Le 5eme

I love the look of the Fifth; it's one of the oldest parts of Paris, so the streets are narrow and winding and the buildings old and beautiful. Unfortunately, the tourists easily outnumber the students in peak season. Much of the area around the Place Saint-Michel is crowded with cheap crepe stands and tacky souvenir shops. (There is one curiosity: la rue du Chat-qui-Peche, Paris's narrowest street). Do yourself a favor and get lost on the winding side streets. It doesn't take more than a few blocks to lose the tourists and enjoy thefeeling of wandering the original Paris.

The 5th is best known as the home of the Latin Quarter, so called because it was home to many Parisian students (who all spoke Latin to one another). Student presence in the area remains strongs. It's still home to the main building of the Sorbonne (Universite Paris IV), which you can explore (caution: It's easy to get lost).

Logically, it's also home to many bookshops. Most students do their shopping under the yellow awnings of Gibert Jeune on the Place Saint-Michel. The librarie/papeterie carries textbooks, paperbacks and other school supplies and is a handy place to pick up cheap books, planners, etc. While Gibert is a one-stop shop for college readings, I can never resist a trip around the corner to visit Shakespeare and Company. I know, it's not exactly a hidden gem. But despite the considerable number of tourists, the store hasn't lost its charm. Founded in in 1951 by American George Whitman, it's become the most famous English bookstore in Paris. Whitman has hosted 50,000 travelers, who slept in the store when they had nowhere else to go. After making your purchases, I'd recommend taking your books next door to the Square Rene Viviani to enjoy the unbeatable view of Notre Dame. (The square is also home to the oldest tree in Paris, a locust tree planted in 1601).

One of the most famous monuments in the neighborhood is the Pantheon, resting place of French luminaries. It's not my favorite monument, but is certainly worth a look. The interior is vast, and filled with an odd mix of revolutionary and religious art and sculpture. It's also where Leon Foucault conducted his famous experiment, demonstrating the Earth's rotation, and you'll find his pendulum hanging from the central dome. Downstairs, you can visit the tombs of Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Alexandre Dumas and Emile Zola.

Another, lesser known museum is the Musee de Cluny, which is dedicated to the Middle Ages. Here, you'll find the famous Lady and the Unicorn tapestry series, as well as the original kings from Notre Dame's facade. Yep, sorry to disappoint you, but those statues on the front of Notre Dame are fakes. During the French Revolution, the revolutionaries thought that these sculptures represented the kings of France (they are actually the kings of Judah), so they smashed them to bits. The remnants were used in other construction projects, and weren't rediscovered until 1977. The museum also has a quiet medieval garden, and the ruins of ancient baths from the early days of Paris.

Along with the famous buildings, there are plenty of beautiful outdoor spaces in the 5th. The Musee de la Sculpture en Plein Air (Museum of Outdoor Sculpture) is a great way to walk along the Seine Many of the sculptures aren't especially well known (they're not going to expose the Venus de Milo to the elements), but the proximity to the river makes it a worthwhile stop.

I would highly recommend spending a few hours at La Grande Mosquee de Paris, the largest mosque in France. One of my favorite afternoons in Paris was spent sipping mint tea in its beautiful tearoom. You can also indulge in food and pastries at the mosque's restaurant, or enjoy its steam baths.

Near the mosque, you'll find the Institut du Monde Arabe (Institute of the Arab World). The institute houses a museum, library and restaurant. It also features temporary expositions (On my last day in Paris, I saw an especially interesting one on Hermes window displays).

Nearby is the Jardin des Plantes, a large botanical garden that also contains several natural history museums. It's right next to the Seine, and boasts a huge variety of flowers and other plants.

If you get tired of wandering, there are plenty of places to fill your stomach and rest your feet. If food's what you need, the rue Mouffetard is a good bet. It's a long street packed with market stalls, shops and cafes. It's not a hidden gem: you'll probably encounter other tourists, but it's a bustling spot that hearkens back to traditional Paris.

At the end of the street, you'll find the Place de la Contrescarpe. It's a pretty square filled with cafes that was once favored by Ernest Hemingway. If you're a Hemingway buff, you can also see his first Parisian apartment in the 5th arrondissement at 74, rue Cardinal Lemoine (James Joyce lived at #71 while finishing Ulysses).

If coffee isn't your thing, rest your feet in the Arenes de Lutece. The site could be called a park, but it's really more than that. What the "arenes" (arenas) lack in green space, they make up for in history. Centuries ago, Paris was controlled by the Romans (its name at the time was "Lutece"), and these arenas are the remains of a 1st century Roman amphitheater. No gladiators nowadays, but you can sit in the former bleachers and watch a kid's soccer game...

A final stop: Breakfast in America. If you're short on time in Paris, you can skip this American-style diner, as it doesn't offer much in the way of French culture. But it became a favorite for my friends and I when we needed a hamburger fix. The staff all speaks English, you get unlimited coffee (surprisingly rare in Paris) and their Obama milkshake (chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter) is delicious.

Parlez-vous francais?

Studying abroad has been a dream of mine since I was in middle school. But I always thought I would end up in Ireland. The step dancing, the hair, the penchant for SPF 75 sunscreen, it made perfect sense. Instead, a series of somewhat random decisions led me to Paris. First it was when I chose French over Spanish for my junior high language class, having heard (from my French teacher, so take it with a grain of salt) that it was easier to learn Spanish after having learned French than the other way around. Then I was lucky enough to get two great French teachers, who ensured that I was able to place into more intermediate French classes my freshman year of college. Since I didn't want to lose my hard-won semi-fluency, I knew that I would be taking French classes throughout college. So I became a French major, and suddenly studying in Paris became my only feasible academic option.

Which brings me to the million-dollar question: "Has your French improved?"

The short answer is "Oui." I'm loath to call myself a fluent French speaker, considering the stupid mistakes I still make on a daily basis. It might not be the most difficult language in the world, but there are some sticking points that are tricky for English speakers. Case in point, accents: Several months ago I was trying to order a sablé (sab-lay) framboise with my lunch. Instead I asked for a "sable (sab-luh) framboise," thus ordering raspberry sand instead of a raspberry cookie. Did I mention that I hate accent marks? At least it got a smile out of the lady at the boulangerie.

Another common point of confusion is the use of gender. Thank God for English and its equal-opportunity nouns, because I think I could live in Paris for 80 years and still mess up the masculine and feminine. This is not helped by the fact that certain nouns do not match their given genders. Take words such as "makeup" and "bra." Clearly feminine, right? WRONG. Some chauvinistic linguist in Franceland decided that they should be masculine, and so they will remain for eternity, confusing generations of frustrated French students.

Gender-confused nouns aside, my French has improved. It took me a long time to see the difference. I gave one exposé orale at the end of first semester that went really well. I was able to speak coherent, relatively error-free French from a list of bullet points. I was elated. I was finally mastering the language I'd spent so long studying. Two days later, I left Paris to spend 18 days in Italy and by the time I came back I was saying "Gratze" to sales clerks. Epic fail.

But slowly, without my noticing it, my French continued to improve. And sometime within the last few months I've realized that speaking, listening, even thinking in French is becoming more automatic. I may still confuse the future with the conditional, but I can get ask questions and tell stories without planning out the phrasing days in advance. I can even toss in a few of those linguistic place holders that sound so French without actually saying anything: "En fait...", "Comment dirais-je?", "Euh...".

I take so much guilty pleasure out of being in Paris--class at the Louvre, lunchtime pastry runs, sitting by the Seine--that it's nice to see a practical result of my stay here. Sure, it's maddening to stumble over sentences in front of professors or co-workers or to return a burst of rapid-fire French with a blank stare. But when I use the subjunctive perfectly or when I manage to hack up that damn "r," I walk a little lighter for the rest of the day. And when I manage to slip in a swear word? Forget about it. How do you say "bad-ass" in French?

London

My roommate Eunice and I spent the better part of last spring planning our European adventures. And though she'd already visited me in Paris, I hadn't gotten a chance to see what she had done with her year abroad. So a few weeks ago I finally booked my ticket across the Channel to spend a long weekend with Eunice.

Some of you may have heard of this amazing innovation called the Eurostar. Supposedly it's this rapid train that can get you from Paris to London in two hours. But me, I don't trust new-fangled contraptions like that. So instead, I booked a ticket on an overnight bus that involves 8-hours and one 3:00 A.M. ferry ride. Because that was clearly the most efficient option.

The other great thing about bus travel is that it gets you into London at 5:20 A.M! Trust me, Eunice was really excited too. She was even more excited when she found out that I wasn't leaving until late Sunday night, approximately 15 hours before she had to turn in an 8-page paper on humanitarian intervention. But she pulled through, and took me to basically every important spot in London. Here, in no order, are the highlights:

5) Westminster Abbey

Europeans love dead people. I have visited cemeteries in almost every country I have traveled to. Still, Westminster might have the highest concentration of famous corpses that I have ever seen. In the space of an hour we paid our respects to Mary, Queen of Scots, Elizabeth I, Bloody Mary, Dickens, Chaucer, Handel, Olivier, Churchill, Darwin, Browning, Hardy, Newton, Tennyson and more. Plus, all of them were safely tucked away beneath pretty headstones, unlike those at the last cemetery Eunice and I visited together...

Of course, the Abbey's main function is as a house of worship, not a burial place. And the building itself is pretty magnificent. Henry VII's Lady Chapel is one of the most beautiful rooms I have ever stepped into.

And to top it all off, Jeremy Irons (aka Scar) narrated our complimentary audioguides. Eunice had to restrain me from performing "Be Prepared" on the main altar. All in all, a successful visit.

4) Greenwich Meridian

A quick tube ride from the city center is the famed Greenwich Meridian, aka longitude line 0. If you stand with one foot on either side of the meridian you are standing in both the eastern and western hemispheres. That's right, you can stand in two places at once! (Yes, I did make a reference to A Walk to Remember. Eunice was very disappointed until I assured her that I have not watched that movie since its release, and that I believe Nicholas Sparks deserves his own special place in literary hell for comparing himself to Ernest Freaking Hemingway. Seriously.)

Anyway, the meridian itself was pretty cool. We took the obligatory meridian pictures. You can't tell, but I'm standing with one foot on Paris latitude and the other on Chicago latitude.



As an added bonus, the Royal Observatory is surrounded by Greenwich Park, which was just starting to show signs of spring.



3) The museums

So Eunice has been whining all year about how London is so expensive. And then I get there to find that all the good museums are free. And I felt compelled to point out that the Louvre costs 9.50 euros (well, technically I get in for free. But still.)

So Eunice and I went to the National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum, the V&A, the Tate Modern and about 97 others completely free of charge. And they're great museums. My two favorites were the British Museum and the V&A. The British Museum, because I am a huge nerd who listens to podcasts where they talk about ancient spearheads and stuff, and the V&A because they have collections of pretty much everything (theater, music, gold and silver, jewelry, sculpture, fashion, stained glass, architecture, snuffboxes...).

So at the British Museum we learned that this rock is really old (and also that British people like to steal things from other countries):


And at the V&A, we learned that Mick Jagger was really skinny.

2) British Library

This one wasn't even a scheduled stop. We were headed to King's Cross Station when we passed by the British Library and saw several intriguing ads, including the words "The Beatles" and "free."

Turns out, the British Library has a freakishly impressive collection that includes two Gutenberg Bibles, several copies of the Magna Carta, the only surviving manuscript of Beowulf and the original score to Handel's Messiah, Beethoven's tuning fork and Jane Austen's writing desk (!). But the biggest attraction for most people is probably an exhibit of original lyrics from The Beatles. As in, the first time that Lennon and McCartney (or Harrison or Starr, to be fair) put their lyrics on paper. We saw "Michelle" written on the back of an envelope and "Eight Days A Week" scribbled onto John Lennon's son's birthday card. The words have reached such mythic proportions in the subsequent decades that it's good to be reminded of how they started: with a few scribblings on scraps of paper.

1) Food

If there's one thing Eunice and I learned about each other during our marathon Italy trip, it was that we both love food. A lot. So it makes sense that our first stop would be at Borough Market, one of the most epic collections of food in the world. You could cobble together a three-course meal just from the free samples you get walking around. Of course that wasn't enough for me, so I ordered up the ambiguously named "game sandwich," which turned out to be a sausage made of wild boar and venison mixed with apricots and red wine. Or, as the friendly vendor reminded me, "Mmmm...Bambi's delicious!" And he really was.

Sunday we went less traditional with a visit to Brick Lane in the East End. It's a long street packed with clothing and food markets. It's more international than Borough Market, think Moroccan, Vietnamese, Ethiopian and (especially) Indian food. You can't go to London without sampling the curry, and it did not disappoint.

Between market trips we also indulged in typical pub food (mushroom and steak pie, anyone?), tea and scones and some wild card meals (eel). Who ever said British food was terrible?

Winter Break: Part 2

My six-week winter break ended at the last week of January. So by the time late February rolled around, I was understandably exhausted. A month of work? I didn't sign up for that when I came to Europe.

Unfortunately, having just planned a trip to Italy, I was pretty lax when it came to figuring out my travel plans for the week-long February break. Fortunately two friends had already planned a low-budget, low-stress trip through Central Europe and invited me to tag along. The plan: two days in Bratislava, and two-and-a-half days each in Vienna and Prague. It was a very different vacation, much less expensive and, for that reason, much less touristy than most of the prior trips that I had taken.

Bratislava, Slovakia

Before arriving in Bratislava, I associated it with exactly three things. So the bar was not set super high.

Our first day started with a hike up to the city's castle, though I almost hesitate to call it that. The site has been occupied for thousands of years, but the current castle was reconstructed--after fire, military occupation and decades of neglect--in 1953. It's currently undergoing more reconstruction, so it doesn't have the ancient look of a typical European castle. But it does offer some great views of the city.



We spent the rest of the day exploring the city center, sitting in cafes and eating some delicious (and, after Paris, dirt-cheap) dinner.

The next day we decided to explore the outskirts of the city. We'd been told that there trails in the woods above the city where we could hike and eat a picnic lunch. After a quick food run at a local market we started walking, having received no direction but "Head for the TV tower on the hill." Within minutes of leaving the city center we found ourselves wandering amidst Communist-era concrete block housing and huge piles of trash. A lot of trash.

At first we assumed that the city must not have any garbage disposal system. But then we saw some homeless people lighting trash fires across the train tracks, and we were reassured.

When we finally escaped the trash wasteland we thought the rest of the hike would be easy. But Bratislava had other plans. During the next two hours we found ourselves walking along overgrown railroad tracks, nearly being hit by a train, sprinting across a narrow bridge before a car could drive around the blind curve at the end, walking until the sidewalk disappeared and finally breaking out a portion of our picnic for sustenance. You know you've hit rock bottom when you find yourself gnawing on a hunk of garlic bread by a Slovakian roadside.

The payoff for all of this was a sensation of absolute euphoria when we finally saw trees up ahead. We collapsed on the first bench in sight, and dug into our long-awaited picnic. The hardest-won meal I've ever eaten.


After our triumph, there wasn't much more to do in Bratislava. So we dragged our bags over to the bus station and waited for the coach that would take us on to Vienna...and waited...and waited some more. 90 minutes later, a Bratislava-Vienna bus drove up. We thrust our tickets at the driver, who sadly shook his head for approximately two hours before breaking the bad news. Evidently Bratislava is such a travel hub that it has two international bus stations. And we were at the wrong one. Our options were to buy a new ticket or stay in Bratislava for the night. I'm sure you can guess what choice we made. We were pretty much ready to hijack the bus, but settled for springing the seven euros.

It might sound like we had a horrible time in Bratislava, but that really wasn't the case. True, it's one of the few places I've visited that I have no desire to return to. But we had fun. It was different. Sometimes it's nice to visit a city that doesn't look like a giant postcard. And hey, at least everyone arrived in Vienna with their Achilles tendons intact.

Vienna, Austria

Even after our bus station mishap, we managed to arrive in Vienna at a decent hour, but not early enough to do much on our first night.

Vienna was my favorite city of the three we visited, and one of my favorite destinations of the year. The first day we just did a lot of wandering. We browsed markets, sat in parks, sampled Viennese pastries and admired the city's architecture. One of our first sights upon arrival the previous night was this smoke stack, which looked like something straight out of Willy Wonka's factory.



We learned that it's a garbage incinerator designed by a guy named Friedensreich Regentag Dunkelbunt Hundertwasser, who called straight lines "the devil's tools." So you know he was awesome. Several of the houses he designed can be visited in Vienna. They're all colorful and unexpected, with undulating lines (even the floors are curved) and plants growing from the walls. Take a look:



On our second day we headed to the outskirts of the city to explore the Zentralfriedhof. I've visited a lot of cemeteries this year, but this was one of the most impressive. In terms of people buried, it's the biggest in Europe. And these aren't ordinary dead people. Well, a lot of them are. But the cemetery also boasts possibly the greatest concentration of musical genius in the world. It took some wandering, but we finally stumbled upon the graves of Beethoven, Brahms, Strauss, Schubert and Mozart. I know.

(That's all of them together).

The main portion of the cemetery is well-kept, with manicured graves and polished headstones. But there's a large Jewish section that was largely neglected during WWII and hasn't been restored.


It's a little eerie but it's also very pretty, and so quiet that we saw a few unexpected visitors.

Our last notable experience in Vienna was a museum visit. The city had the cool idea to convert the royal stables into a museum compound. It's a beautiful space with several great museums. We visited the Leopold Museum, then hung around to attend an opening at the modern art museum. It all sounds very sophisticated, but we were enticed by the prospect of free sausages and beer. A bunch of Viennese residents showed up and we met a few friendly students. There were also several large-scale art installations set up for the event, including a woman's bikini-clad torso, a blue tadpole-like structure (hint: It was not actually a tadpole) and an extremely large rendering of a certain body part. Because this is a family blog I will omit the gory details. Let's just say that it's a body part one should never enter and certainly not one you should eat sausages in. Oh, and it rhymes with "blectum."

Anyway, the opening was a lot of fun. Free food, free beer, free posters, good music, great museums and a chance to interact with the locals--what better way to say goodbye to Vienna?

Prague, Czech Republic

I had high expectations for Prague after my program director--a Parisian--told me that it was the most beautiful city she had ever seen. It was a little difficult to fully appreciate the city's aesthetics when my ears were about to snap off, Jungle-style, from the cold. But my first glimpses of the city only went towards proving her theory.

That's a view of the Charles Bridge and Prague Castle across the water on the first night we were there. As I mentioned, it was freezing during our visit. So we didn't explore the city as much as we'd have liked. Instead we took advantage of our three days in the city to sample the local cuisine from inside conveniently-heated restaurants. That's an important cultural experience, right? I thought so.

We did manage to get up to Prague Castle, which is situated inside a beautiful and extensive complex. There are about 50 separate areas that you can pay to tour, but we stuck to wandering around near the cathedral and ducking into bathrooms to save our fingers from frostbite.

We braved the long cold walk back from the castle to the main square. It wasn't the most comfortable 90 minutes, but we did get to see more of the city up close, including some of the elaborate statues on the Charles Bridge.



I was sad to leave Prague; hopefully I'll come back some day when the temperatures are above Antarctic levels. It's one of the most colorful, ornate cities I've ever visited and I'd love to see more.

And with that, it was time to board a bus back to Paris. It was a whirlwind trip, but one where I met lots of locals, spent time with good friends and got some great stories. Mission accomplished.

2/3

Countries Visited: still 6, but that is to change as of this afternoon

Total Louvre Visits: You guys...you would be so proud of me. I've gone to the Louvre like six more times this month. Yes, about four of those were mandatory for my art history class. But still. I'm pretty much a VIP there.

Best Example of Absolute Denial:

One of these days I'll get around to writing about classes and when I do, you will hear stories of my hilarious art history professor, who likes to insert random English phrases into conversation. Particular favorites are "Shut up!" "Don't speak English!" and a great Pepe Le Pew impression. Whenever "l'amour" is the subject of a painting, he will break into a speech of "My little sweet, my little darling. Let me kiss your hand." This is especially funny, because most French people do not know who Pepe Le Pew is. And even if they do, the full effect is lost on them. Because, you see, in France, Pepe Le Pew is Italian. Yes, the French, undoubtedly enraged at our decision to characterize them as amorous skunks, have decided to pretend that we really meant to insult their neighbors to the south-east.

Basically, Italians are to the French what the French are to Americans. They drink strong coffee, appreciate good food and wine, are fashionable and enjoy (as one of my friend's host mothers put it) "sport in bed."So why shouldn't Pepe be Italian?

Most Common Dinner Subject:

I don't know if you know this, but Americans are fat. Like really, hugely fat. When we go to the beach, whales swim away in fear. At least, this is what people continue to tell me. The subject of fat Americans is brought up weekly by my host family, who are fascinated by the eating habits of my compatriots. Kathleen, a new American girl arrived to live with my host family about a month ago, and we are both subjected to questioning about our food consumption. A sample conversation is below:

HS (Host Sister): Kathleen, you never eat very much.
Kathleen: Well, at home my mother is always on a diet. So I'm used to small portions.
HM (Host Mom): Oh.....what are the portions like at your house Alanna?

I tried to answer her, but as I don't know the French word for trough, the conversation didn't get very far.

Worst (Best?) Restaurant Chain: Indiana...the Tex-Mex restaurant

La Baguette

Before I came to France, bread was just the means to an end, a vehicle to transport other, more delicious foodstuffs into my mouth. But in the past six months I have learned to appreciate the joys of a plain piece of bread.

And there's no shortage of it in Paris. The city has pain of every variety, but the ultimate symbol of French culture is undoubtedly la baguette. These delicious carbohydrate sticks can be seen in the window of every boulangerie and, yes, French people really do buy one or two every day for dinner.

My love affair with baguettes began when I checked my bank balance and realized that my pastry habit was hurting more than just my BMI. Since then I've been substituting 0.85€ baguettes for 3€ sandwiches. Most people in the U.S. associate French bread with the traditional plain baguette, but they come in different varieties. My favorite is the baguette aux graines from the boulangerie near my program center. It's crusty on the outside, but soft on the inside, and studded with grains and seeds that give it just the right crunch. I order one almost every day (warm, if I time it right) and tote it off to eat it on my program's rooftop terrace.

Consuming a baguette is a blood sport (you think I'm kidding, but I needed a Band-Aid after an encounter with a particularly crusty speciman next week). The first option is to gnaw off giant hunks like some sort of ravenous animal, leaving nothing but a cloud of crumbs and dust. This method is best employed when you are alone, although it will get you lots of entertaining looks on the Metro. The second method is a more civilized dissection process, which involves finding and pulling apart the softer veins of bread amidst the crusty ridges. And if you want to be really French, adopt method #3 and eat your baguette with a knife and fork (no, I've never seen anyone do this. But considering they eat their hamburgers with silverware, it's not that far-fetched.)

Whatever your method of choice, popping into a Parisian boulangerie is a must for anyone who wants to understand a little more about French daily life. After all, happiness is a warm baguette.

Mythbusters: French Edition

Stereotypes are bad, boys and girls. They reduce entire groups of people to simplistic and often inaccurate generalizations. And yet...stereotypes are sometimes true. At least, that's the conclusion I've come to after spending five months in France. (Disclaimer: Not all of these stereotypes are negative. And sometimes it's stereotypes about Americans that have been proven true. A lot of us are obnoxiously loud.) It's not like every French person walks around in berets belting out "La Marseillaise," but they have confirmed some of my preconceived notions about them. Here's an examination of five common stereotypes about the French, and my take on their veracity:

1) Scarves are a mandatory fashion accessory.

When I was younger, there was an anthology of scary stories that my parents dragged out every Halloween. One of these stories told of a young man named Alfred who fell in love with a girl named Jenny. Jenny had the whimsical habit of wearing a green ribbon around her neck, a ribbon which she instructed Alfred never to untie. The two eventually got married, had children, and lived a long and happy life together, during which Jenny never undid the ribbon. Finally, as an elderly Jenny lay on her deathbed, she told Alfred to untie the ribbon. He did so, and the last sentence of the story reads: "And Jenny's head fell off."

I am now convinced that this story--besides being severely traumatic--was written by a French person. Because in Paris scarves are not just fashion accessories; they might as well be surgically fused to the wearer's neck. The type and color are immaterial, as is the fashion of tying them. What is important is that Parisian men, women and children never leave the house without a protective piece of fabric wrapped around their necks.


2) They love black.

Paris is a city that lends itself to descriptions such as "classic," "elegant" and "timeless." And they have the color palette to match. Parisians do wear color, but generally as an accent to a black, gray or beige ensemble.

Parisians in general are very fashionable people and I accepted long before my arrival here that I would never fit in style-wise. So I refused to make any concessions when it came to de-colorizing my wardrobe. I walk the streets every day dressed in a green jacket and bright blue or yellow scarves, carrying a green purse. If I want to be kind to the people on the Metro, I wear my black shoes. If I want to give someone an aneurysm, it's either leopard-print or blue snakeskin flats.

These choices often cause French people to stare at me and say things like: "What ees wrong with you, you walking kaleidoscope? Are you color-blind? Deed a shamrock throw up on you zees morning?" But I will not be deterred. I agree that black is classic, timeless and slimming (important in a city with so many pastries). But why restrict yourself to one shade when there are so many other colors to be worn? Sorry France. You are classy, but I'm not assimilating on this one.

3) They are fueled by a powerful combination of bread, coffee, cheese and wine.

One of my favorite things about Paris is that, despite being a big city, it is full of independent businesses and people who love to patronize them. Sure, there's a McDonald's, Subway and (inexplicably) KFC within one block of my apartment. And the local Monoprix is always packed. But there are also at least three boulangeries, a butcher shop and countless cafes within the same area.

I honestly do not understand how there are enough Parisians to fill all of the 52 million cafes in the city, but they're always full. And every evening at about 6:00, there is a line of people out the door of every boulangerie, all waiting to buy their evening baguettes. My host family eats a cheese course every night at dinner. And wine is incredibly cheap; you can get a decent bottle for under 2 euros (not that I would know anything about that, Mom and Dad).

I think this adherence to certain food staples, just like a devotion to black, reflects some central tendency of the French. At some point 800 years ago, they found the foods, colors and architecture that work for them, and they've spent the rest of their history perfecting them. So while they are not quite the cultural melting pot that the U.S. is, no one can beat them when it comes to a perfectly browned baguette, or a wheel of camembert.

4) They all smoke.

This is largely true. Of course there are exceptions (my host mother doesn't, and my 13-year-old host sister has, thus far, resisted temptation), but I've met many more smokers here than in the U.S. Walking past any Parisian high school at lunch hour involves navigating through the clouds of smoke produced by French 14-year-olds.

It's not that Parisians don't understand the consequences of smoking. Au contraire. Packets of cigarettes are labeled with bold, black proclamations of "Fumer tue" (smoking kills). And smoking is not allowed in restaurants and other public places. And yet, I would give most of my professors about three seconds after the end of class before they are outside on our center's terrace, lighting up a cigarette.

5) They are rude, Communist, cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

Absolutely true.

No, actually I think that the French get an unfair rap from the rest of the world. It's true that many people here are not overtly friendly. But I attribute this to reservedness, not rudeness. Privacy is highly valued here, and there is not the same sense of general cheeriness that pervades American society. And it is worth remembering that Paris is not France (in fact, even many French people hate Parisians). Paris is a big city and just like any big city, the people are stressed out, busy and not in the mood to smile on the Metro.

I have had a few encounters with brusque or unfriendly people. But many more of my experiences have been positive. And I haven't seen much evidence of anti-American sentiment. When people find out I'm American, they are often very interested in talking to me about our health care system and political process. They ask my opinion of Paris and Parisians. They compliment my French, and thank me for coming to study in their country. A friend and I were once even called "adorables americaines," two words many would be surprised to hear spoken by a French person.

I realize that my experience has probably been made considerably easier by the fact that I speak French. And I don't discount stories of rudeness or snobbery experienced by past tourists. But the French are pretty much like any other group of people: some are friendly, some are jerks and most are a little bit of both.

They do eat a lot of cheese, though.

La Carte de Sejour

I know what you're thinking. If Paris is such a magical place, full of lights and pastries, why doesn't everyone just move there? Unfortunately, the French have anticipated this and taken the necessary precautions.

If you are staying in France for longer than three months (most study abroad programs are 3 1/2...coincidence?), you need to register with the immigration office upon arrival in Paris. One of the nice things about being on a study abroad program is that they tell you what paperwork to bring and then submit it for you. We handed in said paperwork during our orientation in Tours, and were assured that the immigration office would have our cards ready within two months, and that we were not technically allowed to travel outside of France before then.

I'm glad I did not obey said technicality, because five months later, our program director informed me that I was scheduled to go in for the last step in the visa process, the mandatory medical exam. Of course, after six weeks of free time, this appointment fell on the first day at my new internship. When I informed her of this problem, she suggested I take a late lunch break, as "Once you get there, they're very efficient. It shouldn't take more than 20 minutes." Foolishly, I believed her. After five months spent in this wondrously inefficient country, I believed her.

And so, I arrived at the office on Monday afternoon at precisely 2:00, only to find that the X-ray machine was broken, and things were running about 40 minutes behind. First, they collected several of my documents, as well as a stamp I had purchased prior to the appointment for 55 euros. This stamp had nothing to distinguish it from regular postage, which was highly disappointing. Because if I'm going to buy a 75 DOLLAR STAMP, it had better be made of solid gold and Berthillon ice cream.

I finally got into an exam room for an eye test, followed by more waiting. Then I was called into another room, where I was informed that I needed a chest X-ray. Since X-rays cannot see through clothes, or hospital gowns, and since nudity is second only to Camembert in French hearts, I was informed that I would need to take my top off for the doctors. Being a prudish American, I yelled something like, "What do you think will happen to your economy if I leave? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY MACARONS I BOUGHT LAST WEEK??" Surprisingly, they remained unswayed by my pleas. So I was forced to expose myself. On the plus side, I know that I do not have tuberculosis. Because that was really keeping me up at night.

After that, it was back to the waiting room, then in to a third office. Here I was asked to provide my vaccination records, which, I might add, were not listed on any checklists I had received. I had brought along three other "required" documents which the office had specifically requested. But no, no one even wanted to look at those. They wanted my vaccination records, and it was only after I conveniently forgot how to speak French that they took pity on my confused, pathetic American self and signed off on my form anyway. Finally, it was back to the waiting room, where I was given a parting gift of a French-English healthcare handbook which told me not to drink more than two glasses of wine a day, to beware of pastries and to never leave my child in a room with an open window (whoops on all three counts).

So, to sum up, my morning consisted of:
-1 $75 dollar stamp
-3 doctors
-90 minutes in delays
and
-1 striptease

Why don't more people move to France?

We're Halfway There...

Actually, we're more than halfway there at this point. Today marks the five-month anniversary of my stay in France, with four months to go. Just a warning for any of you who may talk to me in the coming months: Please do not make any reference to the fact that my time in France is passing quickly. I literally do not know how I will survive without my beloved pastries, the warm baguettes aux graines from my neighborhood boulangerie, or a public transit system that actually gets you places in less than 3 hours. So my strategy at this point is hardcore denial, and I would appreciate it if everyone else helped me maintain that illusion. With that said, here are some highlights of the past months:

Countries Visited: 6 (Poland, Belgium, Ireland, Germany, Italy and Vatican City)

Best Pick-up Line*: This one comes courtesy of our Italian friends. Although French guys are not above skeeziness, they lack in originality. Their come-ons are generally limited to: "Would you like to get coffee with me?" or "I'm looking to practice my English."* They could learn a lot from the table of Italian guys sitting next to me and Eunice. After trying to get our attention for the entire meal, they finally saw an opening when we were getting up to leave. The conversation went something like this:

Italian Guy (to me): So are you Irish?
Me: No...Well, Irish-American.
Italian Guy: But you're so white!
Pause
Me: Yes. Yes I am.

I'll spare you their poorly-phrased, reasonably offensive remarks about Eunice's Korean eyes. The point is, we were seduced into going home with them. Because you just can't resist those lines.

*After writing this segment, I was subjected to another come-on while walking to a friend's apartment. I won't copy it here, as it was rather vulgar. But it rhymed. Needless to say, I slept with him as well.

Least Effective Way to Get Money:

There are a lot of panhandlers in Paris. Some of them sort of earn their money by serenading tourists with "La Vie en Rose" or "I Love Paris." But a lot of them just jump onto Metro cars, recite a litany of misfortunes and unspeakable tragedies and then walk down the aisle with their hat held out.

Sometimes these speeches are so pitiable that even the flinty-hearted Parisians are moved to give a few centimes. But I heard one the other day that was earning the speaker no money. It went something like this:

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. I am German but I have lived in France for 20 years. It has become my home country. I am currently out of work and homeless. I don't even have a room or a closet to call my own. If you were in my situation, you would have killed yourselves. Yes, killed yourselves ladies and gentlemen, because we all know that French people are not very hearty..."

He continued on with statistics about poverty in France, and the observation that such statistics were shameful for a country that calls itself a developed Western nation. But he wasn't making much headway. Tip for getting money from French people: Do not call them weak. Especially if you are a German.

Weirdest Metro Poster:

In addition to panhandlers, there are also advertisements on the walls and ceilings of Metro cars. Most of these are pretty standard ads for phone services, English language lessons or real estate agencies. A few months ago, however, some strange ads started popping up in numerous trains.

It took me a while to really realize what these posters were. On one particularly long ride, I finally realized that they depicted a sad-eyed horse named Caramel standing next to a menacing cleaver. Apparently Caramel and many of her equine brethren daily fall prey to Parisian gourmands. I don't know if you are aware (I wasn't), but horse meat is still a reasonably popular food in France. I've never seen it on a menu, but there are apparently boucheries chevaline, special horse butchers, where you can buy the meat. It caught on during several revolutions, when people were desperate for food and too poor to buy anything else. It is still eaten, probably because you can buy an entire horse for the price of one Laduree macaron.

I can't be too judgmental, considering the number of hamburgers that I've ordered over the past 20 years, but I am sympathetic to Caramel. Still, I couldn't help laughing at the dramatic posters, and their insistence that I visit jenemangepasdecheval.com (idonteathorse.com).

(Do not visit said site. It's gross.)

Anniversary Present to Myself: So guess what I did to commemorate the 5-month mark? I went to THE LOUVRE for the first time this trip. That's right. I no longer have to live under a cloud of shame, no longer do I have to confess: "My name is Alanna Byrne, and I am a Louvre-phobic."I will now not be expelled from the country for my astonishing lack of culture and refinement.

To be completely honest, I went because I was obligated to for the new art history class I'm taking. But I think now that the floodgates have been opened, many more self-motivated visits lie ahead.

Buon Anno!

By the time we arrived in Venice, we had been traveling for 12 days. And while it's not really a punishment to travel around Italy for 2 1/2 weeks, we were both pretty exhausted. Thankfully, Venice is not a city that demands a lot of exertion. We had nearly a week for sight-seeing, which was more than enough to hit up the main sights (really, way more than enough). So we spent a few days doing nothing but sitting in cafes and restaurants, talking to one another and to new friends. More than the sights, Venice was about the people.

5) The islands


As geographically-inclined readers will know, Venice is actually a city made up of 118 small islands. Individually, these islands are not known for anything besides giving people something to walk on. The more famous islands--Murano, Burano and Torcello--are actually about 40 minutes away by water taxi. Eunice and I took an afternoon to see the first two, which ended up being a nice break from the city.

Murano is world-famous for its glassmakers. The island is small, but it's packed with glass showrooms and workshops. We visited on a Sunday, so things were pretty quiet, but we did manage to tour the Museo del Vetro (Glass Museum) which showcased some truly amazing glasswork done by Murano craftsmen over the years. If I had carried a bigger purse, you would all be getting Murano glass chandeliers as souvenirs.

Next we headed over to Burano, known for being the most adorable island in the world. Well, it's actually known for the lace manufactured there, but that was of secondary importance to us. Which was a good thing, because upon arrival we discovered that the lace museum was closed for renovations meaning that we had literally nothing to do on the island. So we wandered around, admiring the brightly-painted houses (each one is a different color) before taking refuge from the cold in a cafe.

It was a pretty laid-back day, which was exactly what we needed, considering that it was our last full day and we were both falling asleep on the water taxi ride over.

4) Peggy Guggenheim Collection

By the time we hit Venice we were pretty art-museumed out. But our guidebook peer pressured us into one final visit, by informing us that we would be terrible tourists and inadequate human beings if we did not visit the Peggy Guggenheim Collection.

The museum is named for Peggy Guggenheim (yes, those Guggenheims), who spent her last 30 years living in Venice. She amassed a substantial modern art collection that is now displayed in her former home and garden. I've mentioned before that I have a love-hate relationship with modern art, but I had a love-love relationship with this museum. It has a perfect location on the Grand Canal, and is full of beautiful paintings from the likes of Picasso, Pollack and Magritte. And (a big plus for me) it's very manageable. The main building still feels like a home, complete with tables and sofas for visitors to relax in. Across the garden is another building, where we toured two special exhibitions: one on Maurice Prendergast and one on Italian futurist artists. It was a great way to spend an afternoon, and a nice change from the Renaissance works we'd gotten accustomed to.

3) Vitruvian Man

In the months I've spent in Europe, I feel as though I've seen more famous works of art than I can count. Mona Lisa? Check. School of Athens? Seen it. The Thinker? Yep. Birth of Venus? Got it. But there's one iconic piece of art whose location I had never bothered to research: Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. It's one of the most famous images in the world and in case you were wondering, it's in Venice.

But you should probably wait a few years before rushing off to Italy. Since the drawing is ink on paper, it's too delicate for permanent display. The week we were in Venice it happened to be on display for the first time in seven years. We never would have figured this out on our own, as the sketch wasn't mentioned in our guidebooks and there was very little promotion. But while eating lunch one day, we happened to hear it mentioned by two American women sitting at the next table. They told us that it was the last week of the exposition, and that not many people knew that it was even going on. So we immediately headed over to the Galleria dell'Accademmia, bought our tickets and--five minutes later--were standing in front of the Vitruvian Man.

I didn't expect the sketch to be as fascinating as it was. It was only slightly bigger than a sheet of notebook paper, but it is one of the best art experiences I've had in Europe. One of my favorite things about artwork is the historical aspect, the idea that at some point in time Leonardo da Vinci was sitting in front of the same canvas. It's the thought that saves the Mona Lisa from being completely overrated, and it was especially apparent in this sketch. You could see da Vinci's handwriting, every line he drew and every crease in the paper. Incredibly, there were only two other people in the room when we first got there, so we managed to get a great look free of flash photography and jostling crowds.

2) New Year's



I'm not exactly a party animal. On a Friday night, you're more likely to find me in bed with a book than downing shots at a club. And my New Year's celebrations were always pretty consistent with this, especially considering that they were spent at my grandparent's house. At midnight we would go out in the street, my great-aunt would bang some pot lids together and we were all asleep by 12:02. So this was the first New Year's Eve where my plans did not consist of watching replays of the ball dropping in Times Square.

In Venice, the main celebrations were going on in St. Mark's Square. Now I don't know if you know this, but Venice has a lot of water. And sometimes, especially when it's been raining, the water does not like to stay in the canals. I fortunately had brought my pair of waterproof boots. Others were less fortunate and had to shell out 9 euros for glorified plastic sacks. Let's take a one of those poor noobs.



Anyway on New Year's Eve, a mere twelve hours before celebrations were due to start, the square looked like this:

Luckily, the water drained quickly and the entire place was dry by 1:00 in the afternoon. We thought we had dodged a bullet, stupidly forgetting that the tide comes in twice a day (this is why we are journalism majors). So when we returned at 11:30 PM, we realized that nothing short of Noah's Ark would get us in front of the stage without getting completely soaked. Eunice and I were accidentally separated at this point, and she decided to stay dry as I ventured out into the deluge. My reward for doing this was a spot close to the stage, and a good view of the emcee...



a seeming friendly but somewhat sadistic man who spoke in a mix of Italian and English and would say things like, "I will never forget this night with all of you beautiful people. We are all here together...except you are in the water. Haha!" Or, "The water is all around. It is so beautiful!...but so very cold. Haha!"

The theme of the night was "Love 2010," so there was a lot of random making-out and cheesy romantic songs. But the real fun started after the countdown. I was with three other girls from our hostel, one American and two hyper-friendly Australians who could (and did) strike up conversations with anything that moved. So we ended up wandering Venice, meeting a parade of characters, from an adorable, newly-engaged British couple to a fellow Aussie teenager to a group of locals out for the night. For hours after midnight, music was blaring in the square while people splashed and danced and rode inflatable rafts through the water.

It was a completely random night, but that was what made it great. There was something exciting about wandering the city, making new friends and exchanging "Buon Anno!" with every stranger we passed. Not a bad way to kick off a new decade.

1) The people

There aren't a whole lot of advantages to staying hostels (unless you consider noisy roommates and moldy showers advantages). But they are cheap and they theoretically provide an opportunity to meet fellow impoverished travelers from around the world. Up until this trip, however, I really hadn't made many friends while staying at hostels. This is partly my fault: I'm not the most social person even on the best of days, and after a day crammed full of sight-seeing it's easier to fall into bed than go mingle with strangers.

At our Venice hostel, mingling was pretty much mandatory, as the hostel gave us free breakfast and dinner. So twice a day, between shoveling our faces with pasta, we made several new friends. Among them were two New Yorkers, one Washingtonian and the two previously mentioned Aussies. We eventually formed our own little group. Sometimes we explored new sections of the city. One day (New Year's) we spent the entire afternoon talking in a restaurant. We bonded over the strangeness of our hostel, where it was literally impossible to sleep past 9:30, without having your bed taken apart and sprayed with god-knows-what kind of chemicals. We talked about different expectations put on American and Australian students, compared impressions of European cities and learned that Australians have some not-so-nice names for red-heads...

And of course, the most important person on the trip was Eunice. It's always a little scary traveling alone with someone for the first time, as there's no buffer if you get irritated with one another. But things could not have worked out better. It was the first time we'd been on our own in seven months, and we compensated by letting loose our own brand of unfettered, neurotic craziness. We spent 18 days talking about everything. And I mean everything. Happy subjects, sad subjects, weird subjects. We had disagreements, but we also had identical reactions to certain experiences (Most of these moments tended to be a bit morbid, such as our strange glee at discovering the serial killer museum in Florence, or our discussion of Little Mermaid songs while walking to the catacombs. Perhaps it was best that we were not around other people).

I love, love, love living in Paris and have made some great friends over the past months. But there's nothing like spending time with someone who knows you as well as Eunice and I know each other. Of course the fact that we were traversing Italy helped, but I am convinced we would have had almost as much fun had we spent our vacation in a cardboard box. So thanks Eunice. All of your personalities were greatly appreciated on this trip.
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So that's it: Italy in three entries. It was a great trip from start to finish, but after 18 days away from home I can't say I was sorry to get back to Paris, where the showers are warm and the pastries are fattening.

All Roads Lead to Rome

After Florence, it was off to Rome. I had my doubts about the Eternal City, as many people had told me that it was a crowded, dirty city full of pickpockets and tourist traps. But it ended up being my favorite of the three cities we visited. As with Florence, we had a lot of time to wander around, so I couldn't begin to list everything that we did. But here, again, are my top five moments:

5) Tartuffos at Tre Scalini

If you're going to eat as much as I do, you have to be serious about it. That means researching, reading reviews and remembering every restaurant recommendation you ever hear. Case in point: Four years ago, my Italian French teacher mentioned what (in his words) was "the best gelato in Rome." His words could not have fallen on more attentive ears. Four years later, I finally got the opportunity to visit Tre Scalini, a crowded gelato shop overlooking the Piazza Navona.

We discovered that the restaurant isn't famous for just any gelato, but for a creation known as the tartufo. This most genius of desserts consists of dark chocolate gelato, covered in chocolate and whipped cream, hiding a maraschino cherry at its center. Needless to say, they were delicious, and cured whatever pastry withdrawal I was going through.

(I swear, they were the same size. Mine is just closer to the camera).

4) The creepiest church in the world

Eunice and I each had certain responsibilities during the trip. I somehow ended up with the map, but it was Eunice who asked for directions whenever we got lost. She had brought along a handy guidebook, but I was the only one with a purse, so I was responsible for carrying it around. While perusing the book one afternoon, I noticed a short but strange entry about a Capuchin church decorated with the bones of dead monks. I didn't think much of it until my mom mentioned that she and my dad had visited the church on their honeymoon. In her words, it was "kind of weird." The Lonely Planet guidebook promised that we would be "gobsmacked."These descriptions did not prepare me for the sights that confronted us when we descended into the five-room crypt. Here are some photos (stolen from Eunice) to illustrate my point:

Yes, my friends. Those are indeed bones. Real bones, taken from 4,000 dead monks, and arranged over almost 400 years. But it gets worse:

SKELETONS. Entire skeletons. And these aren't even the worst ones. Some of them still had SKIN ON THEM. And in the last room, we were greeted with the following cheerful message: "What you are now we used to be; what we are now you will be." Lonely Planet, you need to check your dictionary. Because the word you are looking for is "terrifying," or maybe "horrible." But certainly not "gobsmacked."

3) Wandering

Some people were shocked when they found out that Eunice and I were only visiting three cities, even though we had over two weeks to travel. We certainly could have seen more, but we made the decision to see fewer cities--but to really see them--rather than rushing through Italy with no time to absorb anything. Since we had 5 to 6 days in each city, we were able to hit the main tourist attractions as well as some of the lesser known neighborhoods.

Of course, one of the great things about city life is that there's always something going on, plays or movies to see, museums to visit, restaurants to try. But what I love most are the moments when you turn a corner and see a completely empty street before you. Even in the biggest, busiest capitals, you can find small snatches of quiet, when you're alone with the whole city. We got a taste of that in Rome. Whether it was walking the deserted streets to Vatican City on Christmas morning, or wandering the residential Trastavere area, Eunice and I were able to experience a Rome stripped of distractions. And it was beautiful.

2) Colosseum/Palatine Hill

The Colosseum is possibly the most iconic symbol of Rome. So Eunice and I braved a rather rainy day, and many middle-aged, pot-bellied faux gladiators to take a combined tour of the arena and the Palatine Hill. Even though the Colosseum has been pretty badly treated over the years (even the popes used it as a quarry to construct St. Peter's), it's still impressive. What made the visit especially memorable was our tour guide, aka "the most philosophical man in the world." He spent about 30% of the tour telling us concrete facts about the Colosseum, and 70% of the time trying to convince us that although we may think of the Romans as bloodthirsty and barbaric (thanks a lot Russell Crowe), we are actually just like them. He asked us to contemplate a return to the Roman system of justice, under which the CEOs of AIG and Merrill Lynch would be forced to fight to the death. The tour ended with life advice from Seneca, after which we were free to wander around the arena on our own.



After a lunch break, we headed over to Palatine Hill, where Rome started. Our new tour guide offered less in the way of philosophy, but made up for it with a voice that was evidently modeled on Robin Leach. The site is beautiful, a secluded green space in the middle of Rome. And it's full of ruins that are about eight times older than the United States. I'm a bit of a history nerd, so I love walking across a 2,000 floor, or seeing the interior decorating choices of ancient emperors. There's one ancient temple in the Forum that has the original door, lock and key, all of which (incredibly) still work.The idea that these ruins have existed for so many years makes you think about the civilization that constructed them, and whether we'll leave behind anything half as interesting for future fanny pack-toting tourists to snap pictures of.



1) Christmas Day



As I've mentioned before, I really like planning trips to coincide with celebrations. Some of my favorite memories from first semester were event-specific: All Saint's Day in Krakow, the Christmas markets in Munich. When scheduling our trip, Eunice and I knew that we wanted to be in Rome on Christmas Day. Obviously most tourist attractions were closed. But there was one experience we weren't leaving Rome without, and that was seeing the Pope's address on Christmas Day. Christmas itself was a stunning day, 60 and sunny, with the bluest sky I'd seen in months. There were no crowds when we arrived at 10:00 (the address was scheduled to start at noon), so we went to stand against the barricade separating the balcony from the rest of the square. About an hour before the address, the police moved the barricade directly in front of us, so we were able to snag two chairs about 10 rows from the balcony.

The atmosphere is what I imagine a Super Bowl or World Cup must be like. There were crowds of people, waving flags and holding up signs. There were bands and military troops marching past. A particularly loud group of schoolgirls were seated to our left. They spent a good 30 minutes yelling out "We are here to see the Pope!" and singing their own modified version of the Remember the Titans chant.

Now I'm not the best Catholic in the world, and I wouldn't say that the Pope's teachings have a huge impact on my daily consciousness. But the excitement was contagious, and by the time 11:59 rolled around I was watching the curtain as intently as everyone else in the square.

So how excited were we?

That excited.

When Benedict XVI (whom Eunice very reverently named "Benny") finally emerged, he did not disappoint. I'm not sure we were as solemn as we could have been, since we couldn't stop rhapsodizing about how adorable he was, and how cheerful he seemed even after a rough night. But both of us realized how privileged we were to be having this experience.

(I really wanted a picture of him with the pope arms).

We finished our day off with a stroll around the Jewish quarter, and nighttime visits to the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps. I didn't miss home for the simple reason that it felt nothing like Christmas to me. There were no presents, no carols, no egg nog or stockings. I guess in some ways I was robbed of a Christmas, but I don't regret it in the slightest. It was an experience that most people will never have, that I will never have again, and that will always remain one of the highlights of my year abroad. Plus, I think there must be some sort of holy rule that you are guaranteed a great year if the Pope blesses you in person.

Bonus: I fulfilled a life-long dream of seeing the Swiss Guard in person. And yes, they do look even more ridiculous in real life.

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As I said, Rome was my favorite of the three cities we visited, and possibly my favorite European city outside of Paris. Great food, tons of history, and the adorable earthly representative of God, what's not to like? At the end of six days I was eager to board our Venice-bound train, but I'm glad there are two coins in the Trevi Fountain guaranteeing my return visit.