Two Months and Counting

Two months ago today I arrived in France. It's been an interesting 60 days. I've explored a lot, eaten even more and had a surprisingly easy time adjusting to European life.

What did I do to commemorate this occasion? I walked. And then I rode the Metro. And then I walked. And then I walked some more. I walked all over the Latin Quarter and the Marais. Then I took the Metro over to the 8th and walked back to the Place de la Concorde.

It was a beautiful day outside, blue skies, colorful leaves, 65 and sunny. It was good to just wander around the city, stopping whenever a shop or park caught my eye. Paris is a great city for walking, and I ended up running across two beautiful churches, a little English-language bookstore in the Marais, the Parc Monceau, the ruins of the Arenes de Lutece and (most excitingly) the Irish Cultural Center. Then I went home and celebrated my physical exertions by eating half a box of cereal. Good day.

I have much to post about, including a recent trip to Normandy, classes, Parisian parks and pastries. But I'll leave those for another day, and instead give you a run-down of my second month in Paris.

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Countries Visited: 1 (with another to come this weekend)

Favorite New French Expression: "Berk!" It means "Yuck." But it only works if uttered with great conviction and disdain. (Bonus: "Yum" translates to "Miam"

Most Life-Threatening Moment: The boulangeries of Paris will someday have their own entry in this blog. They are like more charming, more delicious versions of Starbucks--there is one on every single corner and yet they somehow manage to stay in business. I stop in at least once daily for a sandwich and (more often than not) a pastry of some sort. Not exactly figure or wallet-friendly.

So the other day I decided to forgo my customary tart and chose the cheapest menu option at my regular boulangerie. I tucked happily into my cheese sandwich, but halfway through, I tasted a new flavor, something aside from the usual ingredients. It was then that I realized: I was eating a baguette filled with goat cheese, slathered with butter and with a special addition of mayonnaise. I thought my heart was going to stop right then and there. But I have never felt more French.

Worst Translation Job: One of the dilemmas I face constantly in my daily life here is whether I should use French pronunciation for English expressions. For example, French people can't say my name "uh-lah-nuh" with a heavier second syllable. Instead they pronounce it "ah-lah-nah," with stress on the first syllable. It's not a dramatic difference, but it's enough to create problems. In the interest of cross-cultural communication, I've pretty much surrendered to the French on this one.

Another example of this came in my theater class. We're going as a class tonight to see Moliere's The Miser at the Comedie-Francaise. My professor's instructions for picking up our tickets were as follows: "At 8:15 you will go the ticket counter and say 'Je voudrais prendre ma place pour Sweet Brie-are Coe-ledge.' You will not say 'Sweet Briar College.' They will not understand you, and you will not get your ticket. You say 'Sweet Brie-are Coe-ledge.'"

But even when you do say "Sweet Brie-are Coe-ledge," there is miscommunication. Case in point, the train ticket on a group excursion to Normandy last weekend. Clearly the reservations had been made over the phone, and the result was a new program name which I actually quite enjoy.



Sweat Brillard...miam.

Most Retina-Searing Image: Coming out of the Metro near my apartment this afternoon, I realized too late that I was walking in front of a man with a camera. I hurried out of his view, and then turned to see what he was filming. I didn't linger too long, but I caught a glimpse of a nearly naked man (think no shirt + something resembling a leather thong) interviewing a very perplexed woman. I have no idea what was going on, but it just proves that you can never really get used to Paris.

And, finally....

Best Online Ad: One of the nice things about living in a foreign country is that everything seems novel, even if it's actually annoying. Case in point: those sidebar ads that inevitably pop up on every website. You know the types: 1,000,000 VISITOR!! or Shoot the turkey, win a prize!!!

Except the prize advertised in the U.S. is always something lame like an iPod. Clearly, the French have raised the stakes:



Suck on that, Apple.

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There you have it. Despite all the fun I'm having (or because of it), I'm a little sad at how fast the time is going. It's not surprising; I feel like ever since high school the years have been zipping by at a frightening speed. But it's even harder to feel time slipping away when you're in Paris and it feels like you'll never have enough time to experience even half of what the city has to offer.

The downside is that I only have seven months left in Paris, and they'll be over before I know it. The upside is that I still have seven months left in Paris, unlike many of my friends who are leaving in six weeks. If I were leaving in December, I would have to be forcibly dragged onto the plane, so it's probably a relief for French transit officials that I chose the full-year option.

It's not that I don't miss home. I really do miss my friends and family, and all of the U.S.'s fall traditions (they don't get much into Halloween here). But I can honestly say that I haven't really felt any serious culture shock or homesickness yet. I guess I'm just immensely brave, eating fantastic food, visiting world-class museums for free and wandering the Champs-Elysees without even one complaint. I don't want to use the term saint, but...

At any rate, Moliere is calling. Not a bad way to kick off my third month in Paris.

A bientot,

Alanna

Nuit Blanche

Every time I look down on this timeless town,
Whether blue or gray be her skies
Whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears
More and more do I realize

That I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles.
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

--"I Love Paris" by Cole Porter

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I do love Paris in the fall. And I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy spring. I have my doubts about the drizzly winter. But, with all respects to Mr. Porter, I would add something to the above lyrics. I love Paris in the nighttime.

My most vivid memories of my first trip to Paris happened at night. There was the first evening in the hotel room when my two roommates and I huddled together at the window, staring intently at the Eiffel Tower to see it sparkle. And there was my last night in the city, when my French teacher took the group on a nighttime tour. Walking to the Arc de Triomphe, my teacher took one look at my face and told me, "You're going to come here to study some day. And you're going to love it."

He was right. Three and a half years later, I'm back in the City of Lights. And there's still something magical about Paris at night. So this Saturday night, I ventured out with thousands of Parisians to celebrate Nuit Blanche.

Nuit Blanche (which literally translates to "White Night") is a one-night festival that runs from 7:30 Saturday evening to 7:30 Sunday morning. Museums are opened all night, monuments are lit, street performers and art installations fill the streets. It may sound familiar to Chicagoans, as it was an inspiration for Looptopia.

I almost didn't make it out, as my complete and embarrassing intolerance for alcoholic beverages reared its ugly head (at a program sponsored event, no less). Lest you think I am an alcoholic, as the program staff almost certainly does, I have to admit that I drank less than half a glass of wine. LESS THAN HALF. And literally almost passed out. There was roaring in the ears, blurred vision, dizziness, the whole nine yards. I turned freakishly pale. Yes, I am always freakishly pale, but this was extreme. Edward Cullen had nothing on me. Of course, this could also have something to do with the fact that I had consumed an entire baguette and a pastry shortly before the reception.

Fortunately, my Irish kicked in just in time for me to salvage the night. First, some friends and I headed over the Louvre. It was unfortunately closed for some mysterious reason (we surmised a bomb threat), but that hardly mattered. Seeing the building at night was more than enough to satisfy me. Also, there was a group of French boys who were taking running starts, then leaping into the hedges of the Louvre, which promptly bounced them off. Which reminded me of Northwestern. Afterwards, we headed over to the Pont Alexandre III to watch the Eiffel Tower's hourly light show. This doesn't come close to doing it justice, but here's a taste of how it looked. Or at least, how it would have looked had I been craning my head at a 90 degree angle:




Finally, we walked over the Grand Palais at midnight and enjoyed a nearly empty Renoir exposition. I'd actually seen the exhibition before with my friend Aisha, but had no qualms about going through a second time. It's a beautiful exhibit, and the colors in the paintings are absolutely stunning. I actually enjoyed the show more the second time around because (a) there was almost no one there and (b) I get a strange thrill out of being in museums after hours. Yes, I am a nerd. Don't judge me.

The funny thing was, we missed more than we saw. I didn't watch a single street performer, or stand in a huge line to see the disco ball in the Jardin du Luxembourg. But the night was fantastic anyway. It reminded me of Looptopia (or, strangely, Dillo Day) in that it's not really about what you do or don't do. It's about the atmosphere of relaxation and fun that pervades the entire city. Even the Parisians, who I would not generally describe as laid-back, unwind and celebrate their city at its finest. Living here, I sometimes feel as though I'm missing the excitement that comes with being a tourist. But exploring Paris at nighttime never fails to give me some of that magic back.

A bientot,

Alanna

Old and New

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setting Out

Hello all,

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

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

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

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

Saturday-Luxembourg Gardens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bientot,

Alanna