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.