One Third Down...

Another month has gone by, and this time I really have no clue what I've been doing with my life. Between a bout of illness a few weeks ago, and the realization that maybe I should not have put off doing all of my homework for nine weeks, I haven't been exploring Paris nearly as much as I'd like. I've taken a couple international trips, enjoyed a couple of excursions in and around Paris and visited a few museums and monuments for the first time. But an unreasonable amount of my days have been spent curled up in bed, sleeping, working or (more often than healthy) pretending to work. I was just getting used to Paris in the fall, and now all of a sudden it's almost December, I have less than a month of classes, and the semester students on my program are already getting to leave. Again, let me reiterate how glad I am that I chose to stay the year. I'm already terrified by how the months are flying by, but I can at least comfort myself with the fact that six months still sounds like a lot of time. If I were down to my last three weeks I would be breaking into preemptive tears every time I saw the Eiffel Tower and gorging myself on every pastry, baguette and cheese wheel in sight (actually, I am doing that last part).

Happily, you all have six more months before you get to stop reading about my life. And despite the fact that I have spent most of this month in my bedroom, I've gotten out enough to give a quick recap of the past four weeks.

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Countries Visited: 3 (Belgium, Poland and Ireland)

Greatest Shame: I still have not visited an art museum that may or may not be one of the most famous in the world. I'll give you a hint: it starts with "L" and rhymes with "Groove" and according to Dan Brown Francois Mitterrand turned it into a satanic haven.

Favorite Metro Stop: Leave it to Paris to ensure that even their Metro stops are attractive. Most people have seen photos of the art nouveau above-ground signs. But the fun doesn't stop there. Many of the stations have elaborate interior decorations as well. Sometimes these are themed. For example, the Varenne stop is the closest to the Musee Rodin, and decorated with full-sized casts of "The Thinker" and "Monument to Balzac." And the Concorde stop is decorated, in true revolutionary style, with the text of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (isn't Independence just so much more concise?)

But my favorite stop has to be Louvre-Rivoli. It is, appropriately enough, the stop for the Louvre, and it features replicas of pieces from the museum collection. It's all dark and dramatic, and if I were a bum in Paris this is definitely where I would hang out.

Favorite Street/Metro performer: There are a lot of musicians and artists in Paris. One of my favorite things about the city is its wide variety of subway musicians. The accordionists tend to stick to the tourist-pleasing standards ("La Vie en Rose," "I Love Paris"), but some of the performers add charm to dark, crowded stations drenched in various bodily fluids. The only thing that gets me through a transfer at Chatelet is the prospect of seeing my beloved Peruvian folk band. And there's no better stress reliever than the strains of "Ave Maria" floating down a Metro tunnel at you.

But it was not until last week that I found my favorite street performer of all time. I was crossing a bridge off of Ile-de-la-Cite, right next to Notre Dame, when I heard the plaintive notes of one of the most romantic songs of all time. I turned my head to see the singer, and then laughed for approximately eight and a half minutes straight.

Only in Paris can I be serenaded by a puppeteer and his foot-high marionette, complete with guitar and microphone, assuring me that I am, indeed, beautiful.

Most Bewildering Moment: On the rare occasion that I need nourishment that a boulangerie or patisserie can't provide, I head across the street to my local Monoprix. Monoprix is kind of like French Super Target, selling everything from clothing to books to food. I have come to enjoy these trips to Monoprix, as I always leave with a greater sense of cultural understanding.

For instance, you can tell what French people's priorities are by the fact that every Monoprix in Paris has a vast selection of incredibly cheap wine (not that I've ever even stepped foot into that section, Mom and Dad) and an entire aisle devoted to cheese. But you can also tell a lot about how the French view other countries, notably America.

I was standing in the checkout line the other day, counting out euros to avoid the wrath of French cashiers who are apparently incapable of making change, when my eyes fell upon a shelf at the end of an aisle. I'm very upset that I did not get a picture of it, but I'll describe it as best I can.

This aisle was labeled "U.S./Japan," and was apparently devoted to the cuisine of America and Japan, which, as you know, is nearly identical. The Japanese got the bottom half of the shelf, which was filled with fairly innocuous noodles and soy sauces. But the American half of the shelf was truly a celebration of a country that unites some of the most diverse culinary traditions in the world. It was filled with the following:

-pancake mix
-microwave popcorn
-Pop Tarts
-Oreos
-peanut butter

and

-Marshmallow Fluff

I must admit that I am an American, and I do love six of the above seven items (sorry Orville Redenbaccher, but even your light, fluffy popping corn and adorable old man name can't tempt me) But seriously? Seriously. This is what the French think of us.

Best Instances of French Passive-Aggressiveness:

One thing that I've realized since coming to Paris is that the French are either enormously rude or enormously frank depending on your interpretation. Often, they are both. I've heard stories of host parents remarking on weight ("I got you a special chair because you're too big for the other ones"), sleeping habits ("It's not healthy. Everyone else lives between 8:00 and 8:00; you live between 12:00 and 12:00") and both simultaneously ("If you got up earlier in the morning, you'd have time to run..."). My host mom has refrained from any personal attacks on me, but I have been subject to the following two exchanges, both of which were hilarious, yet indirectly insulting.

#1 (related to the above Monoprix post)

HM (Host Mom): So, is Chicago famous for any specific food? Because we had a student from Vermont who brought us maple syrup. And there was another girl from Seattle who told us that they eat a lot of salmon there. Does Chicago have anything like that?

Alanna (after a pause): Well, there's this kind of pizza that Chicago is famous for. (Receiving nonplussed looks, she perseveres) It's not like New York pizza. It's called deep-dish, and the crust is about this thick. (Horrified looks tell her she should stop, but she keeps trying) You can get lots of toppings on it, and they put on a lot of cheese. I mean, it's not very good for you. But it's really delicious.

HM: Hmmmmm.....Anything else?

Alanna (continues to dig her own grave): Oh! And we have Chicago style hot dogs. They're normal hot dogs, but with a lot of toppings on them. But never ketchup.

HM:....So no special food, then?

Exchange #2 (This one's not even an exchange, it more of a monologue)

HM: So, you're going to Dublin this weekend? (Nod from Alanna). I was surprised when I went there because the Irish girls are ugly. When I was walking down the street, maybe two or three girls were pretty out of ten. But the way they dress....And they're all fat, because they drink beer all day long...I don't think you'll have much competition.

Best Sequel to a Former Blog Post: So I mentioned in my two-month anniversary post that French sidebar ads often promise you the opportunity to win a green card. This month, I discovered that they do even more. Not only do these ads provide a means of entry into the U.S., they also allow you to choose your own American dream from the following realistic options:

Hollywood star...

New Yorker...And, my personal favorite:

Farmer in Texas

Again, this is what French people think of us. How have I survived for three months here?