-deprived need for exploration. Last week Monday I spent 4 hours at the Museo d’Orangerie in the Jardin de Tuileries. As my well-researched father told me after learning of my plan: the building was built for Monet for the purpose of displaying his GIGANTIC “Water Lilies” in the most advantageous light. They decided to add another floor in 1999 to display a collection of Picasso and of Cezanne but spent 5 years from ’99 to ’06 taking it down because it blocked the skylights intended for the Water Lilies. They moved the other artists to the basement but were delayed when construction uncovered on the earliest walls surrounding Paris. Stories like this are the things that remind me where I am—and make me realize what history really means. The Orangerie had been an adventure intended for the first day of my arrival in Paris in September—it was supposed to fit somewhere in the 4 hours between getting off the train and check in to the Cite U—so finally getting here two months later, it was highly anticipated. Even with this long wait, I still stood in awe. Monet’s “Water Lilies” have to be experienced in the oval rooms that he intended. I had to do a few double takes in the basement as I walked from Matisse to Cezanne to Picasso…recognizing pieces that I had seen in textbooks. I’ve never studied art besides the basics that were included in history books in high school but can absolutely appreciate why these men were so highly regarded.
It took C and I until Wednesday morning---October 31st, and the LAST day that they were open before winter—for us to make our way to the Versailles gardens. We spent about four hours there and couldn’t have seen more then 15% of them. They are absolutely incredible. C is in my French Revolution and Napoleon Class and we decided to team up for our exposé in 2 weeks on Marie Antoinette. As we are both in the middle of biographies about her, we made it our objective to visit her Domain and the Petite Trianon. Honestly, if you ever make it to Versailles—make this a mandatory part of your visit. After Louis XVI gave M.A. the Petit Trianon (a small-though still very decadent building on the grounds of Versailles) for her own amusement, she decided to develop a model farm and village on the surrounding property complete with a windmill, pumpkin patches (which made me pretty excited as it was the closest I got to Halloween!), vineyards, little cottages, a milking room made of marble and goat shaped faucets on the sinks, fields for her sheep and cows, and a huge pond full of swans. I seriously felt like I was back at Euro Disney. By the time we left, the huge fountain just behind main house had been completely drained for the season…I’ll have to come back in the spring to see the other 85%.
My camera died after this shot:
Steph had the most exciting week of all of us so far and now has a great story to tell when she returns. She went to talk at a museum in the Jardin de Tuileries (just next to the Orangerie) last week. The presentation got out at 9pm—when the Jardin de Tuileries is closed for the night and decided to exit through the gate near the metro and not the open gate near the museum (you can see where this is going). When she reached the gate, it was locked and after wandering around the garden for a few minutes realized that she had been locked inside the Jardin de Tuileries IN THE DARK! At this point I would have panicked, but Steph -being the cool-minded girl that she is- merely wandered over to the side closest to the Louvre where the fence was the lowest. She flung her bag over the top and climbed up—and launched herself over. Of course, the fence was lined with spikes all around and in concentrating on the climb, Steph forgot about the loooong wool coat she was wearing. In short: she made it to the other side only to be hung by 2 pikes going through the bottom of her new wool coat. A man walking by the Louvre heard her fall and had to come over to actually lift her off of the fence. Remaining the high-spirited girl that I know--she said she laughed the whole time and has decided to proudly continue to sport her now punctured coat if only to glorify in her defeat. I only wish I had been there with my camera.
My train arrived back in Paris just a few hours ago. The last week was more then a blur but the last 2 days couldn’t have been more perfect. On Thursday morning, Steph and I boarded our train to Champagne for a few days of serious R & R. After spending the first day trekking around the town of Epernay, touring the Moet & Chandon Champagne house and hunting down the only open grocery store (it was All Saint’s Day—a state recognized holiday in France), we checked into our hotel room at 4pm only to fall immediately asleep and crawl out of bed 15 hours later. Obviously it was more then needed.
On Friday, we had our chance to really experience the region and went on a tour of a local grower’s vineyards and production facilities. It was amazing to see the amount of work put toward production and to understand what it truly means to be an artisan completely devoted to your life’s work. Nathalie and Max own 6 hectares of vineyards in Champagne and work year round along with Max’s parents to produce their own family name Champagne. They inherited the land from family and intend to keep it forever—a smart decision as each hectare of Champagne’s limited 35,000 hectares of vineyards is worth upwards of a million Euro. They work year round pruning, maintaining, picking, juicing, fermenting, bottling, labeling, and selling their product and I think they can’t be making much more then an average farmer. The amount of physical labor is unbelievable but you can tell that they truly love their business. Nathalie picked up 5 of us from the tourist office in Epernay and drove us in her 9 person van through the countryside to their home/ B&B to pick up 2 Italian guests (Georgio and Georgia—a very cute couple of newlyweds) before taking us up to her vineyards in the rolling hills above their village. Even though harvest was about a month ago and the leaves have become brown and are falling from the vines, the hills were still gorgeous. Nathalie did not skip a beat and if you ever have any interest I will be happy to share my new expertise in Champagne making with you! (Even when I am on vacation I can’t get away from learning!!) After touring their fermentation/bottling area and caves, we got to taste a few of their wines and left with a bottle of Rosé for Steph’s birthday later this month. This was easily my favorite part of the trip---well, maybe second to the sleep and REAL shower.
Isn't it PRETTY?!
This weekend couldn’t have come at a better time. This last week left me needing to truly reassess what I am doing here and set a few priorities. Sciences Po’s workload has proved to be much more then I originally gauged and I have struggled to accept that much of the remainder of this semester is going to have to be spent with my head in books. I came to Paris as a student—and in particular, to Sciences Po as a student with an intention to work hard in my courses. I also came to Paris as a 20-year old girl with an endless curiosity and a need for adventure. The real trouble comes in balancing the two of these things. This past week it just became too much and after a few discussions with my parents and advisors I decided to try to drop a course. Unfortunately, the “system” isn’t as flexible as I had hoped and it looks like I am stuck unless I want to risk a severe drop in my GPA by accepting an “F”. Solution: Next semester I am only taking 4 classes (as opposed to the 7 now) and am saving my travels and explorations for a time when I can truly enjoy them. For now, I am going to do my best to study IN Paris…in cafés and museums (I have started to become a regular at the Louvre—using my 15Euro/year Carte de Jeunes to gain entry and organize myself in a corner next to a 1500-yr old statue with my book).
Carly, Steph and I have finally come to accept the fact that the American café culture does not exist in Paris. Indeed, Paris’s café culture is much more developed then that of the US—with waiters who know much of their clientele by name—but it is not the student friendly culture that we are in constant need of. When I walk through the streets now, I am constantly staring into the windows of the nearest cafés to see if there is anyone reading or writing—so far no luck. Our sad alternative (as recommended by Steph’s language teacher) is that old time love-hate relation: Starbucks. I’ve been there 3 times in the last week, each time spending at least 4 hours successfully uninterrupted along side C and S.
I made it a necessity to spend some time this break satisfying my long-deprived need for exploration. Last week Monday I spent 4 hours at the Museo d’Orangerie in the Jardin de Tuileries. As my well-researched father told me after learning of my plan: the building was built for Monet for the purpose of displaying his GIGANTIC “Water Lilies” in the most advantageous light. They decided to add another floor in 1999 to display a collection of Picasso and of Cezanne but spent 5 years from ’99 to ’06 taking it down because it blocked the skylights intended for the Water Lilies. They moved the other artists to the basement but were delayed when construction uncovered on the earliest walls surrounding Paris. Stories like this are the things that remind me where I am—and make me realize what history really means. The Orangerie had been an adventure intended for the first day of my arrival in Paris in September—it was supposed to fit somewhere in the 4 hours between getting off the train and check in to the Cite U—so finally getting here two months later, it was highly anticipated. Even with this long wait, I still stood in awe. Monet’s “Water Lilies” have to be experienced in the oval rooms that he intended. I had to do a few double takes in the basement as I walked from Matisse to Cezanne to Picasso…recognizing pieces that I had seen in textbooks. I’ve never studied art besides the basics that were included in history books in high school but can absolutely appreciate why these men were so highly regarded.
It took C and I until Wednesday morning---October 31st, and the LAST day that they were open before winter—for us to make our way to the Versailles gardens. We spent about four hours there and couldn’t have seen more then 15% of them. They are absolutely incredible. C is in my French Revolution and Napoleon Class and we decided to team up for our exposé in 2 weeks on Marie Antoinette. As we are both in the middle of biographies about her, we made it our objective to visit her Domain and the Petite Trianon. Honestly, if you ever make it to Versailles—make this a mandatory part of your visit. After Louis XVI gave M.A. the Petit Trianon (a small-though still very decadent building on the grounds of Versailles) for her own amusement, she decided to develop a model farm and village on the surrounding property complete with a windmill, pumpkin patches (which made me pretty excited as it was the closest I got to Halloween!), vineyards, little cottages, a milking room made of marble and goat shaped faucets on the sinks, fields for her sheep and cows, and a huge pond full of swans. I seriously felt like I was back at Euro Disney. By the time we left, the huge fountain just behind main house had been completely drained for the season…I’ll have to come back in the spring to see the other 85%.
My camera died after this shot:
Steph had the most exciting week of all of us so far and now has a great story to tell when she returns. She went to talk at a museum in the Jardin de Tuileries (just next to the Orangerie) last week. The presentation got out at 9pm—when the Jardin de Tuileries is closed for the night and decided to exit through the gate near the metro and not the open gate near the museum (you can see where this is going). When she reached the gate, it was locked and after wandering around the garden for a few minutes realized that she had been locked inside the Jardin de Tuileries IN THE DARK! At this point I would have panicked, but Steph -being the cool-minded girl that she is- merely wandered over to the side closest to the Louvre where the fence was the lowest. She flung her bag over the top and climbed up—and launched herself over. Of course, the fence was lined with spikes all around and in concentrating on the climb, Steph forgot about the loooong wool coat she was wearing. In short: she made it to the other side only to be hung by 2 pikes going through the bottom of her new wool coat. A man walking by the Louvre heard her fall and had to come over to actually lift her off of the fence. Remaining the high-spirited girl that I know--she said she laughed the whole time and has decided to proudly continue to sport her now punctured coat if only to glorify in her defeat. I only wish I had been there with my camera.
The now infamous coat:
Sorry for the novel….again... if you made it this far, I am highly impressed!
Oh, and one last thing: I got my ImagineR! Only 9 weeks after arrival—but now at least I now to NEVER lose it!
Sorry for the novel….again... if you made it this far, I am highly impressed!
Oh, and one last thing: I got my ImagineR! Only 9 weeks after arrival—but now at least I now to NEVER lose it!
25 October 2007
Lesson # 243: The French could care less about US sports-- especially about baseball.
At 2:24 am Paris time, the Rockies launched their first attack on the Red Sox in their quest for the World Series title. I’m not enough of a baseball fan to sacrifice a few hours of necessary sleep but did make the effort to find out what time I would have had to wake up in order to get the feeds live online. After my 8am class this morning, I rushed to the nearest newspaper stand to grab the daily free “Matin Plus”—and flipped to the front page only to find—tennis. Tennis?! Really? Andy Roddick made the paper before the World Series? This is France.
As the internet was not working yet this morning, I am going to have to wait until 2 this afternoon (a full 12 hours after the game) to learn the fate of my team. I must acknowledge, however, that the California fires have made the cover for the past two days. It looks horrible and must be a sad situation for all of the people involved.
Winter has officially arrived. No snow, no rain, not even wind really…just that deep chill in your bones when you step outside-- the kind that makes gloves necessary. Parisians are out in their full uniform—overcoats, boots, huge blanket-like scarves, and even—though I thought it was a myth—berets! (I don’t understand berets: they don’t cover your ears, but I guess frozen ears are a side effect of fashion…right?!) The Versailles gardens close next Wednesday, so Carly and I are making our last supreme effort on Saturday to go and visit. (I can come back in the Spring—but Carly leaves for Montreal in February). We’ll just have to bundle up!
Curious how the strike ended? Well, it hadn’t as of Friday night when C and I needed to go home from class. We caught a tram and a bus for part of the way—but it still took us about 2 hours to drag our tired feet in our front door. The minute we arrived I received a call from some friends in Paris who were going out downtown near the only metro line that was running. Stranded and sore…we decided to rent a movie and saddle up with some Nutella. This is when we discovered how “dead” Sévres is. It is residential area…and though we found one little grocery store and were able to get the movie from a machine on the sidewalk—it was just another reminder that we were not in Paris. I love our running park and waking up on Sunday morning to a window looking out over gardens and families on their weekend walks but have decided to move back into Paris once C leaves. I couldn’t imagine a 2 hour walk by myself—though I’m sure I’d be fine. Saturday morning most lines were back to normal as the unions are now in negotiation. They are threatening another for mid-November—I’ll be at Lyndsey’s again!
The other news of the past week was “le rupture” and divorce of President Sarkozy and his wife, Cecilia. It was entertaining to see how it was presented in the media. Indeed, I had to scroll to the bottom of the webpage in the bottom right hand corner to see the headline in 10 pt. font and the only people that I actually discussed it with were Americans. This is not to say that it will go completely unnoticed (The cover of Elle magazine had a very distressed photo of Cecilia.) The French—especially Parisians—have a very different ideal of what is right or wrong in marriage. Many of them are still confused about the blowup over Monica Lewinsky. “What was the big deal?” Sarkozy was elected AFTER presiding over Cecilia’s marriage to her first husband, having an affair with her, marrying her, and then having a few other affairs while married. It is really funny to think of the way this event would have been portrayed in the US—I can just imagine Hilary (not that she will be elected) having an affair this next term---the SNL skits would be endless!
After a long week of exposés (I had another this week but it wasn’t as demanding), this last weekend was an attempt to reorganize everything. Determined to succeed— I hustled to the Montparnasse train station 2 separate times to finally emerge with tickets to Epernay---in the Champagne REGION! We also managed to book our hotel and Steph and I are VERY ready for a weekend in the vineyards-- only 8 days away! We are going to be spoiled—the hotel has a pool and a SHOWER!! I couldn’t be more ready for it. It will be over the weekend of our week-long reading break and I have (I counted yesterday) 7 required novels (not including the daily 30 pages of reading) to do before the end of the semester…time to get started.
My other major accomplishment: Supposedly (I refuse to believe it until it is in my hands) my metro pass (Carte ImagineR) is in the mail and will arrive within 7 days! After 4 e-mails, a poorly translated/very frustrated phone call, and a landlady intervention (she was unbelievable and must have spent about 20 minutes on the phone with them)—they acknowledged their mistake—they said it was delivered on September 28th!!—and are sending me my pass and said I can write a letter to be reimbursed for the month of October. Yes! I will finally not look like a tourist using paper stubs to get on the metro. Hold on…it’s not here yet…
I’m typing this from my little park near school (yes, the carousel is still running--) and my fingers have finally decided to stop bending—so on to some coffee and French lessons! Topic of the day: “Le Rupture de Sarkozy”!
**I just had a chance to check the news before posting this…poor Rockies! I have faith—it was just a bad day!!**
At 2:24 am Paris time, the Rockies launched their first attack on the Red Sox in their quest for the World Series title. I’m not enough of a baseball fan to sacrifice a few hours of necessary sleep but did make the effort to find out what time I would have had to wake up in order to get the feeds live online. After my 8am class this morning, I rushed to the nearest newspaper stand to grab the daily free “Matin Plus”—and flipped to the front page only to find—tennis. Tennis?! Really? Andy Roddick made the paper before the World Series? This is France.
As the internet was not working yet this morning, I am going to have to wait until 2 this afternoon (a full 12 hours after the game) to learn the fate of my team. I must acknowledge, however, that the California fires have made the cover for the past two days. It looks horrible and must be a sad situation for all of the people involved.
Winter has officially arrived. No snow, no rain, not even wind really…just that deep chill in your bones when you step outside-- the kind that makes gloves necessary. Parisians are out in their full uniform—overcoats, boots, huge blanket-like scarves, and even—though I thought it was a myth—berets! (I don’t understand berets: they don’t cover your ears, but I guess frozen ears are a side effect of fashion…right?!) The Versailles gardens close next Wednesday, so Carly and I are making our last supreme effort on Saturday to go and visit. (I can come back in the Spring—but Carly leaves for Montreal in February). We’ll just have to bundle up!
Curious how the strike ended? Well, it hadn’t as of Friday night when C and I needed to go home from class. We caught a tram and a bus for part of the way—but it still took us about 2 hours to drag our tired feet in our front door. The minute we arrived I received a call from some friends in Paris who were going out downtown near the only metro line that was running. Stranded and sore…we decided to rent a movie and saddle up with some Nutella. This is when we discovered how “dead” Sévres is. It is residential area…and though we found one little grocery store and were able to get the movie from a machine on the sidewalk—it was just another reminder that we were not in Paris. I love our running park and waking up on Sunday morning to a window looking out over gardens and families on their weekend walks but have decided to move back into Paris once C leaves. I couldn’t imagine a 2 hour walk by myself—though I’m sure I’d be fine. Saturday morning most lines were back to normal as the unions are now in negotiation. They are threatening another for mid-November—I’ll be at Lyndsey’s again!
The other news of the past week was “le rupture” and divorce of President Sarkozy and his wife, Cecilia. It was entertaining to see how it was presented in the media. Indeed, I had to scroll to the bottom of the webpage in the bottom right hand corner to see the headline in 10 pt. font and the only people that I actually discussed it with were Americans. This is not to say that it will go completely unnoticed (The cover of Elle magazine had a very distressed photo of Cecilia.) The French—especially Parisians—have a very different ideal of what is right or wrong in marriage. Many of them are still confused about the blowup over Monica Lewinsky. “What was the big deal?” Sarkozy was elected AFTER presiding over Cecilia’s marriage to her first husband, having an affair with her, marrying her, and then having a few other affairs while married. It is really funny to think of the way this event would have been portrayed in the US—I can just imagine Hilary (not that she will be elected) having an affair this next term---the SNL skits would be endless!
After a long week of exposés (I had another this week but it wasn’t as demanding), this last weekend was an attempt to reorganize everything. Determined to succeed— I hustled to the Montparnasse train station 2 separate times to finally emerge with tickets to Epernay---in the Champagne REGION! We also managed to book our hotel and Steph and I are VERY ready for a weekend in the vineyards-- only 8 days away! We are going to be spoiled—the hotel has a pool and a SHOWER!! I couldn’t be more ready for it. It will be over the weekend of our week-long reading break and I have (I counted yesterday) 7 required novels (not including the daily 30 pages of reading) to do before the end of the semester…time to get started.
My other major accomplishment: Supposedly (I refuse to believe it until it is in my hands) my metro pass (Carte ImagineR) is in the mail and will arrive within 7 days! After 4 e-mails, a poorly translated/very frustrated phone call, and a landlady intervention (she was unbelievable and must have spent about 20 minutes on the phone with them)—they acknowledged their mistake—they said it was delivered on September 28th!!—and are sending me my pass and said I can write a letter to be reimbursed for the month of October. Yes! I will finally not look like a tourist using paper stubs to get on the metro. Hold on…it’s not here yet…
I’m typing this from my little park near school (yes, the carousel is still running--) and my fingers have finally decided to stop bending—so on to some coffee and French lessons! Topic of the day: “Le Rupture de Sarkozy”!
**I just had a chance to check the news before posting this…poor Rockies! I have faith—it was just a bad day!!**
19 October 2007
Yes, I AM sitting in a Starbucks right now…*Gasp*…I know, pathetic. J But with the events of the last 48 hours, I am not ashamed one bit. Plus, it is nice to order a “tall” and receive a coffee larger then my thumb AND they have an outlet where I can charge my laptop.
All week long we have been warned of the metro strike that was to take place on “Black Thursday,” yesterday. Classes resumed, work continued and people found their way into Paris one way or another. Transportation unions from all over the country marched in the streets near the Bastille claiming that retirement at 55 and full pension benefits weren’t quite enough. I spent the night at Lyndsey’s house in the 9th District. (It was still a 45 minute walk to class, but it was better then the 2-hours I would have had to walk from Sevres.) Lyndsey is in the same 8am class as me so we had an early start. Even though we had to walk the entire way in the dark (The sun doesn’t rise on Paris until just before 8), the overall atmosphere was almost festive. We joined hundreds of other Parisians on their way to class and work, crossing the Seine together with the first break of dawn. My French professor wasn’t able to make it in for my 12:45 class because she lived in the suburbs (near me) but my 5pm presentation on Queen Elizabeth I went on without interruption.
Other then a few hundred extra people and bicycles in the streets, the day went on pretty normally. It wasn’t until after I emerged at 7pm from my Great British History course that I realized what living in the suburbs REALLY means. When the strike didn’t end at 4pm as originally indicated and when the man at the window of the metro station told me that there was no telling when the strike would end now, it finally started to make me a bit annoyed. I had two options: 1) to lug my laptop, backpack (with 2 textbooks), and bag of clothes from the night before, 2 hours across Paris and into the suburbs in the dark OR 2) to call Lyndsey and wander the 45 minutes back up to Montmartre. Seeing as I still had no idea when the strike would end and I had class the next day, I imposed myself on Lyndsey’s seemingly unending hospitality yet again. On Wednesday night, we planned it all out and had whipped up the closest thing to a homemade American pizza we could come up with and watched an Audrey Hepburn film-- but last night we settled for cereal and Gilmore Girls reruns. As I hadn’t expected to spend two nights in Paris, I hadn’t brought the text I needed to prepare for my class today at 2:45 so I was perfectly content to spend a night relaxing and chatting about American sports (Lyndsey is from Florida—and is justified in her UF-pride). I’m hoping that my professor will understand and NOT give a pop quiz today. As of now, only a few metros are running (and on very limited schedules...none of which, however, in the direction of Sevres). Poor Carly was trapped in Sevres all day yesterday (luckily her class WAS cancelled) and will have to make the 2 hour walk this morning to our class this afternoon. I’m counting on the lines opening up again after class but if not, we can wander home together tonight.
This week has been full of obstacles—but most of them my own making. So instead of complaining, I just get to laugh. Right now the laughs are the frustrated kind, the ones you feel in the pit of your stomach, but in a few months or weeks even, I’m sure I’ll think they really are funny. I signed up to present in two classes this last week. This explains my absence. From Sunday morning until Monday at 5pm (when I had to leave for Climbing), Carly and I were hermits in Sevres, working and researching, running and sleeping. For my presentation on Queen Elizabeth I, my teacher had recommended a novel to be one of the 20 sources I was to reference. After searching for the book in 2 English bookstores and the Sciences Po library, and coming up fruitless, I was thrilled to find the 250 page book on an online library and spent much of the weekend staring at my computer screen. On Tuesday afternoon, I finished and decided to find the citation for my bibliography. You can only imagine my frustration when I found that the book I had been reading had been mislabeled and that I had spent a beautiful weekend INSIDE reading the WRONG book! I spent 4 hours that afternoon scrambling from bookstore to library to bookstore all over Paris completely unsuccessful, and returned home at 10pm to write a long letter to my professor and then to complete my other presentation to be given the next morning at 8am.
24 hours later, I was sitting on Lyndsey’s bed watching Audrey Hepburn finally able to relax. My presentation that morning went well, my professor had e-mailed back completely supportive of the research I had done and told me to go ahead and present on what I had already read, and I had spent 6 hours in the library typing up the dreaded mess of thing. Funny enough, I am now more then ever, interested in Queen Elizabeth and even ordered the correct book online to read later this semester. So that was obstacle number 1.
Obstacle number 2 is perhaps the biggest head-banger—most likely because it has yet to be solved. The week of October 31st, we have a “reading break” from school and Steph (who has the same break) and I thought we would use a bit of it to see another part of France and take a break from the city. We decided on a trip to the Champagne region because it is close and tickets are pretty cheap. Yesterday afternoon I went to book the train tickets online. I unknowingly typed the destination as “Champagne” in reference to the region, booked the tickets, paid for them, and checked the confirmation e-mail only to find that I had indeed booked tickets to Champagne, Champagne the city---in Normandy (it is an itsy bitsy town near the west coast, no where near the vineyards and rolling hills just outside of Paris)!! The website says that I should be able to exchange or cancel them for reimbursement but is not working properly—so, this afternoon, I get to WALK—no metro—to the nearest train station…all because I don’t know my geography.
This week hasn’t been ALL stress though: On Saturday, C, L, and I went to the annual wine harvest festival in Montmartre. The streets were lined with wine vendors, cheese vendors, escargot vendors, roasted chestnut vendors, musicians, costumed actors, etc…all surrounding Sacre Coeur. The festival lasted the entire weekend and I think that at one point or another every Parisian probably wandered over. Normally I would say that crowds and full glasses of red wine don’t mix, but as always, Parisians have a natural grace and we left a few hours later, completely stainless. If you are ever in Paris during the 3rd week of October, you can’t miss this. It was Paris in all of its glory.
To add to this already patriotic day, we rushed over to the Champs de Mars (the park under the Eiffel Tower) at 6pm—still 3 hours before the kick off of the France-England semi-finals rugby match—only to squish onto a blanket with a few friends who had set up an hour earlier. The field was packed, another complement to the Parisians—they can always fit 1 more in to a metro, building, field…no matter how squished you may think it is. Thousands and thousands of rugby fans decked out in blue and red (though some of the red were British), carrying, berets and cardboard swords, and armed with baguettes, cheese, wine--and more McDonald carry-out bags then I want to recognize—all SAT down to watch the game. I have never seen this anywhere else. If you stood up, you were immediately berated by dozens of angry fans—if you know better, you stay put—no bathroom breaks, no stretching…this is serious stuff. Even though France lost, it was still one of my favorite experiences so far. When we left, we had to walk in zigzags all the way to the metro as the ground was absolutely covered in trash, bottles, empty McDonald bags, etc…Somebody else would clean it up before the morning---they love their parks too much.
Carly and I with at our wine-tastings!
All week long we have been warned of the metro strike that was to take place on “Black Thursday,” yesterday. Classes resumed, work continued and people found their way into Paris one way or another. Transportation unions from all over the country marched in the streets near the Bastille claiming that retirement at 55 and full pension benefits weren’t quite enough. I spent the night at Lyndsey’s house in the 9th District. (It was still a 45 minute walk to class, but it was better then the 2-hours I would have had to walk from Sevres.) Lyndsey is in the same 8am class as me so we had an early start. Even though we had to walk the entire way in the dark (The sun doesn’t rise on Paris until just before 8), the overall atmosphere was almost festive. We joined hundreds of other Parisians on their way to class and work, crossing the Seine together with the first break of dawn. My French professor wasn’t able to make it in for my 12:45 class because she lived in the suburbs (near me) but my 5pm presentation on Queen Elizabeth I went on without interruption.
Other then a few hundred extra people and bicycles in the streets, the day went on pretty normally. It wasn’t until after I emerged at 7pm from my Great British History course that I realized what living in the suburbs REALLY means. When the strike didn’t end at 4pm as originally indicated and when the man at the window of the metro station told me that there was no telling when the strike would end now, it finally started to make me a bit annoyed. I had two options: 1) to lug my laptop, backpack (with 2 textbooks), and bag of clothes from the night before, 2 hours across Paris and into the suburbs in the dark OR 2) to call Lyndsey and wander the 45 minutes back up to Montmartre. Seeing as I still had no idea when the strike would end and I had class the next day, I imposed myself on Lyndsey’s seemingly unending hospitality yet again. On Wednesday night, we planned it all out and had whipped up the closest thing to a homemade American pizza we could come up with and watched an Audrey Hepburn film-- but last night we settled for cereal and Gilmore Girls reruns. As I hadn’t expected to spend two nights in Paris, I hadn’t brought the text I needed to prepare for my class today at 2:45 so I was perfectly content to spend a night relaxing and chatting about American sports (Lyndsey is from Florida—and is justified in her UF-pride). I’m hoping that my professor will understand and NOT give a pop quiz today. As of now, only a few metros are running (and on very limited schedules...none of which, however, in the direction of Sevres). Poor Carly was trapped in Sevres all day yesterday (luckily her class WAS cancelled) and will have to make the 2 hour walk this morning to our class this afternoon. I’m counting on the lines opening up again after class but if not, we can wander home together tonight.
This week has been full of obstacles—but most of them my own making. So instead of complaining, I just get to laugh. Right now the laughs are the frustrated kind, the ones you feel in the pit of your stomach, but in a few months or weeks even, I’m sure I’ll think they really are funny. I signed up to present in two classes this last week. This explains my absence. From Sunday morning until Monday at 5pm (when I had to leave for Climbing), Carly and I were hermits in Sevres, working and researching, running and sleeping. For my presentation on Queen Elizabeth I, my teacher had recommended a novel to be one of the 20 sources I was to reference. After searching for the book in 2 English bookstores and the Sciences Po library, and coming up fruitless, I was thrilled to find the 250 page book on an online library and spent much of the weekend staring at my computer screen. On Tuesday afternoon, I finished and decided to find the citation for my bibliography. You can only imagine my frustration when I found that the book I had been reading had been mislabeled and that I had spent a beautiful weekend INSIDE reading the WRONG book! I spent 4 hours that afternoon scrambling from bookstore to library to bookstore all over Paris completely unsuccessful, and returned home at 10pm to write a long letter to my professor and then to complete my other presentation to be given the next morning at 8am.
24 hours later, I was sitting on Lyndsey’s bed watching Audrey Hepburn finally able to relax. My presentation that morning went well, my professor had e-mailed back completely supportive of the research I had done and told me to go ahead and present on what I had already read, and I had spent 6 hours in the library typing up the dreaded mess of thing. Funny enough, I am now more then ever, interested in Queen Elizabeth and even ordered the correct book online to read later this semester. So that was obstacle number 1.
Obstacle number 2 is perhaps the biggest head-banger—most likely because it has yet to be solved. The week of October 31st, we have a “reading break” from school and Steph (who has the same break) and I thought we would use a bit of it to see another part of France and take a break from the city. We decided on a trip to the Champagne region because it is close and tickets are pretty cheap. Yesterday afternoon I went to book the train tickets online. I unknowingly typed the destination as “Champagne” in reference to the region, booked the tickets, paid for them, and checked the confirmation e-mail only to find that I had indeed booked tickets to Champagne, Champagne the city---in Normandy (it is an itsy bitsy town near the west coast, no where near the vineyards and rolling hills just outside of Paris)!! The website says that I should be able to exchange or cancel them for reimbursement but is not working properly—so, this afternoon, I get to WALK—no metro—to the nearest train station…all because I don’t know my geography.
This week hasn’t been ALL stress though: On Saturday, C, L, and I went to the annual wine harvest festival in Montmartre. The streets were lined with wine vendors, cheese vendors, escargot vendors, roasted chestnut vendors, musicians, costumed actors, etc…all surrounding Sacre Coeur. The festival lasted the entire weekend and I think that at one point or another every Parisian probably wandered over. Normally I would say that crowds and full glasses of red wine don’t mix, but as always, Parisians have a natural grace and we left a few hours later, completely stainless. If you are ever in Paris during the 3rd week of October, you can’t miss this. It was Paris in all of its glory.
To add to this already patriotic day, we rushed over to the Champs de Mars (the park under the Eiffel Tower) at 6pm—still 3 hours before the kick off of the France-England semi-finals rugby match—only to squish onto a blanket with a few friends who had set up an hour earlier. The field was packed, another complement to the Parisians—they can always fit 1 more in to a metro, building, field…no matter how squished you may think it is. Thousands and thousands of rugby fans decked out in blue and red (though some of the red were British), carrying, berets and cardboard swords, and armed with baguettes, cheese, wine--and more McDonald carry-out bags then I want to recognize—all SAT down to watch the game. I have never seen this anywhere else. If you stood up, you were immediately berated by dozens of angry fans—if you know better, you stay put—no bathroom breaks, no stretching…this is serious stuff. Even though France lost, it was still one of my favorite experiences so far. When we left, we had to walk in zigzags all the way to the metro as the ground was absolutely covered in trash, bottles, empty McDonald bags, etc…Somebody else would clean it up before the morning---they love their parks too much.
I also got a chance to show some Colorado spirit this week when I received an e-mail from my family---ROCKIES WON!! WE ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!! When I finally made it to school on Tuesday morning and had a chance to share my excitement, I was met by blank stares and “what’s the World Series?!”—Okay, I guess this is something I have to save for the Americans. So, this is a shout out to back home for our wild card of a team. Go Rockies!
Carly and I with at our wine-tastings!
11 October 2007
The park next to the Metro Sévres-Babylone is not the prettiest one that I have visited, but it the closest to my class and so it has become the perfect place to come to relax on my crazy Thursdays. I have 4 classes today and each runs 2 hours so I am trying to soak in as much of Paris as possible between lectures. Fall has officially arrived here and the ground is covered with crunchy brown leaves—in contrast, the leaves on the trees are still green, I think they must die and fall off overnight because I do not see much “fall color”.
This park is next to the Bon Marché—the “designer” shopping center that I wandered into my first week amidst glares at my blue jeans—so the clientele of the park are very fashionable and mainly use it as a shortcut from one street to the next. There is a carrousel, as there are in most parks here, but on a gray weekday afternoon there are no children to keep it going. It is still staffed though and I wonder what one would be paid to sit in an empty park all day waiting for someone to slide into on to the back of Minnie or Mickey Mouse. It wouldn’t be a very exciting job, but I don’t think I would mind it.
Today is my long day my 2nd week of classes. Yes—this blog is going to describe my courses (since that is how I spending the majority of my time) so if it doesn’t interest you, you want to skip this one. J I am taking seven—all in English except for the French Language course. I absolutely love them all. I’m one of only a few international students taking all of my courses in English and have received criticism from some of the other students for this: my justification—I need these courses for graduation and am certain that any class I would take in French would not present me with a passing final grade. I am hoping that next semester I will feel more confident and be able to take one or two. The great thing about taking them in English though is that half of my class is comprised of French students and they are much more open to talk international students who speak the language. Also, the courses in English are widely considered to be much better/more interesting. Seeing as I am happy with them all, I agree!
I had my first exposé yesterday morning and presented with a French girl. When I arrived to meet with her on Monday morning, the first thing she said was “Ah, you brought your computer! Everyone told me that Americans always work on computers!” It turns out that I was the sole exception though as I had brought my computer for another class and had prepared on paper. It turns out that our methods of preparation (mine with a more historical and analytical perspective and hers with a more detailed, structured and rhetoric oriented one) combined perfectly and I think went really well. We’ll have to wait to find out. It was pretty cool to see what the differences in our educational backgrounds brought out. Even though I was the native English speaker, her vocabulary was much better then mine!
Each of my classes meets once a week for two hours and since I am taking 7 courses plus a sport, I have 16 hours of class time a week. This isn’t any more then back home but I’ve found that I have much less free time—the difference being that we are required to do much more background research on our own. We have obligatory readings for each course and then at least one presentation and essay during the semester. The real focus, however, is on the final which can range anywhere from an in-class dissertation to a 10 page research paper and usually accounts for at least 50% of your final grade in the course. In 2 of my courses, it accounts for 70%! To prepare for these, you are given a long list of recommended books and assumed to read a few of them, taking notes and developing theories. I think it is a good way to learn because in the end you are being tested on what you really understand, but it is also very time consuming—and for a girl who is in Europe for only one year, it is hard to say “no” to the Museé d’Orsay and instead go home to read about French Foreign Policy from 1870-Present.
BUT it must be done and so my adventures will have to wait for the weekends and 2-hour breaks between class….
The carousel just started for the first time in the hour that I have been here and I’m starting to really consider the profession of “carousel operator”—I think I would trade “the rise of Cardinal Richelieu” for Mickey Mouse—but just for one day.
This park is next to the Bon Marché—the “designer” shopping center that I wandered into my first week amidst glares at my blue jeans—so the clientele of the park are very fashionable and mainly use it as a shortcut from one street to the next. There is a carrousel, as there are in most parks here, but on a gray weekday afternoon there are no children to keep it going. It is still staffed though and I wonder what one would be paid to sit in an empty park all day waiting for someone to slide into on to the back of Minnie or Mickey Mouse. It wouldn’t be a very exciting job, but I don’t think I would mind it.
Today is my long day my 2nd week of classes. Yes—this blog is going to describe my courses (since that is how I spending the majority of my time) so if it doesn’t interest you, you want to skip this one. J I am taking seven—all in English except for the French Language course. I absolutely love them all. I’m one of only a few international students taking all of my courses in English and have received criticism from some of the other students for this: my justification—I need these courses for graduation and am certain that any class I would take in French would not present me with a passing final grade. I am hoping that next semester I will feel more confident and be able to take one or two. The great thing about taking them in English though is that half of my class is comprised of French students and they are much more open to talk international students who speak the language. Also, the courses in English are widely considered to be much better/more interesting. Seeing as I am happy with them all, I agree!
I had my first exposé yesterday morning and presented with a French girl. When I arrived to meet with her on Monday morning, the first thing she said was “Ah, you brought your computer! Everyone told me that Americans always work on computers!” It turns out that I was the sole exception though as I had brought my computer for another class and had prepared on paper. It turns out that our methods of preparation (mine with a more historical and analytical perspective and hers with a more detailed, structured and rhetoric oriented one) combined perfectly and I think went really well. We’ll have to wait to find out. It was pretty cool to see what the differences in our educational backgrounds brought out. Even though I was the native English speaker, her vocabulary was much better then mine!
Each of my classes meets once a week for two hours and since I am taking 7 courses plus a sport, I have 16 hours of class time a week. This isn’t any more then back home but I’ve found that I have much less free time—the difference being that we are required to do much more background research on our own. We have obligatory readings for each course and then at least one presentation and essay during the semester. The real focus, however, is on the final which can range anywhere from an in-class dissertation to a 10 page research paper and usually accounts for at least 50% of your final grade in the course. In 2 of my courses, it accounts for 70%! To prepare for these, you are given a long list of recommended books and assumed to read a few of them, taking notes and developing theories. I think it is a good way to learn because in the end you are being tested on what you really understand, but it is also very time consuming—and for a girl who is in Europe for only one year, it is hard to say “no” to the Museé d’Orsay and instead go home to read about French Foreign Policy from 1870-Present.
BUT it must be done and so my adventures will have to wait for the weekends and 2-hour breaks between class….
The carousel just started for the first time in the hour that I have been here and I’m starting to really consider the profession of “carousel operator”—I think I would trade “the rise of Cardinal Richelieu” for Mickey Mouse—but just for one day.
These are pictures from the park I run in:
The French are serious about their gardens: this means no dogs, no bikes, no picnics, no... :)
03 October 2007
I’m sitting in the Jardin de Tuileries right now typing away. There is no wireless but I can post this later. Dozens of men keep walking by me carrying clipboards and blackberries. If their overcoats don’t give them away, then their velvet shoes do… They are headed straight for the tents behind me, as did the super thin perfectly dressed girl model who sat next to me on the metro and got off at the same stop.
This week is Paris Fashion week and I decided to get out to get some fresh Paris air (which includes being strangled by the smoke of the cigarette of the man who just sat down on my bench) and see if I could spot any celebrities. Supposedly Kirsten Dunst is here. Right now is the Christian LaCroix show and I saw about 6 horses prancing around backstage with models on them… Saturday is the real day however and I plan to return at 3:30 to stake out my spot for the Chloe show...if only to steal one of the bags.
I’ll be here for Saturday night for sure. It is “Nuit Blanche” in Paris. A holiday that I am not sure I quite understand yet but tried to explain to the Australian tourists asking me about all of the temporary steel lanterns in various sculpted shapes lining the whole park. From what I’ve heard, on October 6th Paris does not go to sleep…meaning that a bunch of museums, concerts, pubs restaurants, parks, etc will be open to the public all night long. It is a new holiday started by the government only a few years ago after seeing the success of a similar event in Toronto. Here’s the wikipedia explanation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuit_Blanche
This week is Paris Fashion week and I decided to get out to get some fresh Paris air (which includes being strangled by the smoke of the cigarette of the man who just sat down on my bench) and see if I could spot any celebrities. Supposedly Kirsten Dunst is here. Right now is the Christian LaCroix show and I saw about 6 horses prancing around backstage with models on them… Saturday is the real day however and I plan to return at 3:30 to stake out my spot for the Chloe show...if only to steal one of the bags.
I’ll be here for Saturday night for sure. It is “Nuit Blanche” in Paris. A holiday that I am not sure I quite understand yet but tried to explain to the Australian tourists asking me about all of the temporary steel lanterns in various sculpted shapes lining the whole park. From what I’ve heard, on October 6th Paris does not go to sleep…meaning that a bunch of museums, concerts, pubs restaurants, parks, etc will be open to the public all night long. It is a new holiday started by the government only a few years ago after seeing the success of a similar event in Toronto. Here’s the wikipedia explanation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuit_Blanche
Pics From my Nuit Blanche Adventure:
Lanterns in the shape of a giant ball in the Jardin de Tuileries.
The fountain outside Versailles.
Nuit Blanche focuses on "artsy" elements: Still not sure whether white tank tops with lights inside qualify as art--but it was pretty!
Pictures and Disney story to come. For now...I've posted the link to a video Carly and I made of our new appartment to the right.
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