Hold this feeling like a newborn

"I guess I wanted to leave America for a little while. It wasn't that I wanted to become an expatriate or just never come back, I needed some breathing room. I'd been to Paris once before and liked it very much, and so I just went." -Paul Auster

So far it's been one of the best decisions I've ever made :) Not that I didn't think it would be, it's actually been one of the few constants in my life since I started college. Even when looking for schools, I knew I wanted to study abroad. During my Freshman year I didn't think I would ever be able to muster enough courage to actually leave home. Sophomore year I got restless, decided to learn a different language and jumpstart the process. After Spain, I knew studying in France was something I needed to do. It's not at all what I expected it would be, although I'm not quite sure what I expected exactly.

The one thing I did expect it to be was a whirlwind. I'm already in a slight panic over how much time has passed and how much I still want to do. To experience all of Paris would take years, and even then I'm still not sure it would be possible to see it all. I've started a running list in my moleskin journal (I feel quite literary whenever I write in it) of all the things I want to get done before I leave and I'm making it my mission to check at least one thing off every day. So far, it's been pretty successful.

Last weekend was a blur. After visiting a museum in Caen, the American gravesite, Omaha Beach, Pointe Hoc, the city of Caen, an apple orchard, le Mont St. Michel, and rather interesting gas station, we were exhausted. So Monday was a day of rest. Tuesday was beautiful outside so Gabi, Tommy, and I trekked to the best bakery in the 10th arrondissement for some fresh baguettes. We stopped off at Franprix for a bottle of red wine and some camembert cheese. We planted ourselves along the canal and watched the world go by. Good food, good people, and a good setting does wonders for the soul. It's so simple but so refreshing.

Wednesday we went to Le Salon D'Agriculture. It's one of those words that gets lost in translation because this place is anything but a salon of agriculture. It's sort of like a state fair on steroids. A state fair with gourmet food--wine, cheese, bread, wine, chocolate, cured meats, ciders, honey, wine, jam, mustard, beer, candies--oh yes and did I mention the wine? It's basically everything you could ever love about France under one roof. And for 6 euros you get to try it all. One of the main Pavillons is divided by region, so in essence you can take a culinary tour of France without ever leaving Paris. I bought mustard from Dijon, red wine from Bordeuax, sparkling wine from Champagne, olives from the Mediterranean, and truffle oil from somewhere. We left the Salon/Fair/Exposition (there really is no English word for this place) a little tipsier, stomachs a little fuller, wallets a little emptier, but a whole lot happier.

Thursday we went to L'Opera Garnier--as in the Opera from Phantom of the Opera--to see a ballet. We saw La Dame aux Camelias which was in a word, beautiful. A live orchestra played music by Chopin and the story followed that of La Traviata. So as if the ballet itself wasn't incredible enough, the setting was absolutely amazing. Anyone who has ever been inside (or even seen the outside for that matter) of L'Opera Garnier knows exactly what I'm talking about. It is grandeur at it's finest.

Friday was a welcome start to the weekend. Last week was the first week of my phonetics classes which are incredibly interesting but I could do without the 8:30am start time. 8:30 means I leave the apartment by 7:50 so I can make my metro trek to the Latin Quarter. This means waking up before 7 which is something I haven't had to do consistently since my mornings at Panera and it's not an hour of the day I'm looking forward to getting to know again. But the classes themselves are very engaging, much better than the 2 hour long lectures. For a half an hour the professor lectures about the rules of French pronunciation. For the second half hour we sit in a lab, divided into individual cubicles armed with headsets which will hopefully help us to better speak the french language. So far it's been very useful.

Friday night we attempted to go to a fondue restaurant in Montmartre only to find we needed reservations. So we wandered for a bit in hopes of finding a decently inexpensive restaurant that would seat 9 of us. Not an easy feat on a Friday night in Paris. We walked into a few different places, each time looking at a server and apprehensively mouthing "Nous sommes neuf." Literally, we are nine. Normally this was met with a shake of the head and a "C'est pas possible." That's not possible. Finally we found a place that looked as though it served food and enthusiastically told us 9 people was not a problem. We eagerly took the table without a look at a menu or a second glance at our surroundings. Much to our surprise it was a bustling bistro with a live band and a fun atmosphere. The food wasn't half bad either. Sometimes the best nights are the ones you don't plan for.

Saturday consisted of a trip to the Catacombs (an underground tomb more or less), a creepy experience but an experience nonetheless. We followed that with another trip to the Salon D'Agriculture seeing as it was one of the last days that we could take advantage of it. We rested for a bit, then ventured out to Bastille for a night of dancing. It was a ton of fun and the night ended very well :)

Today we did as the Parisians do. We took advantage of the sunshine, braved the wind, and wandered aimlessly while chatting away for a few hours. Carolin, Gabi, and I grabbed a cup of coffee in the sunlight to warm up a bit before we bought some bread and cheese and had a picnic by Les Halles. Some sort of Parisian perfect.

Remembering

"There's a graveyard in northern France where all the dead boys from D-day are buried. The white crosses reach from one horizon to the other. I remember looking over it and thinking it was a forest of graves. But the rows were like this, dizzying, diagonal, perfectly straight, so after all it wasn't a forest but an orchard of graves. Nothing to do with nature, unless you count human nature." -Barbara Kingsolver

After any sort of tragedy, or sorrow, human nature is to crave order. We find comfort in structure, and neatness. Any sort of chaos is maddening. Before we went to the American gravesite in Normandy, we visited the memorial in Caen. The museum started off with information about World War I. You started at the top and the walls were smooth and white. As the exhibit led into the start of World War II, you started to descend downwards, and the walls got darker and rougher. The subject matter itself grew heavier. The dark twisty spiral symbolic of the war perfectly juxtaposed the flawless rows of stark white graves which depicted the aftermath. Perfect order, structure, neatness.

The actual graves actually seem like an optical illusion when you look out at them. It really is dizzying. And somber. Inscribed on the tombs isn't the day the soldiers died, but the day their body was found. Because most of the men who are buried in that cemetery died on the same day--June 6th 1944, D-day, Jour-J, whatever you want to call it. When we started the tour of the cemetery, the guide posed a question. "Have you ever stood in a place where the course of history changed forever?" Interesting to think about. But you feel it in that place, you feel the history, you connect with it. Walking along Omaha Beach, which is now serene and peaceful, forces you to reflect on all the organized chaos that happened there a mere 60 years ago. It forces you to remember. It wasn't that long ago. We learn about D-day as though it happened in some far away land, a long time ago. For us, it's in the past. But on the beaches, and in the cemetery, and in the towns that were left in ruins, this war is very much a part of the present.

I always find it fascinating to learn about world history through the eyes of another country. France has it's own take on World War II that is completely different than the one that we have in the US. And the stereotypical American perception of France's involvement in the war is far from accurate. The memorial in Caen also had an exhibit on the Cold War. The Cold War is something I've never learned about outside of the US. Every culture has a tendency to gloss over the parts of their history that tarnishes the country to some extent. It's just interesting to think there are always at least two sides to every story, and we consistently only ever hear one.

"Someday, many years from now
We'll sit beside the candles glow
Exchanging tales about our past
And laughing as the memories flow
And when that distant day arrives
I know it will be understood
That friendship is the key to live
And we were friends and it was good."
-Eileen Hehl

This week has been filled with friends of all types--old friends, new friends, family friends, family that are friends, french friends, german friends, friends in need, and friends willing to lend an ear. While I still miss everyone back in the US, the people and the things here are starting to feel a lot like home now too.

On Tuesday I started my lecture classes. I'm taking three lectures, each is 2 hours one day a week. We were all pretty eager to start them because they seemed like they would be interesting. So we thought. While neither the art history lecture nor the literature lecture was particularly interesting, I could at least sit through them and focus on the French for at least a good chunk of the time. The Paris lecture however, was something close to torture. Absolutely terrible. Two hours of monotone French over whatever subject he felt like exploring at the time.


So after an incredibly boring day of classes, Carolin, Gabi and I decided that we were just going to have to cave and go out on a Wednesday. We met up with a friend of Carolin's and some of his friends. It was an odd mix of French, German, and English, but we ended up having a great, great night. And only 3.50 for a pint! So far, that's the best deal we've been able to find.

Thursday, Erick (a family friend who lives in Paris) and I were finally able to connect for lunch. We had a good meal, and good conversation, plus I managed to leave with one more umbrella than what I came with.

Today I wandered a lot (much to the dismay of my shins I might add). When I left the Crous to get on the RER to go home it was grey, windy, raining. Basically Parisian weather at it's finest. And when I came out of the metro a mere 15 minutes later...clear skies, beautiful weather. Since this has been happening frequently as of late (it's usually the other way around, I go into the metro and it's nice out, but when I come out it's terrible), and I've found that Parisian weather can be very temperamental, I decided to make the most of the sunshine while it was here. So I walked, and walked, and walked some more. I walked for almost 3 hours until my feet just couldn't take it anymore. But that's what I love so much about Paris. I can just walk out my door and be in a different world in a matter of ten minutes.

But the thing I'm finding is, as great as Paris is...it's nothing if you don't have people to share it with. Yes, solitude is both appreciated and necessary at times. But half the fun of exploring today, was telling people about it later, having them share in the excitement, comparing experiences. People are the reason I loved my life in Spain, they're the reason I love my life in Cincinnati, the reason I love my life in Columbus. The same holds true for here. Paris is amazing, because I have great people to share it with, both here and at home. And that, is really all you need.

Taking Control

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving." Albert Einstein

If you pause too long to dwell on what's behind you, you will inevitably crash. If you look too far ahead of you, you're also bound to run into something. Lately I've been feeling restless. I am very ready to travel to the north of France this weekend; I have a feeling it will be a very welcome change of scenery. City life is great, it's never dull (and if it is you're probably not taking full advantage of the city), there's always activity, always motion. Most of the time, this is what I crave--a locale that's bustling all hours of the day. But sometimes a break (or une petite pause if you will...the french word seems to be more fitting in this sense) is necessary.

And I think what's been missing from this experience for me so far is that curiosity that I had in Spain. I miss the mentality, the "Where are we going to go this weekend?" way of thinking. While I am enchanted with Paris (I think I fall in love with this city a little more every day), it can be very overwhelming. The Parisians with their "savoir-faire," are at times intimidating. For instance, the other day, it was absolutely gorgeous outside, mid 50's and sunny. So instead of staying in my room, I decided to venture out to a cafe along the canal and do my homework there. I searched for a cafe that had relatively low prices and was on the lookout for the tell-tale "zone wi-fi" sign (pronounced wee-fee :) ) I found one no more than a block from our apartment. I walked in, said an apprehensive Bonjour to the men behind the counter, and since they did not direct me to a table, I found one myself towards the back of the restaurant. There was a waitress there serving the people around me, but she refused to make eye contact with me. I started to question my decision to sit down without ordering. But no, there was a drink menu at my table, why would there be a menu if you were supposed to order when you walk in? But the waitress left, and another waiter came in to begin his shift. As he cleared the tables around me, I tried to get his attention. But to no avail. At this point I've already opened my laptop and have been using the wi-fi. I'm afraid if I leave, they will be angry that I used the wi-fi without buying anything. So I apprehensively approach the bar and explain that I would like a cafe noisette and that no one had come to take my order. The man behind the bar seemed shocked (however, I couldn't make out whether or not this was sarcasm). He apologized and repeated my order--un cafe noisette.


So I continue to do my homework, anxiously awaiting my caffeine fix. And I watch the tables around me fill with people. I watch them order. I watch their drinks come. But no cafe noisette. At this point in time I've been there almost an hour. Had I been in the US and this happened I would have complained to someone and remedied the problem. But here is that I don't have a broad enough vocabulary to complain politely. And of course I assume that I am the one that doesn't know what I'm doing. Even though my instinct tells me otherwise, I question whether or not I messed up somehow. Maybe I was supposed to order when I walked in? Maybe I wasn't supposed to sit in this section? Maybe I mis-pronounced my order and they didn't understand? Maybe they're just being rude and I should take it as a cue to leave?

I finally flag down yet another waiter and order again. And he promptly brought out the coffee I had been waiting for. Finally.

Yesterday, I did the scariest thing I've ever done in my life to date. I walked head-on at a pigeon on the sidewalk. Okay so that's not really that scary, but anyone who knows me, knows that I am terrified of birds. Aunt Mary can attest that the last time I was in Paris I would honest to God, walk to the other side of the street to avoid pigeons. So for me...that was groundbreaking.

Wanderings in Paris

"Not all those who wander are lost." JRR Tolkien

But sometimes those who wander really are lost. But lost is a somewhat vague term. For instance, on Saturday, after being shooed out of the apartment I decided to meander along the canal for a bit. I had absolutely no idea where I was headed...I believe southwest was my general direction. So I was lost in the sense that I didn't know exactly where I was or where I was going to end up. But I didn't have a particular destination in mind so I wasn't lost in the sense that I should have been elsewhere. I actually stumbled upon a really cool Brocante that just happened to be passing through. I spent well over an hour leisurely walking through the stalls, examining the little treasures, and intently watching people. After the Brocante I continued to walk away from the apartment and conveniently ran straight into a set of stairs leading down to the metro. Had it not been for my dying ipod and freezing extremities, I probably would have continued. A five minute metro ride later and I was back into familiar territory.

Earlier on Saturday I met Carolin and Emily at the end of line 4 so we could go exploring Les Marches Aux Puces, which are French flea markets (and one of the few phrases that actually directly translates...The Markets of Fleas). The market we found ourselves, however, was not the one we had anticipated. Instead of antiques and interesting trinkets, we were met with dirty men selling knock-off purses, shoes, perfume, boxer-briefs, and everything in between. Not quite what we had envisioned. And since we found ourselves in the ever-charming north suburbs (that was sarcasm by the way), we decided not to wander too far. We eventually found what we were looking for and spent a good amount of time pouring over the stands that housed all sorts of knick-knacks..some junky, some with historical relevance, some fascinating, and some just plain creepy. Around two hours at Pt de Clgnancourt was about all we could handle for one afternoon.


Saturday night I had an amazing dinner with Gabi's parents who are visiting for the week. It was the first truly fabulous meal I've had in Paris for this trip at least. We started off with a few appetizers, croustillant de tomates et mozzarella, and les escargots. For the main course I had a veal chop with roasted garlic, roasted tomatoes, potatoes, and a wonderful oil based thyme sauce. For dessert we all split three of the dishes--a warm apple tart, some sort of baked chocolate amazingness, and a meringue dish with a vanilla almond cream sauce. And of course wine and baguette throughout the whole meal. The whole affair lasted well over three hours--Gabi and I didn't make it home until after midnight. A delicious, typically European meal if I don't say so myself.

Sundays here always start in a very lazy manner for me. I normally have some trouble dragging myself out of my red wine-induced coma, especially when I know I'm waking up to instant coffee and soggy cereal. As of 10:30 all I wanted was to crawl back into the warmth of my bed and do nothing all day long. I attempted to download the last two episodes to Sex and the City, but to no avail. I paid $2 per episode to only listen to the dialogue, no video. But then Carolin texted me. I took these two events a signs that I should actually attempt to do something with my day. I did some homework and then began the trek to go meet Carolin.


We were in search of a mural by Keith Haring that is painted on a staircase at a children's hospital somewhere between the 7th and 15th arrondissements. We found the mural and found ourselves in an area of Paris that neither of us had ever visited before but one with spectacular views of the Eiffel Tower. Since I've tried to neglect acting like the tourist that I am, I hadn't taken the stereotypical pictures of La Tour Eiffel quite yet. But we decided to roam in the general direction of the tower with the notion that we would stumble across a coffee shop of some sorts. The thing about the Eiffel Tower is you never know how far you actually are from it. It towers (ha) over all surrounding buildings so no matter where you are in the city, it always looks relatively close. So we wandered towards it and then of course ended up in a heavily touristy area with no chance of finding a good cup of coffee for under 5 euro anywhere. So we decided to walk away from the tower, away from the other tourists, and away from the gypsies waving tiny Eiffel Tower replicas in your face. The key to dealing with these men is to never under any circumstance make eye contact. They will swarm to you like pigeons (another thing I was eager to escape from).

Finally we found a brasserie that looked free of English speakers in a quieter neighborhood. We had another great meal and shared two salads. Both came with fresh slices of baguette and a house dressing. Mine had shrimp, grapefruit, pineapple, avocado, and tomatoes on it. Carolin's came with potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, avocado, haricots verts, peppers, and tomatoes. They were both delicious and of course we had to have our coffee after the meal. We did as the French do and took well over an hour to finish our tiny cups of espresso and got lost in conversation.

Lost in Translation

"Americans who travel abroad for the first time are often shocked to discover that, despite all the progress that has been made in the last 30 years, many foreign people still speak foreign languages." Dave Barry

So this new girl came up to me in class today. I'm a few minutes early because I finally discovered the train-like beast that is the RER (different story)--I'm reviewing my homework which is all in French mind you. I show no signs of being American let alone signs on speaking English. So this girl comes up to me and straight away starts rambling on in English (there are more than 11 nationalities represented in our 20 person class so it's a bit presumptuous to assume I will understand her). I smile politely and respond to her questions in French, but she's not taking the hint. And this is why I understand why Parisians, French people, and foreign people in general become annoyed with us sometimes.

I'm constantly surprised at how many people speak English here. In restaurants, stores, cafes, everywhere, if you speak with the slightest trace of an American accent, they will respond to you in English. As someone who is here to practice speaking French, I find this particularly frustrating. Sometimes it's clear that my French is better than their English would be, so French should be the preferred language. Not the case.

Thank god for dinners here. Mme Dugan insists that we speak French at the table, as she should, and I can tell even in the small amount of time I've been here that the hour or so of conversational French has been so incredibly helpful. And she's not afraid to correct us, which is great in some senses but it can sometimes be a bit abrasive. French people don't hide their feelings at all. If they disagree with something that you're saying, you will know it and then some. For instance we started talking about reading and books at dinner the other night. Mme Dugan asked what types of books we liked to read. I explained that I enjoy reading thought-provoking books at times but the books I read purely for pleasure are murder/mysteries. She asked which authors I preferred, I listed a few...Mary Higgins Clark, Patricia Cornwell, and then I made the grave, grave mistake of saying Dan Brown. While this particular anecdote is significantly funnier in French, it went a little something like this..."Non. Non, non, non. He has absolutely NO talent. (while shaking her head and hand simultaneously) He is a terrible author who doesn't know how to write at all. His books require not intelligence to read. Non. No talent whatsoever."

I explained I don't read his books for their literary quality necessary, it's more of an escape. "Non." She told me. "I disagree. He cannot write. A terrible choice." Sheesh, be a little more blunt about it. But the French think nothing of a discussion like this. While American culture dictates more, ahem, polite ways to express disagreement, the French think that this is perfectly normal, socially acceptable, and quite healthy.

Tonight we had homemade ravioli with an amazing cream sauce, along with roast chicken...aaaand chips and guac? And odd combination I know, but it was delicious. We had an incredible salad on Wednesday after we came back from Les Bateaux Mouches. Initially we were disappointed because we were very much looking forward to a hot meal after the damp cold that sinks into your bones here in Paris. But it was great, it's moved to the top of my list of things I want to attempt to recreate when I come home (I've decided I will probably have to have a month long cooking marathon of sorts). It had rice, corn, ham, tomatoes, olives, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs with a homemade dijon vinaigrette. With a fresh baguette and cheese on the side. Mmm, it was awesome.


Tonight Mme Dugan posed the question "Est-ce que vous savez comment de tenir les ciseaux?" Les ciseaux? I responded, making a cutting motion. I was fairly certain she had just asked if I knew how to use scissors but was apprehensive because it was such an odd question. But no, that was indeed what she asked me. Well yes I know how to use scissors... "Good. Tomorrow you will cut my hair. I just need a straight line."
Um. What?? I tried to back-pedal explaining I'm left-handed and can't hold normal scissors very well. "But you know how to use them, right?" Well, yes. "Good, then we will try tomorrow and you will cut my hair."

Awesome, somehow I got tricked into giving my host mother a hair-cut. I feel like this is a disaster waiting to happen. Also I'm pretty positive she started the dinner conversation tonight by asking me if I was gaining weight since I've been here. Oh how I love this language sometimes.

Mona Lisas and Mad-Hatters

"It would be so nice if something would make sense for a change." -Alice In Wonderland

Of course the point of studying abroad is to experience new things, new people, new surroundings, new languages...new everything. But sometimes...it's too much new. Sometimes the littlest things can be incredibly overwhelming. But I've found the best way to deal with these types of situations is to laugh at them. I firmly believe that it's imperative to find humor in almost everything. You can't take life too seriously.

I made my first note-worthy language blunder of the trip on Saturday night. We were out in the Bastille area (which is probably the most happening quartier we've been out in so far) and were in a very crowded bar. In the rush of trying to decide which drink to order and calculating which would be the better deal, I mistakenly order an entire liter of beer. Gabi caught the mistake before I did, asking "Did you really mean to order a liter?" "Um, no" I replied as the bartender handed me my pitcher. Oops. Needless to say I had the hiccups the whole metro ride home.

Sunday we decided to try to go to a Robert Doisneau exhibit. We planned out our metro ride, found directions, and met with Carolin only to arrive to a line that twisted outside and around the block. Okay plan B. We traveled all this way so we might as well wander for a bit and grab a cafe or something. We head down what looks to be a decently busy street for a Sunday in hopes of finding a quaint Parisian coffee shop. What we stumbled across instead were sex shops and "theatres." Hmm. We finally find a decent looking restaurant to sit in only to be greeted by puppets and Christmas decorations, large women in fur coats, and strange looking candies everywhere. I half expected the Queen of hearts to emerge from behind the counter. But we decide to give it a shot. Despite our obnoxiously whimsical setting, we managed to have a decent cup of coffee and good conversation. However, that part of Paris is not one I'm looking to return to anytime soon.



Sundays in Paris are different than any other day of the week. Many of the streets are closed to traffic, and the atmosphere of the city changes completely. Paris is a city that likes to breathe, it's inhabitants really live outside. People bear the cold and sit outside of the cafes in order to better watch the world go by. Parks are bustling all day long. People walk with no particular destination in mind, just to take a little break from their Monday through Friday lives. It's very refreshing. I'm constantly reminding myself to slow down. Especially on Sundays. No one is walking quickly...what's the rush? The metros don't come as frequently and no one seems to mind. People mull for hours of a cup of coffee that could easily have easily disappeared in two sips.

So yes, sometimes as much as I don't like to admit it I wish everything made sense to me, like at home. Sometimes I wish everyone could just speak my language. Sometimes I wish could go into a Target and buy everything I ever needed in one place. Sometimes I wish people were in more of a rush to get to their destinations. But all in all, I'm enjoying the cultural differences. I'm getting used to it, learning to appreciate it, and most of the time...really liking it.