In Which I Reference Willy Wonka Twice...

I'm pretty sure everyone has their own conception of what heaven is. There's the traditional version: angels with wings, strumming harps on clouds, Saint Peter at the gates...Then there's my personal version, where just beyond Saint Peter there's an enormous library (Beauty and the Beast style...'cause that's how I roll), only instead of the Beast showing me around it's Johnny Depp and he's speaking in an Irish accent, just like in Chocolat (although, let's be honest, I'd take pretty much any incarnation of Johnny Depp except Willy Wonka. And maybe the creepy corn guy from Secret Window).

At least, that was heaven before I got to France. But the City of Lights has made me greedy. Now if I were sitting in my library and Mr. Depp tried to feed me a truffle I would shout, "No Johnny! Do you think simple chocolates hold any attraction for me, who has tasted one of the most divine concoctions known to humankind? Get it together man!" And then Johnny would shuffle off to the ice cream shop around the corner and bring me back a cone brimming with Berthillon ice cream.

Yes, the object of my obsession is none other than Berthillon, aka ambrosia of the ice cream gods. Tucked away in an unassuming shop on the Ile Saint-Louis are some of the most delicious, delicate and accurate flavors I have ever tasted. And by accurate, I mean these people have the ability to translate any taste perfectly into expensive, conveniently-sized scoops.

I know what you're thinking. It's just ice cream. This is theoretically true, and before every trip I try to tell myself that. But then I take one bite and I'm all: "The raspberries taste like raspberries. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!" As one of my friends put it: "This is what ice cream aspires to be."

My top five flavors (in no particular order) are:

1) Caramel au beurre sale (salted butter carmel...with crunchy bits of salt and sugar inside)
2) Raspberry (tastes like a real raspberry, and is also the most gorgeous deep red color)
3) Speculoos (this mysterious flavor that one of my friends ordered the other day; it turned out to be a wonderful gingerbread/snickerdoodle combination)
4) Pear (odd flavor for an ice cream, but wonderful nonetheless)
5) Chocolate (classic)

So there you have it. The reason that I will be leaving Paris both impoverished and obese. And lest you think I have had my fill, here is the complete list of flavors. I know it's in French, but I think you can get the gist. Delicious is a universal language.

One Down, Eight to Go

Congratulations are in order (for me, of course). Today I celebrated my one-month anniversary with France. And I am still lodged firmly in the honeymoon stage. I've seen and done a lot of great things in the past four weeks, and I have every reason to believe that the year is going to be a good one.

To celebrate this auspicious occasion, I spent the afternoon at the Musee Rodin, but that merits another, more intellectual, post. For now I offer you this, a brief summary of my first four weeks in France:


Countries Visited: 1, but I'm working on it

Museums Visited: 4 (but not the Louvre)

Times I've been asked for directions: Twice (!) ONCE BY A FRENCH WOMAN, AND I ANSWERED CORRECTLY BOTH TIMES. Both instances occurred last night. I was probably approached because the French couple next to be was engaged in a make-out session bordering on cannibalism, hence unavailable. But I like to think it was because I looked like a local.

Calories Consumed: I don't want to talk about it. This could easily be broken down into subcategories: Crepes eaten; scoops ordered at Berthillon; pounds of goat cheese eaten; whole baguettes devoured. And I wouldn't want to talk about any of those either.

Favorite Cross-Cultural Experience: My first night with my Parisian family, my host mom told me that we would be eating an earlier dinner that Friday, as her boyfriend would be visiting. This was followed by silence. And then my host sister started doing the awkward turtle.

Strangest Musical Choices: Probably a toss-up between these two, both of which met with widespread approval at the bar we were at last night.

Best (or worst) Renaming Job:

McDreamy=Dr. Mamour
McSteamy=Dr. Glamour

Best Movie Poster Seen in the Metro:

I don't know if you can read the blurb at the top, but it translates to the following: "One of the greatest affairs of espionage in the 20th century."--Ronald Reagan. RONALD REAGAN. As in, Ronald "Where's the rest of me?" Reagan. Now, I know that this quote refers to some Cold War espionage business, and not the movie itself. But I really love the idea that Ronald Reagan so loved this random French movie that he felt compelled to communicate his approval from beyond the grave. I don't know how this worked, but I feel like Miss Cleo was somehow involved.

Since this is probably not what actually happened, I have to say that the French are pretty ballsy, using a dead ex-President to sell one of their movies. It makes me wonder if Americans shouldn't try same thing. Charles de Gaulle hawking New Moon, perhaps?

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Overall, a successful month. On one hand, I've happy to have reached this milestone. It feels like an accomplishment, to have gone a month without suffering homesickness, culture shock or Grippe A. At the same time, I'm reminded of just how fast this year is going to go by. I'm just thankful I'm at the beginning of it, with eight more months to soak up Paris.

Here We Go Again

Another update! You lucky, lucky people. Be thankful that (a) I am feeling bored and narcissistic right now (b) I had my first class today, and thought that you might like to know how it went.

I'll be taking five classes overall, but this week I only have my two program center classes to worry about. Today, I woke up bright and early and headed off to my first class, the title of which roughly translates to "The History of Paris Through Its Monuments." The class meets for four hours one day a week, and is split into two parts. It starts with an hour and a half of lecture, followed by an hour-long lunch break, and finally an hour and a half of site visits. Over the course of the semester, we will study (and then visit) the Louvre, l'Opera Garnier, the Montparnasse neighborhood and the Centre Pompidou (among others). I know, my life is rough.

Today's excursion took us to the Ile de la Cite, one of two islands (the other being l'Ile Saint-Louis) in the middle of the Seine. The city essentially started here, so some of Paris's oldest buildings are found on the island. We saw Sainte-Chapelle and the Palais de Justice from the outside, then headed over to Notre Dame. Is it bad that this was playing in my head the whole time? I think not.

In all seriousness, the cathedral is absolutely wonderful, even if there are no musically-inclined hunchbacks hanging out in the bell tower. It's hard to believe that it was pretty neglected for years, until the appearance of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, after which everyone realized that it was a pretty cool building. It is, in fact, considered an example of perfect proportions. Apparently it is the Baby Bear of cathedrals, not too big, not too small, but just right. Given the fact that it's been standing for over 700 years, despite the French Revolution and years of neglect, I think I would have to agree.

Coming Attractions
-a rundown of my Sweet Briar theater class (which starts tomorrow morning)
-a commemoration of my first month in France
-a post on the parks of Paris

Old and New

One great thing about studying in Paris (besides, you know, the museums and the fashion and the architecture and the bread...) is the chance to experience all of the above with friends. And this weekend was all about spending time with friends--both old and new.

Friday afternoon, I saw enough of the Eiffel Tower to last me for the rest of the year. First I saw it from land while picnicking with some friends. Then I saw it from the Seine, while riding a Bateaux Mouche with a bunch of other Sweet Briar students. Yes, the boats are disgustingly touristy, but they do give you a great view of many Parisian landmarks. And afterwards a group of Sweet Briar friends and I treated ourselves to Berthillon ice cream. This ice cream will get its own post here one day, considering that I ordered five scoops of it within two days. I want to thank Mr. Berthillon for sacrificing his soul so we can all enjoy this ice cream.

On Saturday, I met up with Mary, a high-school friend studying several hours outside Paris. We spent the afternoon wandering the city, mostly the Marais, which is a neighborhood in the 3eme and 4eme arrondissements of Paris.

Aside: Paris is the perfect city for people like me. And by this, I mean people who have the directional sense of a lemming. Everything is so beautiful and there are so many things to see and do that you're bound to end up somewhere interesting. Case in point, Mary and I turned down a side street and ended up standing in front of Paris's (alleged) oldest house, formerly owned by Nicholas Flamel. (Bonus points for any readers who know why this is cool...)

Mary does not get bonus points, as she is one of those weird people who cannot name every minor character in the Harry Potter series. Still, I have never been so happy to be lost. My happiness increased when we stumbled upon a covered market that I had read about, known as the Marche des Enfants Rouges (Market of Red Children). The market is absolutely packed with food stands and vendors, and it was the perfect spot to pick up a cheap dinner before our evening out.

Said evening out brought us face-to-face with a newer side of Paris at a concert in Pigalle, the red-light district. I expected that the France would put the U.S. to shame by classing up their sex quarter. Parisians are generally so refined and elegant that I couldn't imagine them being as dirty as us, even when it came to their baser instincts. But then I exited the Metro, and was immediately greeted by the blinking neon sign of the "Sexodrome," and my inferiority complex promptly vanished.

The concert itself was held at a venue just a few minutes away from the Moulin Rouge. It was pretty small, but absolutely packed with people. The artist's name was Ray Lamontagne, a Vermonter with a very cool, folksy sound. I think I'll definitely be breaking out some of his slower songs for stress relief during finals week. But I preferred his faster stuff, notably what I think was this song, which literally had the theater shaking.

Sunday, I met up with yet another group of friends, this time two of my former dorm-mates from Northwestern. Yes, I am enormously popular. We ventured over to the Musee de l'Orangerie, located in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens, to take advantage of the Journees des Patrimoines. Basically, for one weekend a year, museums across Europe are completely free, and normally closed buildings (i.e. Sarkozy's house and the French Senate) are opened to the public. I didn't much feel like standing in line for three hours to see Nicholas and Carla's living room, so l'Orangerie was a perfect alternative.

The museum is fairly small, which I actually liked. I love art and I love museums. So art museums are great, but I tend to get pretty worn out after a couple hours. Especially when one of my friends is carrying around a delicious-smelling baguette in her purse the whole time (thanks Julie). Anyway, the Orangerie has lots of great pieces, but the highlight is absolutely Les Nympheas, a collection of Monet's water lily paintings.

Of course, I've seen similar paintings before. The Art Institute, notably, has a phenomenal Impressionist collection. But I had never seen water lily paintings displayed like this before. You walk into two huge white rooms with nothing on the walls except the paintings themselves. And they are enormous. Completely surrounded by these tableaux, I felt like I was inside Monet's dream world. And it was not a terrible place to be.

I wrapped up the weekend with a late lunch in the Tuileries, and accordion music on the Metro ride home. All in all, a successful weekend. I wrote before about the dichotomy of Paris, the contrast between its unpleasant and beautiful faces. But the city somehow manages to unify all these facets of itself, so that in one weekend you can visit the oldest house in Paris, take in a concert in the red-light district, or spend some time with the Impressionists. And whether you visit these old and new places with old or new friends, it's all Paris. And it's all pretty wonderful.

Setting Out

Hello all,

Sorry for the relatively long hiatus between posts. I was originally postponing this post until I got some pictures to put with it. That took a surprisingly long time because, well, I'm a paranoid person convinced that there are hordes of pickpockets waiting to swarm me every time I step within 500 feet of a Metro station. The only person who has accosted me, thus far, was an Asian girl asking me if I believe in God (Answer: I believe in catching my train more), but that didn't mean the criminals weren't out there. Finally, however, I summoned up my courage, locked my camera bag to the inside of my purse (I wish I was kidding) and now have photographic evidence that I am finally in Paris.

In Paris. It's surreal being here after so many months of planning and anticipation. I don't know that I'll ever get my head around the fact that my life--for the next year, at least--is here now. This was particularly difficult to comprehend in my first few days here, when I felt a bit out-of-sync with the city. I woke up on my first morning here with no motivation to venture out of bed. This reluctance stemmed partly from a poorly-timed, and rather nasty, cold. But it also came from a dawning realization that I was living in a European city filled with millions of foreign people and thousands of unknown streets. Taking the Metro seemed scary, let alone going to the post office or registering for classes. But finally, fearful of being seen as the lazy American on my first day with my host family, I took my first steps onto the streets of Paris.

And after that, it all got easier. Yes, I did avoid the Metro entirely my first day (you'd think the El would have beaten out my fear of public transit, but apparently not), but the sights of Paris will do wonders for the psyche.

I don't want this blog to turn into a laundry list of places I've visited (the Eiffel Tower! How original!). But, in the interest of time, I'm going to give you a laundry list off places I've visited over the past week. Some of these sites merit more in-depth posts, but I'll get to those later. Anyway, here's the week, day by day:

Saturday-Luxembourg Gardens

Sunday-Luxembourg Gardens again, the Opera Garnier, Eglise Madeleine, Place de la Concorde and Tuileries Gardens

Monday-Luxembourg Gardens yet again, and I did some other stuff....that I don't remember right now (I know, this is terrible. I vow to get much, much better with blogging/journaling).

Tuesday-Walking tour of the 5eme and 6eme arrondissements, lunch in the Greek Quarter, first sight of Notre Dame (this trip) and back to....the Luxembourg Gardens

Wednesday-Post office (not really a sight, but still important), Notre Dame, Shakespeare & Co. (absolutely one of my favorite places in Paris thus far), Berthillon (for the best ice cream in Paris), Place des Vosges, Victor Hugo's apartment and the Place de la Bastille

Thursday-Two methodology courses and my bed (the week finally caught up with me)

This weekend will be equally busy, though I'm not sure that taking a boat tour of the Seine and going to a concert in Montmartre really counts as being "busy," in the same way as going to the store. I'm looking forward to exploring some of the as-yet unknown neighborhoods of the city.

Of course, Paris is not perfect. And I've had a few minor brushes with the unpleasant side of the city (Note to creepy guy at the post office: Your penchant for standing uncomfortably close to American girls in front of you in line is not attractive. It is pervy and unacceptable. If I ever see you again, I will be forced to do more than weave continuously from side to side and glare nastily at you. Good day). But the fact remains that Paris is a beautiful city.

The best representation I can find of this dichotomy is something I saw yesterday in the Metro. It was rush hour, and I was navigating the tunnels with the rest of the herd when I heard music. Of course, I've seen a million performers in subway stations across the U.S., generally with open guitar or saxophone cases close by. But this was something different. As I mounted a flight of steps, I saw the musician, strumming away at his harp. A harp. The man was playing an honest-to-God harp. I can't even begin to imagine the logistics of navigating a harp through the Metro. But there it was, amidst the dirt and grime of a Metro station. It was a little moment, but it will stick with me for a while as a representation of my new city. The honeymoon stage is still on.

A bientot,

Alanna

Au Revoir Tours...

Just a quick update today, as there really isn't that much news. But I did find out where I will be living for my next nine months in Paris!! Drumroll please....

I will be living in the 15th arrondissement , in the southwest part of Paris. My host family consists of a woman (divorced, I'm assuming), her 23-year old son (who lives with his dad), her 20-year old daughter and another 13-year old daughter. The 15th isn't the most centrally located arrondissement in Paris, and it's heavily residential. But I'm still really excited to be living in Paris itself (not a suburb) and to have a family with kids. Also, the 15th is one of the arrondissements containing the Montparnasse district, where lots of important artsy people hung out back in the day and the Cimitiere Montparnasse, where they all hang out now. Needless to say, I am very excited.

Although I've only been here for two weeks, I will always have very fond memories of Tours. I feel like there are so many things that I haven't done here, and I'm definitely planning a return visit sometime in the future. So, in honor of Tours, I present the following list of things I will miss about the city:

-the twice-weekly Marche aux Fleurs, where vendors line the center of town with hundreds upon hundreds of flowers
-going out for drinks (coffee or otherwise) on the Place Plumereau
-being ridiculously close to about 1,500 different chateaux, all of them beautiful
-the food...oh my gosh the food
-spending an afternoon with wine and baguettes on the banks of the Loire
-Everything about last night (aka, people in robes and masks taking random bystanders away and reading erotic poetry to them, a guy leading a goat around on a leash, a man walking around inside a box, said box befriending the aforementioned goat, later seeing a man chasing what may have been the same goat in a completely different part of town)
-La Guinguette
-tour guides with epic mustaches at the Musee des Beaux-Arts
-Romeo (the family dog) and his Cone of Shame
-My host family, who have been so incredibly wonderful and helpful. They gave me the perfect welcome to France.

I feel like I've been here for two months instead of two weeks, but in a good way. I feel like I've had time to make a lot of great memories in Tours, and it makes me think that I'll make countless more in Paris.

A bientot,

Alanna

It's Normal...Too Normal

I always expected to get sick when I came to France. Not with a headache, or a cold. Not even with the dreaded swine flu (Grippe A, en francais). No, the sickness that would strike me down would be that most horrible and merciless of all foreign diseases: culture shock. I was warned time and time again, by pamphlets at the study abroad office, by fellow students who had braved overseas study and, most notably, by a faintly terrifying article sent to me by my own program.

Contained in this article is a description of the second stage of culture shock. This unnamed period follows the short-lived honeymoon phase, and brings with it such symptoms as “excessive washing of the hands.” (Good for preventing Grippe A). “The second stage of culture shock is in a sense the crisis in the disease,” the article warns, “If you come out of it, you stay; if not, you leave before you reach the stage of a nervous breakdown.”

Needless to say, I was rather concerned by this. But, despite all trepidation, settling into French life has not been difficult so far. Actually, the strangest thing about life here is how not strange everything is. There are, as far as I can tell, three main reasons for this disturbing normalcy:

a) I’ve only been here for 12 days at this point. Duh. I haven’t even been out of the States for two weeks. And it’s not as if I would be going to class or working if I were back at Northwestern. So I still feel like I’m on a slightly extended vacation in some country where they just happen to speak a strange-sounding language and eat lots of cheese.

b) Tours is a very insular environment. Lest you think me hyper-critical, let me assure you that I am really enjoying my time here. I love, love, love my host family; the town is beautiful and charming; the food is delicious; the people (both on the Sweet Briar program and in the city itself) are incredibly nice. But so far I’ve managed to avoid any major—or even moderate—inconveniences. Classes are made up exclusively of Sweet Briar students and my section rarely gets homework. Plus, I speak mostly in English when I’m with friends outside of the program center. So far, I would estimate that I’ve had 10 actual encounters in which I had to speak French to people outside of my host family. And at least two of these encounters have gone as follows:

Alanna: Un sandwich, s’il vous plait.

Sandwich Lady: €3.85, s’il vous plait. [Takes my money and hands me the sandwich].

Alanna: Merci. [Walks off triumphantly, hard-won lunch in hand]

Yes, my life is a seventh-grade French textbook.

Again, I don’t mean to be critical of the program. I think spending two weeks in Tours is actually a really good idea. It gives us a chance to practice our French and get used to studying again, while softening the blow of culture shock.

c) The last reason for this normalcy is, I think, the fact that I am living with a French family. The past two times I visited European countries, I was living it up tourist-style. Most of you know exactly what I’m talking about (I can say this with reasonable certainty because I have a good idea as to who is reading my blog, all five of you). Most days are itinerated. You’re living in ho(s)tels, eating at restaurants, taking thousands of photos a day. It’s really obvious that you are on a Vacation, having lots of Adventures and visiting Important Cultural Destinations.

Living in a family changes that rhythm significantly. I get up every morning, make myself some toast, go to class, eat dinner at the same table, with the same napkin, every night (the green napkin because, in the words of my host family “Tu es irlandaise”) and fall asleep in the same bed. I’ve had days where I’ve visited chateaux or museums. But I’ve also had days like yesterday, where I spent all afternoon reading Gone With the Wind on the swing in my host family’s garden. (Eunice, if you are one of the above-mentioned five readers, it is a really good book). I guess there is the danger of getting too lazy, but it does make for a more relaxing and authentic transition into a new country.

In short: Living in France is not as strange as I thought it would be. I guess this is a good thing. But it seems almost too easy. How am I supposed to “find myself” and start my “journey of self-discovery” if nothing seems that different?

Still, I am sure that this normalcy will change as soon as I get to Paris, start classes and have to interact with French government officials. There will eventually come a day, standing over a Parisian sink, hands bloody from over-washing, when I will look back on this entry and shed a tear for these simple days. But that’s for another day. For now, I’m just enjoying my last—normal—days in Tours.

A bientot,

Alanna