Happy belated birthday, Papa!
Oh best news - I got a fabulous deal on airfare and I'm going to Dublin for my birthday. The airfare was - get this - 20 Euro round trip, but it ended up being about 50 Euro with fees and taxes and everything. Still, a really good deal. I'm excited.
This weekend I'm going to Normandy and Brittany through the Accent Center. It should be fun.
Nothing much new to report - classes are good. I met up with one of the French ice hockey players, Matthieu, for a drink the other night. It was fun, but interesting because neither one of us is fluent in the other's language...And now I think I may have accidentally told him I have a boyfriend, because I was talking about my friend Patrick who also plays ice hockey, and I said "mon ami Patrick." Literally, that means "my friend Patrick," but apparently if you say "mon ami" it means your boyfriend - you must say "un ami," (a friend). So now, I think he thinks I was talking about my non-existent boyfriend. Ugh! Frustrating. Also, I've learned it's very difficult to come up with clever things to say in another language. But, practice makes perfect!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air’s salubrity.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson
Oh, how I love traveling! I just spent the most wonderful weekend on the Côte d’Azur in the south of France. Scrumptious!
I was visiting two of my sorority sisters, Jill and Darcie, who are studying in Antibes. My friend Blair and I took the train down on Saturday morning to go stay with them. We took the TGV (Train à Grand Vitesse), which is very speedy, apparently, although it didn’t seem to me to move any faster than a normal train. It was, however, so much nicer than any train I’ve ever been on in the U.S. – two levels, very clean, very safe and non-sketchy, etc., etc. Blair and I, since we booked separately, were assigned seats in different cars, but serendipitously a man asked to switch with me, and his seat was in the same car as Blair!
The train ride was about five hours long, and absolutely breathtaking! At first, Blair and I decided that the French countryside wasn’t that different from driving through the Midwest, save for the occasional chateau or castle one passes. Once we got to the coast, however – oh rapture! It was literally the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I’m not sure if that’s because I don’t get out a lot or what, but oh my goodness, I was in awe. Huge huge cliffs with beautiful pastel houses (red tile roofs) all up and down them, with the Mediterranean crashing on the rocks below. Fabulous! (Look at my pictures – a lot of the scenery ones that I took were from the train, although they don’t quite do the view justice.)
Needless to say, by the time we got to Antibes, I was jumping up and down in my seat, I was so excited. Darcie and Jill live in this adorable apartment with another girl from AU named Rosie. Their apartment is a five-minute walk from the beach, not a bad set-up for study abroad! Luckily, they had two couches for Blair and I to sleep on. When we got there, it was immediately decided that the beach was the best option! Darce graciously lent me one of her swimsuits, and we headed down to the beach. I can now say I’ve been in the Mediterranean, and it was frickin’ freezing. I thought it would be pretty warm, it being the end of the summer and that the sea is a “smaller” body of water…no dice. The beach itself was an experience, though. Toplessness is quite okay, apparently. I won’t go into detail, but I saw some pretty shocking anatomy, including a rather obese English woman who took her top off right in front of her teenage son. Awkward. In addition, an eight-year-old boy, completely naked, playing leapfrog with his bits and pieces bobbing all around. Pretty disturbing. Okay, I guess I went into detail. Sorry.
That night, we walked around Antibes and had dinner in the town’s open-air market. We had moules frites (mussels and fries), which I guess are somewhat of a regional specialty. I devoured them all, of course – yum! After dinner we went to the first absinthe bar in Europe, because none of us had ever had absinthe and apparently the bar is famous. It was really neat, if only because it was different – when you order absinthe, they bring it to you in this glass and then you take this spoony/strainer thing and put a sugar cube on it and rest it on the glass. After that, you put drops of water from this decanter thing onto the sugar cube on the spoony thing and it dissolves into the absinthe – very scientific. (See my pictures if you need a visual.) Unfortunately, this does nothing to remedy the foul taste of the absinthe itself – something in between grape Dimetapp and liquid Good ‘n’ Plenty, although it’s actually green. Foul. We drank it anyway, naturally. I hallucinated all night. (Only kidding – I’m pretty sure the hallucinogenic properties of absinthe are removed for it to be legal, although I did see this weird greenish fairy thing floating around…)
The next day, it was off to Monaco! We literally went to Monaco and back for 4 Euro and 80 cents. Amazing!
Monaco is, well, the type of place that makes you think marrying for money might not be such a bad idea. It’s everything you’d think – gorgeous yachts, gorgeous cars, gorgeous mansions, gorgeous people. While there, I toured the Royal Palace (small-ish but opulent), the Cathedral where Grace Kelly was married and is buried (shame on my friends who are reading this and asking why she’s buried in Monaco), and I saw the famous Monte Carlo Casino. (Note: the casino in Monte Carlo is so different from the ones in Vegas – you have to pay 10 Euro just to get in, and there is a dress code - a coat and tie is required in many of the exclusive gaming salons. Unfortunately, all of us were too cheap to pay the 10 Euro cover charge, in addition to the fact that our flip flops were quite unacceptable.) Outside, cars were lined up: Mercedes, Bentley, Bentley, Mercedes…it was funny, but typical. It was a really fun day.
Today, Blair and I took the train to Nice because Jill and Darcie had class, and our train back to Paris left from Nice anyway. Nice was…not nice. This morning was basically a torrential downpour – not the best weather for touring. When we got to the Nice Ville station, we got a locker to store our bags in, then went next door to the tourist office. We decided to take this Open Tour bus (due to the rain) that goes all around Nice and drops you off at key locations, for a mere 15 Euro. We trekked what seemed like miles to Musée Marc Chagall, where there apparently was a bus stop for this tour. By the time we got there, Blair and I were completely soaked, and lo and behold – no bus stop, and the museum was closed for renovation. Brilliant. After a few expletives, we decided to turn back around and head back toward the train station. (You don’t understand. This wasn’t rain. This was RAIN.) We stopped in a boulangerie for coffee and carbs, then at a shoe store where I got some black boots. (No judgment please – when I feel upset, buying something usually cheers me up. I was much perkier after I acquired some new winter footwear! Plus, they were very inexpensive.) Then, we went back to the train station where I was able to change out of my wet squishy tennis shoes into my fabulous new boots. (See? A both fashionable and practical purchase.) Après ça, we spent the afternoon in the train station. (Pretty much anything worth seeing in Nice is conveniently located really really far away from the station, and Blair and I were easily defeated by the fact that we couldn’t feel our feet anymore.) Needless to say, Nice was not my favorite. Ironically enough, the rain let up and it became a beautiful sunny day, oh, about 40 minutes before we had to catch our train – giving us just enough time to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING without missing our train. So, I am now very familiar with the Nice train station (it costs 50 cents to use the restroom and the price of a sandwich and Coke is 5 Euro, a café crème is 2.50). Oh well – it was an adventure, and Blair and I had a good laugh. I also happen to know where you can get very cheap chic boots.
One last thing to add to the adventure – I haven’t had a voice for 48 hours now. When I try to speak, all that comes out is a raspy squeak reminiscent of a 13-year-old boy in the throes of puberty. It’s fun, let me tell you.
‘til next time,
Squeaky
Oh, how I love traveling! I just spent the most wonderful weekend on the Côte d’Azur in the south of France. Scrumptious!
I was visiting two of my sorority sisters, Jill and Darcie, who are studying in Antibes. My friend Blair and I took the train down on Saturday morning to go stay with them. We took the TGV (Train à Grand Vitesse), which is very speedy, apparently, although it didn’t seem to me to move any faster than a normal train. It was, however, so much nicer than any train I’ve ever been on in the U.S. – two levels, very clean, very safe and non-sketchy, etc., etc. Blair and I, since we booked separately, were assigned seats in different cars, but serendipitously a man asked to switch with me, and his seat was in the same car as Blair!
The train ride was about five hours long, and absolutely breathtaking! At first, Blair and I decided that the French countryside wasn’t that different from driving through the Midwest, save for the occasional chateau or castle one passes. Once we got to the coast, however – oh rapture! It was literally the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I’m not sure if that’s because I don’t get out a lot or what, but oh my goodness, I was in awe. Huge huge cliffs with beautiful pastel houses (red tile roofs) all up and down them, with the Mediterranean crashing on the rocks below. Fabulous! (Look at my pictures – a lot of the scenery ones that I took were from the train, although they don’t quite do the view justice.)
Needless to say, by the time we got to Antibes, I was jumping up and down in my seat, I was so excited. Darcie and Jill live in this adorable apartment with another girl from AU named Rosie. Their apartment is a five-minute walk from the beach, not a bad set-up for study abroad! Luckily, they had two couches for Blair and I to sleep on. When we got there, it was immediately decided that the beach was the best option! Darce graciously lent me one of her swimsuits, and we headed down to the beach. I can now say I’ve been in the Mediterranean, and it was frickin’ freezing. I thought it would be pretty warm, it being the end of the summer and that the sea is a “smaller” body of water…no dice. The beach itself was an experience, though. Toplessness is quite okay, apparently. I won’t go into detail, but I saw some pretty shocking anatomy, including a rather obese English woman who took her top off right in front of her teenage son. Awkward. In addition, an eight-year-old boy, completely naked, playing leapfrog with his bits and pieces bobbing all around. Pretty disturbing. Okay, I guess I went into detail. Sorry.
That night, we walked around Antibes and had dinner in the town’s open-air market. We had moules frites (mussels and fries), which I guess are somewhat of a regional specialty. I devoured them all, of course – yum! After dinner we went to the first absinthe bar in Europe, because none of us had ever had absinthe and apparently the bar is famous. It was really neat, if only because it was different – when you order absinthe, they bring it to you in this glass and then you take this spoony/strainer thing and put a sugar cube on it and rest it on the glass. After that, you put drops of water from this decanter thing onto the sugar cube on the spoony thing and it dissolves into the absinthe – very scientific. (See my pictures if you need a visual.) Unfortunately, this does nothing to remedy the foul taste of the absinthe itself – something in between grape Dimetapp and liquid Good ‘n’ Plenty, although it’s actually green. Foul. We drank it anyway, naturally. I hallucinated all night. (Only kidding – I’m pretty sure the hallucinogenic properties of absinthe are removed for it to be legal, although I did see this weird greenish fairy thing floating around…)
The next day, it was off to Monaco! We literally went to Monaco and back for 4 Euro and 80 cents. Amazing!
Monaco is, well, the type of place that makes you think marrying for money might not be such a bad idea. It’s everything you’d think – gorgeous yachts, gorgeous cars, gorgeous mansions, gorgeous people. While there, I toured the Royal Palace (small-ish but opulent), the Cathedral where Grace Kelly was married and is buried (shame on my friends who are reading this and asking why she’s buried in Monaco), and I saw the famous Monte Carlo Casino. (Note: the casino in Monte Carlo is so different from the ones in Vegas – you have to pay 10 Euro just to get in, and there is a dress code - a coat and tie is required in many of the exclusive gaming salons. Unfortunately, all of us were too cheap to pay the 10 Euro cover charge, in addition to the fact that our flip flops were quite unacceptable.) Outside, cars were lined up: Mercedes, Bentley, Bentley, Mercedes…it was funny, but typical. It was a really fun day.
Today, Blair and I took the train to Nice because Jill and Darcie had class, and our train back to Paris left from Nice anyway. Nice was…not nice. This morning was basically a torrential downpour – not the best weather for touring. When we got to the Nice Ville station, we got a locker to store our bags in, then went next door to the tourist office. We decided to take this Open Tour bus (due to the rain) that goes all around Nice and drops you off at key locations, for a mere 15 Euro. We trekked what seemed like miles to Musée Marc Chagall, where there apparently was a bus stop for this tour. By the time we got there, Blair and I were completely soaked, and lo and behold – no bus stop, and the museum was closed for renovation. Brilliant. After a few expletives, we decided to turn back around and head back toward the train station. (You don’t understand. This wasn’t rain. This was RAIN.) We stopped in a boulangerie for coffee and carbs, then at a shoe store where I got some black boots. (No judgment please – when I feel upset, buying something usually cheers me up. I was much perkier after I acquired some new winter footwear! Plus, they were very inexpensive.) Then, we went back to the train station where I was able to change out of my wet squishy tennis shoes into my fabulous new boots. (See? A both fashionable and practical purchase.) Après ça, we spent the afternoon in the train station. (Pretty much anything worth seeing in Nice is conveniently located really really far away from the station, and Blair and I were easily defeated by the fact that we couldn’t feel our feet anymore.) Needless to say, Nice was not my favorite. Ironically enough, the rain let up and it became a beautiful sunny day, oh, about 40 minutes before we had to catch our train – giving us just enough time to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING without missing our train. So, I am now very familiar with the Nice train station (it costs 50 cents to use the restroom and the price of a sandwich and Coke is 5 Euro, a café crème is 2.50). Oh well – it was an adventure, and Blair and I had a good laugh. I also happen to know where you can get very cheap chic boots.
One last thing to add to the adventure – I haven’t had a voice for 48 hours now. When I try to speak, all that comes out is a raspy squeak reminiscent of a 13-year-old boy in the throes of puberty. It’s fun, let me tell you.
‘til next time,
Squeaky
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
"Everybody's workin' for the weekend..." -Loverboy
Oh! What a wonderful weekend I had! I am having the most fun. Friday night, immediately after class, my friends and I all met up on this street called Rue de la Huchette, which is a twisty little side street full of fun bars and restaurants. The best deal is always to get a formule or prix-fixe menu, where you get an entrée (which is actually an appetizer), a plat (the main course), and dessert for somewhere around 10 Euros. Not bad! We ended up going to a Greek place that was really yummy, then we all went to Happy Hours (yes, they’re plural here) at a couple of different bars. Happy Hours usually end around 9 here, and we’re never done eating by then, but if you’re a girl they sometimes give you Happy Hours prices no matter what the time, so it’s quite nice. (However, it’s still impossible to get a cocktail here for under 6 Euro, which I guess is something like $8. Not cheap.) So anyway, we ended up going to this Irish pub called Shiwawa. Long story short, I met Sean, this adorable English boy from Cornwall in line for the toilets (co-ed toilets are the norm, here), and he introduced me to his two friends, both named Stuart. (I called them Stuart 1 and Stuart 2.) They were just finishing up a road trip around Europe before heading back to university, and so I introduced them to my friends and we hung out for the rest of the night. It’s so fun to meet people here and learn about how they live and compare life stories, etc. (Not to mention, I am such a sucker for an accent!) Sadly, they went back to Cornwall today, but we’re going to be pen pals, apparently. In any case, now I have friends in Cornwall!
Saturday was a bit of an adventure. I was asked out for coffee by this French guy, Pierre (not even joking about the name), that I met last Tuesday night. He is half French and half Moroccan and not at all my type. I didn’t want to be rude, so I said yes and we met up. It was fun, though! We walked around Paris and he showed me Le Marais, which is this beautiful old part of the city. Traditionally, it is a very Jewish quarter, although now it’s becoming more of a gay area – the Dupont Circle of Paris, if you will. In any case, it’s filled with lots of quaint side streets and there is this beautiful park called Place des Voges that is kind of tucked away – amazing! I’ve said this before, but walking around Paris yesterday I was struck yet again by how full of surprises it is. Yesterday in Place des Voges there was this whole brass band that just set up right there and started playing patriotic music. Along the Seine (right where we ate dinner on that boat, Mom), there was a huge food market that featured delicacies from the different regions of France. (Lots of smelly cheese, wine, and foie gras, obviously.) People were picnicking on Pont des Arts, one of the huge bridges that spans the Seine. You just don’t get that kind of stuff in the U.S.!
One of the coolest (if most bizarre) things I saw though was something called Love Parade, which Pierre told me about. It’s basically these huge parade floats that are tricked out with crazy decorations and have turntables on them with a DJ. They blast (I mean BLAST) techno and house music and drive all throughout Paris. Young people dress in crazy outfits and just follow the floats all throughout the streets of Paris dancing to the music. It was one of the neatest (albeit a little scary) things to watch. Granted, most of them are in an altered state of consciousness due to various illegal substances, but it’s so funny to see how crazy the people get and how they just let loose and parade throughout the streets in the complete middle of the afternoon. People were climbing up street signs! Oh, it was crazy.
Last night (Saturday), we went out to another pub called the Long Hop. This one had more of a club feel, with dancing and two floors. So fun! It was a great mix of French people and Americans. (Oh, and what I said about French men all being shy – that’s not the case! Some of them are actually quite friendly.) The most fun, though, is going dancing with all my American girlfriends. Europeans and Americans dance very differently. As anyone who has ever been to a club in DC can attest, American dancing, is, well, not PG-rated. French people dance very politely and unfortunately very goofily, making it extremely amusing when my friends and I all get out and go crazy on the dance floor. I’m pretty sure the French guys have no idea what is going on and are probably a little frightened. Great fun.
Last night we met some French ice hockey players. I didn’t know ice hockey existed over here, but apparently it does. I was really confused at first because this guy kept telling me he played “eye-zooky,” and I had no idea what he was talking about until he explained that when water freezes it makes ice and people play a game on said ice with sticks. Ah, the world makes sense again.
The funniest moment of the night was when I was standing outside the pub waiting for a cab with my friends. (Note: cab drivers are unbelievably rude here – before they let you get in the cab you have to tell them where you are going, and if they don’t like the way it sounds they just speed off. One cabbie told my friend last night that he wouldn’t take her home because it was too far and he wanted to go to bed. My cab driver yelled at me and my friend because we accidentally bumped the back of his seat when we were getting in the car. Nice.) Anyway, I was standing with my friends, and all of a sudden these French guys run over to me, pointing at me and saying, “Oh my God, it’s Emma Daumas! Emma Daumas! You are Emma Daumas?” I had to explain that no, I was not Emma Dumas. Apparently, she’s some famous singer over here and they thought I was her. It was pretty funny! (I did some research, and I don’t think I look anything like her.)
Today I went to Mass at this church I found for English-speaking Catholics in Paris, and it was so nice to know how to respond to the priest! (I went to Mass in French last week and felt like a total jerk sitting there in silence because I didn’t know what to sing or say.) The priest was this old Irishman and was absolutely adorable! After Mass I went to one of the many open-air markets in Paris. I met up with my friends and we bought baguettes, brie, all kinds of fruit, pastries, and fresh apple juice and went and picnicked under the Eiffel Tower. Does life get better?
A word about the markets, or marchés (since this entry is of epic length, anyway): never go if you are uncomfortable with your food looking like it was breathing five minutes ago. Any animal part your heart desires can be found at these markets. Hmm, today I saw whole dead chickens complete with black bulging eyes, gigantic cows’ tongues that were probably removed this morning, various livers, kidneys, intestines, ears, feet, tails, you name it. On the flip side, there is no better place than an open-air market if you love good food. Walking down an aisle, for example, you pass the following: a boulangerie stand (50 different types of bread, assorted pastries, muffins, cakes), a poissonerie (any type of fish you can think of, in addition to mussels, clams, shrimp, lobster, etc.), a stand completely dedicated to olives (20 different varieties and various tapenades), a charcuterie stand (any type of sliced meat as well as patés, foie gras, etc.), a fruit stand (the freshest fruit you will ever taste, including my beloved Reine Claudes ), a fromagerie (smelly cheese) and so on. All the vendors call out to you and want you to taste and smell. I love the smells – all except the stinky cheese, of course.
This weekend was also what is called les journées du patrimoine. This happens once a year, and for two days only, hundreds and hundreds of state-owned buildings in France that are usually closed to the public are opened and people can tour them for free. People line up for hours and hours to walk through the Senate, l’Assemblée Nationale, and the Palais de l’Elysées (the President’s residence), among other buildings. My friends and I tried to go see l’Elysées and maybe get a glimpse of old Jacques Chirac, but the wait was literally three hours long to get in and it would have been closed by the time we finally reached it. An opportunity missed, but it sure made me appreciate Capitol and White House tours a lot more!
Tomorrow it’s back to the daily grind with classes and such, but next weekend I am going to Nice to visit some of my sorority sisters who are studying there. My friend Blair and I are taking the TGV (the high speed train), so we’ll see how that goes…
Oh! What a wonderful weekend I had! I am having the most fun. Friday night, immediately after class, my friends and I all met up on this street called Rue de la Huchette, which is a twisty little side street full of fun bars and restaurants. The best deal is always to get a formule or prix-fixe menu, where you get an entrée (which is actually an appetizer), a plat (the main course), and dessert for somewhere around 10 Euros. Not bad! We ended up going to a Greek place that was really yummy, then we all went to Happy Hours (yes, they’re plural here) at a couple of different bars. Happy Hours usually end around 9 here, and we’re never done eating by then, but if you’re a girl they sometimes give you Happy Hours prices no matter what the time, so it’s quite nice. (However, it’s still impossible to get a cocktail here for under 6 Euro, which I guess is something like $8. Not cheap.) So anyway, we ended up going to this Irish pub called Shiwawa. Long story short, I met Sean, this adorable English boy from Cornwall in line for the toilets (co-ed toilets are the norm, here), and he introduced me to his two friends, both named Stuart. (I called them Stuart 1 and Stuart 2.) They were just finishing up a road trip around Europe before heading back to university, and so I introduced them to my friends and we hung out for the rest of the night. It’s so fun to meet people here and learn about how they live and compare life stories, etc. (Not to mention, I am such a sucker for an accent!) Sadly, they went back to Cornwall today, but we’re going to be pen pals, apparently. In any case, now I have friends in Cornwall!
Saturday was a bit of an adventure. I was asked out for coffee by this French guy, Pierre (not even joking about the name), that I met last Tuesday night. He is half French and half Moroccan and not at all my type. I didn’t want to be rude, so I said yes and we met up. It was fun, though! We walked around Paris and he showed me Le Marais, which is this beautiful old part of the city. Traditionally, it is a very Jewish quarter, although now it’s becoming more of a gay area – the Dupont Circle of Paris, if you will. In any case, it’s filled with lots of quaint side streets and there is this beautiful park called Place des Voges that is kind of tucked away – amazing! I’ve said this before, but walking around Paris yesterday I was struck yet again by how full of surprises it is. Yesterday in Place des Voges there was this whole brass band that just set up right there and started playing patriotic music. Along the Seine (right where we ate dinner on that boat, Mom), there was a huge food market that featured delicacies from the different regions of France. (Lots of smelly cheese, wine, and foie gras, obviously.) People were picnicking on Pont des Arts, one of the huge bridges that spans the Seine. You just don’t get that kind of stuff in the U.S.!
One of the coolest (if most bizarre) things I saw though was something called Love Parade, which Pierre told me about. It’s basically these huge parade floats that are tricked out with crazy decorations and have turntables on them with a DJ. They blast (I mean BLAST) techno and house music and drive all throughout Paris. Young people dress in crazy outfits and just follow the floats all throughout the streets of Paris dancing to the music. It was one of the neatest (albeit a little scary) things to watch. Granted, most of them are in an altered state of consciousness due to various illegal substances, but it’s so funny to see how crazy the people get and how they just let loose and parade throughout the streets in the complete middle of the afternoon. People were climbing up street signs! Oh, it was crazy.
Last night (Saturday), we went out to another pub called the Long Hop. This one had more of a club feel, with dancing and two floors. So fun! It was a great mix of French people and Americans. (Oh, and what I said about French men all being shy – that’s not the case! Some of them are actually quite friendly.) The most fun, though, is going dancing with all my American girlfriends. Europeans and Americans dance very differently. As anyone who has ever been to a club in DC can attest, American dancing, is, well, not PG-rated. French people dance very politely and unfortunately very goofily, making it extremely amusing when my friends and I all get out and go crazy on the dance floor. I’m pretty sure the French guys have no idea what is going on and are probably a little frightened. Great fun.
Last night we met some French ice hockey players. I didn’t know ice hockey existed over here, but apparently it does. I was really confused at first because this guy kept telling me he played “eye-zooky,” and I had no idea what he was talking about until he explained that when water freezes it makes ice and people play a game on said ice with sticks. Ah, the world makes sense again.
The funniest moment of the night was when I was standing outside the pub waiting for a cab with my friends. (Note: cab drivers are unbelievably rude here – before they let you get in the cab you have to tell them where you are going, and if they don’t like the way it sounds they just speed off. One cabbie told my friend last night that he wouldn’t take her home because it was too far and he wanted to go to bed. My cab driver yelled at me and my friend because we accidentally bumped the back of his seat when we were getting in the car. Nice.) Anyway, I was standing with my friends, and all of a sudden these French guys run over to me, pointing at me and saying, “Oh my God, it’s Emma Daumas! Emma Daumas! You are Emma Daumas?” I had to explain that no, I was not Emma Dumas. Apparently, she’s some famous singer over here and they thought I was her. It was pretty funny! (I did some research, and I don’t think I look anything like her.)
Today I went to Mass at this church I found for English-speaking Catholics in Paris, and it was so nice to know how to respond to the priest! (I went to Mass in French last week and felt like a total jerk sitting there in silence because I didn’t know what to sing or say.) The priest was this old Irishman and was absolutely adorable! After Mass I went to one of the many open-air markets in Paris. I met up with my friends and we bought baguettes, brie, all kinds of fruit, pastries, and fresh apple juice and went and picnicked under the Eiffel Tower. Does life get better?
A word about the markets, or marchés (since this entry is of epic length, anyway): never go if you are uncomfortable with your food looking like it was breathing five minutes ago. Any animal part your heart desires can be found at these markets. Hmm, today I saw whole dead chickens complete with black bulging eyes, gigantic cows’ tongues that were probably removed this morning, various livers, kidneys, intestines, ears, feet, tails, you name it. On the flip side, there is no better place than an open-air market if you love good food. Walking down an aisle, for example, you pass the following: a boulangerie stand (50 different types of bread, assorted pastries, muffins, cakes), a poissonerie (any type of fish you can think of, in addition to mussels, clams, shrimp, lobster, etc.), a stand completely dedicated to olives (20 different varieties and various tapenades), a charcuterie stand (any type of sliced meat as well as patés, foie gras, etc.), a fruit stand (the freshest fruit you will ever taste, including my beloved Reine Claudes ), a fromagerie (smelly cheese) and so on. All the vendors call out to you and want you to taste and smell. I love the smells – all except the stinky cheese, of course.
This weekend was also what is called les journées du patrimoine. This happens once a year, and for two days only, hundreds and hundreds of state-owned buildings in France that are usually closed to the public are opened and people can tour them for free. People line up for hours and hours to walk through the Senate, l’Assemblée Nationale, and the Palais de l’Elysées (the President’s residence), among other buildings. My friends and I tried to go see l’Elysées and maybe get a glimpse of old Jacques Chirac, but the wait was literally three hours long to get in and it would have been closed by the time we finally reached it. An opportunity missed, but it sure made me appreciate Capitol and White House tours a lot more!
Tomorrow it’s back to the daily grind with classes and such, but next weekend I am going to Nice to visit some of my sorority sisters who are studying there. My friend Blair and I are taking the TGV (the high speed train), so we’ll see how that goes…
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
“Back to school, back to school, to prove to Daddy that I’m not a fool.” –Adam Sandler as Billy Madison
Métro-boulot-dodo. This is a phrase the French use to describe the daily rhythm of life in Paris: first you take the Métro, then you go to your job (un boulot), then you go home and go to sleep (dodo). Although my days aren’t quite like that, I’m settling into somewhat of a routine as well. I had my first real day of classes today, although I probably won’t post this entry until tomorrow, so really it will be yesterday…you get the idea. I am taking five courses in five different buildings in five different areas of the city. The Sorbonne, I have quickly found out, does not really have a campus. It has very many buildings spread all around Paris, making the commute an utter joy. Especially on a day like today – high 80s, no air-conditioning (ANYWHERE), crowds, questionable stenches, oh and to top it off the handles on the tote I was carrying my books in broke. Off. However, Paris seems to have been constructed in such a way so that the moment you feel you’ve reached your breaking point and you’re ready to kick a random Frenchie in the shins, you turn the corner and suddenly you’re looking at a gorgeous monument, statue, or building. Then you kind of forget why you’re pissed. Unless, that is, you’re carrying around a 25-pound tote full of books in your arms – then you remember really quickly.
But, I digress. My classes are as follows: I’m taking two conférences, which are lecture courses (in French) that meet only for an hour once a week. One is a survey of French literature in which I’m not actually required to read anything (not quite sure how that one works out), and the other is Art History (about which I am very excited). Another class, taught in English, is the history of Paris. This one is awesome – half the time is spent in the classroom, but the other half is actually spent out in the city visiting different neighborhoods, historical sites, etc. That meets for two hours twice a week. So, those are the fun ones. Here’s the kicker: I have to take 3 hours of French grammar and phonetics…wait for it…EVERY DAMN DAY. Oh yes. And luckily, I tested into the level “supérieur,” which in French, of course, means, “the one with the most homework.” Ah, c’est la vie.
Métro-boulot-dodo. This is a phrase the French use to describe the daily rhythm of life in Paris: first you take the Métro, then you go to your job (un boulot), then you go home and go to sleep (dodo). Although my days aren’t quite like that, I’m settling into somewhat of a routine as well. I had my first real day of classes today, although I probably won’t post this entry until tomorrow, so really it will be yesterday…you get the idea. I am taking five courses in five different buildings in five different areas of the city. The Sorbonne, I have quickly found out, does not really have a campus. It has very many buildings spread all around Paris, making the commute an utter joy. Especially on a day like today – high 80s, no air-conditioning (ANYWHERE), crowds, questionable stenches, oh and to top it off the handles on the tote I was carrying my books in broke. Off. However, Paris seems to have been constructed in such a way so that the moment you feel you’ve reached your breaking point and you’re ready to kick a random Frenchie in the shins, you turn the corner and suddenly you’re looking at a gorgeous monument, statue, or building. Then you kind of forget why you’re pissed. Unless, that is, you’re carrying around a 25-pound tote full of books in your arms – then you remember really quickly.
But, I digress. My classes are as follows: I’m taking two conférences, which are lecture courses (in French) that meet only for an hour once a week. One is a survey of French literature in which I’m not actually required to read anything (not quite sure how that one works out), and the other is Art History (about which I am very excited). Another class, taught in English, is the history of Paris. This one is awesome – half the time is spent in the classroom, but the other half is actually spent out in the city visiting different neighborhoods, historical sites, etc. That meets for two hours twice a week. So, those are the fun ones. Here’s the kicker: I have to take 3 hours of French grammar and phonetics…wait for it…EVERY DAMN DAY. Oh yes. And luckily, I tested into the level “supérieur,” which in French, of course, means, “the one with the most homework.” Ah, c’est la vie.
Monday, September 11, 2006
"Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
and I am Marie of Romania."
-Dorothy Parker
They don’t call Paris the City of Love without reason. Everyone in Paris is in love. Couples make out in the subway, in cafes, on the street, under bridges, in the toilets. Think of the most un-romantic place possible, and I can almost guarantee you a Parisian couple is making out there this very moment. If you ever find yourself recovering from a bad break-up and think that a vacation to Paris might cheer you up, think again. Your singledom will only be bolded, highlighted, and underlined the moment you step out the door.
The French men who aren’t attached do not provide much help, either. They are actually quite shy, according to Anne-Sophie, the French intern at the Accent Center, and my own personal observations have confirmed this. They won’t come up and start a conversation with you, and I’m sure not going to go up to one and start talking to them, considering the fact that I have the French vocabulary of a five-year-old. Sometimes a French guy will say “oh la la” or some such nonsense when you pass in the street, but that’s no way to actually meet someone. Besides, would I really want to be with a guy who says “oh la la?”
It’s really other foreign men who are the forward ones – especially the Italians, of which there seem to be a lot of in Paris, oddly enough. They hit on you and don’t even try to hide it. Take today, for example. I was meandering around the Carrousel du Louvre, the mini-shopping mall under the Louvre. (My friends went to Giverny today, but I stayed in the city as I had already been and wasn’t willing to shell out the 63 Euro for a repeat trip.) I stopped to get a café crème at a little self-service café. As I was waiting in line, this Italian waiter ran up to me saying “Bella! Bella!” and told me he would help me. He ushered me inside the little coffee shop and made me a café crème himself and asked if I spoke English. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Yes, I speak English.
Waiter: You are so beautiful.
Me [caught off-guard]: Thank you…?
Waiter: Where are you from?
Me: Texas.
Waiter: Oh I love-ah your accent. Texaaaahs. You stay and drink coffee wiz me?
Me [silently praying my café crème will be ready immediately]: Um…Actually I can’t, I’m meeting friends.
Waiter: Oh. What is your name?
Me: I’m Kate.
Waiter: Ohh, like Kate Whiz-late?
Me: Excuse me?
Waiter: Kate Whiz-late.
Me: Ah, Kate Winslet. No, I’m no Kate Winslet.
Waiter: Yes. You Kate Whiz-late, I am Leonardo diCaprio.
Me: Haha.
Waiter: Ah, you smile, you smile. Please tell me how old are you?
Me: I’m 20.
(This elicits a big smile from said waiter.)
Waiter: You are married? Have boyfriend?
Me: Oh, I have a boyfriend. (Ah, what a wonderful phrase – whether it’s true or not, in saying it, you can immediately turn down a man and it’s nothing personal.) He’s very large and could probably break your neck. (Okay, I didn’t add that part.)
Waiter: I wish the best to you and your boyfriend. I hope to find someone as beautiful as you to be with forever.
Me [grabbing the café crème]: Hehe…okay, I’m going to go now, thanks!
Holy Moses. All this while getting a coffee. You have to admire the straightforward-ness, at least – American men would never say things like that! Maybe life would be that much easier if we could all just go up to a potential partner and say, “Hello. I think you are the most gorgeous human being I’ve ever set eyes on. Are you single? Can I get you a café crème?”
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
and I am Marie of Romania."
-Dorothy Parker
They don’t call Paris the City of Love without reason. Everyone in Paris is in love. Couples make out in the subway, in cafes, on the street, under bridges, in the toilets. Think of the most un-romantic place possible, and I can almost guarantee you a Parisian couple is making out there this very moment. If you ever find yourself recovering from a bad break-up and think that a vacation to Paris might cheer you up, think again. Your singledom will only be bolded, highlighted, and underlined the moment you step out the door.
The French men who aren’t attached do not provide much help, either. They are actually quite shy, according to Anne-Sophie, the French intern at the Accent Center, and my own personal observations have confirmed this. They won’t come up and start a conversation with you, and I’m sure not going to go up to one and start talking to them, considering the fact that I have the French vocabulary of a five-year-old. Sometimes a French guy will say “oh la la” or some such nonsense when you pass in the street, but that’s no way to actually meet someone. Besides, would I really want to be with a guy who says “oh la la?”
It’s really other foreign men who are the forward ones – especially the Italians, of which there seem to be a lot of in Paris, oddly enough. They hit on you and don’t even try to hide it. Take today, for example. I was meandering around the Carrousel du Louvre, the mini-shopping mall under the Louvre. (My friends went to Giverny today, but I stayed in the city as I had already been and wasn’t willing to shell out the 63 Euro for a repeat trip.) I stopped to get a café crème at a little self-service café. As I was waiting in line, this Italian waiter ran up to me saying “Bella! Bella!” and told me he would help me. He ushered me inside the little coffee shop and made me a café crème himself and asked if I spoke English. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Yes, I speak English.
Waiter: You are so beautiful.
Me [caught off-guard]: Thank you…?
Waiter: Where are you from?
Me: Texas.
Waiter: Oh I love-ah your accent. Texaaaahs. You stay and drink coffee wiz me?
Me [silently praying my café crème will be ready immediately]: Um…Actually I can’t, I’m meeting friends.
Waiter: Oh. What is your name?
Me: I’m Kate.
Waiter: Ohh, like Kate Whiz-late?
Me: Excuse me?
Waiter: Kate Whiz-late.
Me: Ah, Kate Winslet. No, I’m no Kate Winslet.
Waiter: Yes. You Kate Whiz-late, I am Leonardo diCaprio.
Me: Haha.
Waiter: Ah, you smile, you smile. Please tell me how old are you?
Me: I’m 20.
(This elicits a big smile from said waiter.)
Waiter: You are married? Have boyfriend?
Me: Oh, I have a boyfriend. (Ah, what a wonderful phrase – whether it’s true or not, in saying it, you can immediately turn down a man and it’s nothing personal.) He’s very large and could probably break your neck. (Okay, I didn’t add that part.)
Waiter: I wish the best to you and your boyfriend. I hope to find someone as beautiful as you to be with forever.
Me [grabbing the café crème]: Hehe…okay, I’m going to go now, thanks!
Holy Moses. All this while getting a coffee. You have to admire the straightforward-ness, at least – American men would never say things like that! Maybe life would be that much easier if we could all just go up to a potential partner and say, “Hello. I think you are the most gorgeous human being I’ve ever set eyes on. Are you single? Can I get you a café crème?”
Friday, September 08, 2006
"It is impossible to overdo luxury." -French proverb
NOTE: This was supposed to be posted yesterday but Blogger wasn't working.
For those of you that haven't heard me wax poetic about my new living situation, let me share it with you. I am living with an older French woman named Mme. de Billy (pronounced DUH-BEE-YEE), in a neighborhood just outside the Paris city limits called Neuilly (NUH-YEE). It is phenomenal - the area is residential, with tree-lined streets and beautiful apartment buildings, but it still has a city feel. I am about a 5-minute walk from the Metro, on the same line as the Accent center, so it's super easy to get into the city!
Mme. de Billy is, in a word, wealthy. We live on the ground floor of this ritzy apartment building. Her apartment is gigantic by Parisian standards, and full of beautiful antiques. My room is the best, though - the walls are covered in beautiful red and yellow toile fabric, and there is a big couch in my room covered in the same fabric. I have a twin bed and several chests of drawers and a beautiful old desk. The walls have gorgeous paintings on them and gilt-framed mirrors. My favorite part, though, is that I have two huge French doors that open into a private walled garden. All in all, not a bad arrangement!
Madame, as I call her, is very sweet. During the week, we eat dinner together between 8:30 and 9 (she seems to have a very set schedule), and then she gives me breakfast in the morning. She's in her late 50s, early 60s I would say and she works in public relations, I think. She's incredibly skinny and very chic - une vraie Parisienne! She's been hosting students in her apartment for years. She always askes for a "nice young lady," so I guess I have to be on my best behavior!
Last night, she had one of her friends over for dinner, and we had dinner in the garden - it was incredible! It was one of those moments where I realized just how lucky I am to be here. Her friend is a widow who is a nurse in Paris, so we had a conversation all about the medical profession in France and I told her my mom was a nurse also, etc. She actually wrote a book all about nursing in France and said she'd give me a copy for my mom. She was very talkative and fun to listen to! According to her, everything was "sympa," or "genial," which means great/nice. We drank a lot of wine and when I hesitated to have more because I didn't want her to think I'm a glutton, she said, "Non, non, Katherine, we don't have a complex here. We are friends of Bacchus [the god of wine]!"
Meals here are so different - we had about 6 different courses last night. We started off with tabouleh, which is this amazing couscous salad with tomatoes, mint, raisins, etc. Then we had ham slices and bread, then a crepe filled with egg and cheese. After that was a green salad with olive oil and chives, followed by a cheese course. I'm not a big smelly cheese fan, but this cheese was amazing! There was this cheese from the Basque region of Spain that you eat with cherry jelly, as well as this really soft cheese with walnuts on top that tasted vaguely maple-y. Mmm. After cheese comes fruit - we had these tiny little plums called Reines-Claudes (I'm not sure on the spelling) that were the most amazing fruit I've ever put in my mouth. They look like tiny green apples, but they have a plummy texture and are super sweet and juicy. I've never seen them in the U.S., but if you ever get the chance to try one, don't pass it up! Finally, we each had a piece of fudge. Heaven!
I get the results of my French language placement exam tomorrow, as well as my class schedule. I also have my first French class tomorrow evening - classes here don't seem to start before noon, and my French class is from 5-7pm every evening.Basically, Paris is absolutely amazing (still) and plein de surprises (full of surprises)!ALSO, you can write to me (or send packages*) to this address:
Kate Sullivan
c/o ACCENT Paris
89, Rue du Faubourg Saint Antoine
75011 Paris
FRANCE
*My mom has probably freaked out and told you I can't receive packages because customs taxes are too high, but as long as you write "NO COMMERCIAL VALUE" on the box, it's fine. Also, please be sure to write AIRMAIL on envelopes/packages.
NOTE: This was supposed to be posted yesterday but Blogger wasn't working.
For those of you that haven't heard me wax poetic about my new living situation, let me share it with you. I am living with an older French woman named Mme. de Billy (pronounced DUH-BEE-YEE), in a neighborhood just outside the Paris city limits called Neuilly (NUH-YEE). It is phenomenal - the area is residential, with tree-lined streets and beautiful apartment buildings, but it still has a city feel. I am about a 5-minute walk from the Metro, on the same line as the Accent center, so it's super easy to get into the city!
Mme. de Billy is, in a word, wealthy. We live on the ground floor of this ritzy apartment building. Her apartment is gigantic by Parisian standards, and full of beautiful antiques. My room is the best, though - the walls are covered in beautiful red and yellow toile fabric, and there is a big couch in my room covered in the same fabric. I have a twin bed and several chests of drawers and a beautiful old desk. The walls have gorgeous paintings on them and gilt-framed mirrors. My favorite part, though, is that I have two huge French doors that open into a private walled garden. All in all, not a bad arrangement!
Madame, as I call her, is very sweet. During the week, we eat dinner together between 8:30 and 9 (she seems to have a very set schedule), and then she gives me breakfast in the morning. She's in her late 50s, early 60s I would say and she works in public relations, I think. She's incredibly skinny and very chic - une vraie Parisienne! She's been hosting students in her apartment for years. She always askes for a "nice young lady," so I guess I have to be on my best behavior!
Last night, she had one of her friends over for dinner, and we had dinner in the garden - it was incredible! It was one of those moments where I realized just how lucky I am to be here. Her friend is a widow who is a nurse in Paris, so we had a conversation all about the medical profession in France and I told her my mom was a nurse also, etc. She actually wrote a book all about nursing in France and said she'd give me a copy for my mom. She was very talkative and fun to listen to! According to her, everything was "sympa," or "genial," which means great/nice. We drank a lot of wine and when I hesitated to have more because I didn't want her to think I'm a glutton, she said, "Non, non, Katherine, we don't have a complex here. We are friends of Bacchus [the god of wine]!"
Meals here are so different - we had about 6 different courses last night. We started off with tabouleh, which is this amazing couscous salad with tomatoes, mint, raisins, etc. Then we had ham slices and bread, then a crepe filled with egg and cheese. After that was a green salad with olive oil and chives, followed by a cheese course. I'm not a big smelly cheese fan, but this cheese was amazing! There was this cheese from the Basque region of Spain that you eat with cherry jelly, as well as this really soft cheese with walnuts on top that tasted vaguely maple-y. Mmm. After cheese comes fruit - we had these tiny little plums called Reines-Claudes (I'm not sure on the spelling) that were the most amazing fruit I've ever put in my mouth. They look like tiny green apples, but they have a plummy texture and are super sweet and juicy. I've never seen them in the U.S., but if you ever get the chance to try one, don't pass it up! Finally, we each had a piece of fudge. Heaven!
I get the results of my French language placement exam tomorrow, as well as my class schedule. I also have my first French class tomorrow evening - classes here don't seem to start before noon, and my French class is from 5-7pm every evening.Basically, Paris is absolutely amazing (still) and plein de surprises (full of surprises)!ALSO, you can write to me (or send packages*) to this address:
Kate Sullivan
c/o ACCENT Paris
89, Rue du Faubourg Saint Antoine
75011 Paris
FRANCE
*My mom has probably freaked out and told you I can't receive packages because customs taxes are too high, but as long as you write "NO COMMERCIAL VALUE" on the box, it's fine. Also, please be sure to write AIRMAIL on envelopes/packages.
Monday, September 04, 2006
I am at the Accent Center, which is where the Paris study abroad program for AU is run. Everyone on my program is pretty much clueless as to what is going on, but I assume that's normal...Tomorrow we have an orientation all day, where apparently we find out the family we are living with, our class schedule, etc. But for now, they have stuck us in a hotel/hostel/merde-hole, with the misleading name Hotel de France. You'd think the Hotel of France would be luxurious, non? Non.
The elevator, (which is really just a black box attached to a string) goes up to the third floor. I am on the fourth. Picture, if you will, carrying a three-foot-wide, 68.7 pound suitcase up a narrow spiral staircase with no air-conditioning. Lovely. But, I won't complain - I am in Paris! The city of light, love, and expensive beverages! I will keep you posted as I learn more.
The elevator, (which is really just a black box attached to a string) goes up to the third floor. I am on the fourth. Picture, if you will, carrying a three-foot-wide, 68.7 pound suitcase up a narrow spiral staircase with no air-conditioning. Lovely. But, I won't complain - I am in Paris! The city of light, love, and expensive beverages! I will keep you posted as I learn more.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living." -Miriam Beard
I am sitting, of all places, in a diner around the corner from our hotel called "Breakfast in America." My mother and I met this American man who is a partner in the diner while we were in the laundromat yesterday. (Word to the wise: if you put any sort of colored garment in a French washing machine, be prepared for it to come out completely faded as if you've washed it daily for ten years.) The beauty of this diner is that not only do they fill up your coffee cup (FOR FREE!) after you drink your coffee, but they have free internet! What a blessing.
My mother and I have been all over the place - yesterday was the Louvre (four hours and we only saw 1/3 of it). We also thought they had Mass in English in Notre Dame at 2:30 in the afternoon yesterday, so we went and sat in the church for half an hour, wondering why they weren't blocking off the middle for Mass and why there were so many tourists still milling around. I finally got up to go look in front, and realized that they give a TOUR in English at 2:30 in the afternoon on Saturdays - not Mass. Whoops!
I could sit here and wax poetic about all the sights we've seen, how amazing they are, etc., etc., but in my opinion, words won't do them justice - they are something you have to see for yourself. (Hint, hint - get off your butt and come visit me!)
I will, however, share some more observations my mother and I have made about the French:
1. They love American music and movie stars. I have yet to go into an establishment not playing American Top 40 or the greatest American hits of 1984. French MTV only plays American videos. I'm beginning to think there is no such thing as the French music industry, because as far as I can tell, no one listens to it. Also, Tom Cruise is on the cover of every magazine.
2. The mullet, worn without irony, in all its forms, is a perfectly respectable hairstyle for both men and women. No joke, my mother and I saw a couple in the Louvre with, hold your breath, MATCHING mullets. I would have taken a picture for your viewing pleasure, but we were in a gallery that doesn't allow photography. I must have seen at least 15 mullets yesterday.
3. Cowboy boots are very popular, oddly enough. I'm really glad I brought mine!
4. Parisian girls, lauded for their stylishness, are just not that good looking. They are all thin as rails, of course, but most that I've seen just kind of look sloppy, and they don't wear make-up. Maybe I'm just staying in an un-stylish quartier, but in my opinion, my American friends dress way better!
5. Coca-cola is a luxury item. We've seen 8 Euro charged for it in some cafes. It's much cheaper to drink wine, but you have to order a carafe of the house wine to really save money - otherwise bottles can get really expensive.
Well I must go finish my bottomless coffee, but keep checking back - I will post pictures soon! Also, tomorrow is when my program officially starts. How I am going to wheel my immense amount of baggage around Paris, I can't fathom, but I will keep you posted.
I am sitting, of all places, in a diner around the corner from our hotel called "Breakfast in America." My mother and I met this American man who is a partner in the diner while we were in the laundromat yesterday. (Word to the wise: if you put any sort of colored garment in a French washing machine, be prepared for it to come out completely faded as if you've washed it daily for ten years.) The beauty of this diner is that not only do they fill up your coffee cup (FOR FREE!) after you drink your coffee, but they have free internet! What a blessing.
My mother and I have been all over the place - yesterday was the Louvre (four hours and we only saw 1/3 of it). We also thought they had Mass in English in Notre Dame at 2:30 in the afternoon yesterday, so we went and sat in the church for half an hour, wondering why they weren't blocking off the middle for Mass and why there were so many tourists still milling around. I finally got up to go look in front, and realized that they give a TOUR in English at 2:30 in the afternoon on Saturdays - not Mass. Whoops!
I could sit here and wax poetic about all the sights we've seen, how amazing they are, etc., etc., but in my opinion, words won't do them justice - they are something you have to see for yourself. (Hint, hint - get off your butt and come visit me!)
I will, however, share some more observations my mother and I have made about the French:
1. They love American music and movie stars. I have yet to go into an establishment not playing American Top 40 or the greatest American hits of 1984. French MTV only plays American videos. I'm beginning to think there is no such thing as the French music industry, because as far as I can tell, no one listens to it. Also, Tom Cruise is on the cover of every magazine.
2. The mullet, worn without irony, in all its forms, is a perfectly respectable hairstyle for both men and women. No joke, my mother and I saw a couple in the Louvre with, hold your breath, MATCHING mullets. I would have taken a picture for your viewing pleasure, but we were in a gallery that doesn't allow photography. I must have seen at least 15 mullets yesterday.
3. Cowboy boots are very popular, oddly enough. I'm really glad I brought mine!
4. Parisian girls, lauded for their stylishness, are just not that good looking. They are all thin as rails, of course, but most that I've seen just kind of look sloppy, and they don't wear make-up. Maybe I'm just staying in an un-stylish quartier, but in my opinion, my American friends dress way better!
5. Coca-cola is a luxury item. We've seen 8 Euro charged for it in some cafes. It's much cheaper to drink wine, but you have to order a carafe of the house wine to really save money - otherwise bottles can get really expensive.
Well I must go finish my bottomless coffee, but keep checking back - I will post pictures soon! Also, tomorrow is when my program officially starts. How I am going to wheel my immense amount of baggage around Paris, I can't fathom, but I will keep you posted.
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