light up, light up, as if you have a choice

I've gotten out of the swing of writing. And by writing, I mean fiction and/or poetry. Mostly I haven't had the time, but now that classes have started again, I have my daily trip to la-la land and start jotting down things in the margins of notes (next to the doodles—god, I'm such a great student. How exactly have I managed to do so well in school? Regardless, I got a 7.5 out of 10 on my essay test last week, and the teacher commented how I'm doing better than most of the other students who actually tested into the class, as opposed to me who asked to be moved up). So today after lunch, I braved the pouring rain and below 40 degree weather for a trip to the paperie, where they sell paper, notebooks, folders, stickers, and other assorted school-related supplies. I bought a notebook (with proper, horizontal-only lines) and a folder for all the loose papers I'm having to drag about. And because I couldn't resist, I bought a pack of glittery kitten stickers.I do miss my kitty.

I also found my favorite crêpe ever. It's got butter, sugar, and cinnamon, and tastes like ambrosia (nectar of the Gods, not the alcoholic stuff from BSG). Unfortunately, there's a creepy guy who kept hitting on me and not leaving me alone who works there, but I hope he's finally gotten the point that I'm not interested. Today he didn't try to corner me, which is good, but I also went in a group of kids, so that might've been it. I've sworn to myself never to go to that particular deli unless I'm with other kids. But the crêpe—best. ever. The dough was perfect, not too crispy and not too soft, with a nice squishy texture. The filling—I was seriously licking the wrapping where the butter/sugar/cinnamon mix had escaped. People on the metro were looking at me weird, but in my defense, I'm not was weird as the random mentally-ill who show up on metros shouting random phrases and/or sounds at the top of their llungs repeatedly.

But the writing! I intend to start back at that. And awhile ago (first or second post) someone (Laura?) commented that they'd like to read some of my poems. Well, you'll have to ask my parents for that. They have copies of them but I'm not posting my personal writing online, because there is the slim hope of one day getting published. Or if you want, leave your email address in a comment, and I'll send you one or two.

Tomorrow is Halloween. It's not really celebrated here, but I know a lot of the other AIFS kids are planning various activies for the holiday. I have no clue what I'll be doing, if anything. The weather forecast is cold and rainy which usually results in my retreating inside for a brief hibernation. But we'll see. I think I might finally be getting the hang of bundling up in a proper cold-weather-region fashion. Everyone laughs at me being the poor frozen Southern girl, but once you live in heat, you rarely go back (those who do have screws loose).

Hard to believe it's almost November. And that I've been here for over six weeks. Everyone else here leaves in mid-December; is it bad that I'm so glad to be staying the year? Three months is not enough time. I'm not rushed to do anything or experience everything, and I'm not just now getting used to life here only to have to brace myself for leaving shortly. A visit home will be nice though. I'll be back in the States sometime 21 decembre, and leave the 2 janvier, I think.

"Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le coeur."

"Si tu viens, par exemple, à quatre heures de l'après-midi, dès trois heures, je commencerai d'être heureuse." -Le Petit Prince

i'll sing it one last time for you

In the middle of the afternoon, with the sun shining and bundled up in my winter coat, I walked outside and could see my breath. It didn't get out of the forties today, and tomorrow is the same (a high near 46). This is not my usual October weather, though I do realize there are parts of the US already colder (and with snow!?). One of the girls in my class is from Vermont, and she's excited for the wintery weather.

Not I. Although it's a nice excuse to go shopping for new jackets/coats/sweaters. I went by Montparnasse today and browsed a few stores (Zara, United Colours of Benetton, Pimpkie) but ended up only buying some essentials—a pair of jeans, two undershirts, and a sweater. Then I treated myself to a chocolate eclair from the boulangerie/patisserie on the corner of my street, where the bread and treats are made fresh, in-house, daily.

The eclair has a dough much like a Krispy Kreme donut, thick and gooey, with a chocolate creme filling, whipped fluffy and light, very delicately sweetened. On top is a chocolate icing that adds a nice, finishing burst of sweet with every bite. Absolutely delicious. Food in this country is probably my favorite part about being here, but just the fact that I'm in Paris is awesome enough.

I sat on the metro this morning on my way to class, remembering last spring when I'd sit in the hallway between classes, talking on phone to my mom and dad about how to make this study abroad thing work. How to pay for it, how to get the paperwork done, if I could manage to figure out the money aspect, worrying it was never going to actually pan out, and here I am now.

Despite the cold, despite the cost, I am so glad to be where I am. Eating this eclair . . .

tu chantes comme une casserole

I learned new idiomatic vocabulary today from a listening exercise in our workbook. To tell someone that they sing poorly, you say, literally translated, "You sing like a casserole (saucepan)." And an idiomatic phrase I already knew but find amusing is "Tu n'es pas dans son assiette aujourd'hui," which translates literally to "You're not on your plate today" and metaphorically to "Not in top form"/"Not feeling well"/etc.

Ah, translations.

cause i know in the end it's worthwhile

Maybe it's because I've actually attempted ballet, but I seem to be one of the few students tonight who appreciated the show. Not that I had a clue what was going on story-wise, but the dancers were fabulous. The orchestra too. I have to respect what they do because I can't do it. I've tried.

The photos are crappy quality because I took them with my iPhone. My camera is a bit big to lug around all day and night. But the Palais Garnier was amazing. We just don't have the same kind of tasteful extravagance much in the States. Don't get me wrong, the Blumethal is nice, but it gets its doors blown off by this place. I sit there on the edge of the balcony (I had a great seat), looking out at what looks like the movie set for Phantom of the Opera, certain that this has got to be a dream; I'm not really in Paris, seeing a ballet at the old opera house.

This is my life right now. Like a dream. It's sometimes lonely because try as I might, I don't seem to click with anyone (or rather, they don't seem to want to click with me). But it's nice, too, to learn that I can live and function on my own, and that I don't need other people in order to survive. It's funny because I don't notice too many others who are willing to go and do stuff on their own; so many people have chosen a person or two and clung on so tightly that they're literally never without the other. If they have to separate for class, they do so reluctantly, and only at the last minute, then meet up again as soon as class is over. Maybe I'm trying to look for a silver-lining on this cloud of being excluded, but I'm happy with who I am, and if other people aren't going to like me, I can't worry about it.

GO VOTE FOR OBAMA!

i know just where my feet should go and that's enough for me

There are a lot of things I don't understand about people. One of them is their habit of hanging out with, being nice to, playing friends with a person and then turning around when they're not there and talking about them behind their back. I've been taking the time to observe and listen to the people I've been spending time with, and I watch how they act like best friends with someone, then as soon as that someone is gone, they talk about how annoying/obnoxious/whiny that person is.

This makes no sense to me, and it seems counter-productive. If you are friends with people who do this sort of thing, what makes you think they won't do the exact thing to you when you're not around? And if you can't trust people not to go behind your back and talk about you, then how can you possibly be friends? What kind of friendship is that if you're constanting wondering what they're saying when you're not there?

I'm no saint. I talk about people behind their backs; the difference is I don't pretend to like them. I have no patience for playing friends with people who drive me nuts, and while I'm always polite and not-mean, I have no problem with people I don't like knowing I don't like them. It's mean to lie to a person's face by pretending to like them and, quite frankly, disrespectful. And while I certainly am well aware of my friends' faults, I would never go behind their back and gossip about them because part of friendship is having a modicum of respect for that person.

Yesterday, we took a bus ride out to Fontainebleau and Vaux-le-Vicomte. Unlike almost everyone else, I actually preferred Fontainebleau. It's much more extravagent, and has more significance to history. Vaux-le-Vicomte is famous for being the dream-home of Fouquet (Louis XIV's finance minster for a short time who earned the jealousy of the king and was arrested for it) and for being in the movie The Man in the Iron Mask. Other than that, it reminds me of a larger-scaled plantation home. Older, obviously, but still maintaining a "homey" feel as opposed to Fontainebleau, which is an enormous palace and in no way could be mistaken for a simple home. Vaux-le-Vicomte has paintings of sculptures and gilded frames while Fontainebleau actually has statues and gilded frames—on every available surface.

In fact, the best thing about both chateaux were the ceilings. Why doesn't anyone decorate their ceilings anymore? My favorite part was looking up.

But Fontainebleau. Home of French kings for 700 plus years. Favorite lodgings of François 1er. Every king spent time there in some fashion, and they still have the exact bed that both Louis XVI and Napoleon slept in. A mishmash of hundreds of years of French and Italian artistic and architectural styles. I could so live there (or Versailles. One or the other, I'm not picky). But looking at the extravagance of every. single. room. makes it really obvious why the French took their heads off.

It was only a day-trip though, so we got back to Paris around 5:30. Today was one girl's birthday, so last night we went out to celebrate and ended up at a fondue restaurant near St. Michel, where I encountered the first bit of rude-French people I've ever had to deal with. Our waiter was nothing less than an outright jackass. We even made the attempt to speak to him in French, and he just wouldn't stop making fun of us, screwing up our orders, and ignoring us for hours at a time. Dinner ended up taking way too long, and we ditched the idea of going to a discoteque afterwards. Instead we got bottles of wine from Monoprix and went to one girl's apartment, where we shared a bottle of champagne at midnight in honor of the birthday. I made it back home before the metro shut down for the night, and voila. My weekend. Today was, as usual, at day of rest and relaxation, with some studying thrown in for good measure. I have a test on Tuesday, and my tomorrow is going to be busy. Cours practique in the morning from noon til 2, then my painting class (at the Louvre!) from 3 to 6, then a ballet at the old opera house (Palais Garnier—where the phantom lives!) at 7:30. My life is cool, yes?

But I would kill for a Moe's burrito right about now. I miss Mexican food.

Two weeks and I'll be in Rome for Armstice Day weekend! Booked the hostel and everything.

I still have half a bottle of Sauternes sitting on my dresser that I didn't finish last night.

sometimes i wonder where i've been

You know you're not in the States anymore when you regularly see nuns on the metro. I've been hopping on and off those trains, switching from one to another, walking through the stations without having to think about where I'm headed anymore, which is cool. Makes me feel a part of the city.

I also found a deli where I'm definitely taking people when they visit; it's called Paul, and it's been open since 1889. There are some things in the States that have been around that long, but few and far between. And nothing over there has sandwiches like this place. Or pastries. They have a "menu" where you can get a sandwich, a pastry, and a drink for 7,50 euro.

Tomorrow I have a test in my cours practique, which consists of a written essay on a subject the professor gives us at the start of class. Then we have a dictée, wherein the professor reads us a text and we have to write it out. No fun at all, but I suppose necessary. Next Tuesday we have a test on grammar too. I'm in real school again.

I'm reading Man in the Iron Mask, appropriate for my weekend trip to Vaux-le-Vicomte, where the movie with Leo Decaprio was filmed and which Louis XIV's ill-fated finance minister Fouquet built as his dream home, lived in for a few weeks, then met his unfortunate (and mysterious) end. How I love history. And though Dumas was rarely ever historically accurate, I do so love his novels too.

Life is good.

nothing lasts
life goes on
full of surpries
you'll be faced with problems of all shapes and sizes
you're going to have to make a few compromises
for now
but only for now

don't stress
relax
let life roll of your back
except for death and paying taxes
everything in life is only for now

each time you smile
it'll only last awhile
life may be scary
but it's only temporary

everything in life is only for now . . .

-Avenue Q, For Now

in a way, it's someone else's story

Getting around in a city that's sopping wet and rainy is always an adventure. And just when you make up your mind to wait the extra ten minutes for the RER rather than walk several blocks, the rains stops. What I got out of the trek, other than soaked, was my new textbook, an anthology of French literature (in French). We need it tomorrow for class.

Today was all French class. First cours practique, in which we worked with obscure subjonctif rules, and then phonetique, in which we attempted to enunciate the tricky phrases "J'ai un . . ."/"J'ai eu un . . . "/"J'ai une . . ."/"J'ai eu une . . ." It's hard to explain without sound because basically those words all get mushed together so it comes out sounding like "J-aye-uuuue". Or how about the phrase "Il va à Amiens"? Pronouced "Eel vaaaaah-Mien". Unlike English, the French don't separate their words when speaking. We take nice little pauses or halts in breath between words so you know what each word is and in French that's not allowed. Every word is connected to the ones on either side of it, so it comes out a jumble of sound and it's up to you to differentiate words. That leads to changing the pitch when two words next to each other have the same sound, like "eu" and "une", so you have to go either up or down in pitch when transitioning from "J'ai eu (down pitch) une". The up or down depends on where in the phrase the sound falls. It's all very complicated, which is probably why we have a whole separate class for it.

After several hours straight of no food, I gave in and bought a crêpe. With sugar and cinnamon and butter. Heavenly. All I needed was some skim milk, which they don't have here, and it makes me sad. I realized I haven't had milk since I left home in early September and my poor bones are suffering. Which is a nice segue into my next comment: pharmacies here are very odd. I bought vitamin C today, and to get something as simple as that, you have to ask the pharmacist to get it for you because it's behind the counter. OTC doesn't exist across the pond. What is on the other side of the counter is an array of beauty products and moisturizers and toothpaste and creams supposedly for the health of your skin. To even buy Advil, you have to ask the pharmacist, and that's just bizarre. C'est zarbi. Talk about pharmacists working hard. Maybe they don't stand for twelve hours (though I didn't see a seat anywhere inside there), but they have to hold your hand through every type of medication you use, apparently. I miss Target.

But on the other hand, I stopped in a little grocery store on my way home to pick up a can of microwaveable ravioli (even their microwave stuff is excellent—how is our food not this good? Why, and can Obama fix it?) for dinner. I needed a new bottle of water too, and while over by the drinks, I thought, hell, why not? And bought a Heineken. It'll help me sleep and it's cheaper than coke. And I can buy it here.

But weirder than that? When I move back home at the end of the year (first of June), I'll be able to do the same over yonder. When did I get this old and why don't I remember it?

Well, and so. That's what most people say about growing up.

One thing I've taken notice of, in my attempts to catalogue the differences between here and there, is in the classroom. Besides the obvious "Hello, I'm speaking French", there really isn't much to distinguish between an American class and a French one. Until you look in the corner. It's something I'm sure most college students in America are familiar with: there always seems to be a shortage of either markers or chalk (depending on the board). Teachers obviously share classes, and some of them are smart enough to carry their own personal box of chalk incase the classroom has only crumbs or dried up markers to write with. Not in France (or at least not at the Sorbonne). Each classroom, in a corner off to the side of the board, has a small table with tubs of both white sticks and color sticks of chalk (I've yet to see a dry-erase board). Genius. Professors don't have to waste time looking around frantically for where in their bag they stuffed their box of chalk, only to find it and discover it's empty—thus rendering him or her incapable of imparting their hard-earned knowledge.

It's the simple things in life I appreciate. Like good ravioli and beer for dinner. A hot shower everyday. Free internet. Chalk in the classroom. Books in English. Crêpes with sugar and cinnamon. Being able to watch TV shows online for free whenever I want. A nice notebook and pens. Socks. Advil.

Thanks to the dreary weather, I'm staying inside for the evening and catching up not only on sleep but on homework. Unfortunately, I think the weather is also causing me a nice ol' headache. That's why I added Advil to my list. Can't live without it.

That's all for today, folks.

tell of adventures strange and rare

Dinner with my host family is fun. I can't understand half of what they say because French is hard enough to understand when their mouths aren't full, but the way they interact is cute. The brothers talk the most, and while one of them has a uni-brow, the other is quite attractive. Once a week, on Monday nights, my roommate and I eat a home-cooked meal with the family which we paid for at the beginning of the semester (actually, I still need to pay for mine. Oops). Tonight we had quiche and salad, then some bread and cheese, and finally dessert of chocolate mousse.

I switched the level of my French language course so I'm now in an advanced class, and it's much more challenging, which I was looking for. On the downside, I have to buy more books, but that's okay because I'll get to learn something this semester. We had our second class of art history, and I have my little student ID card that allows me to get into the Louvre whenever I want for free all year. Hell yes. Next Monday, we have class there. I cannot wait.

And on Friday, we started our phonetics course. It's one hour a day, everyday, every other week. This is a phonetics week. So we go in to the classroom for thirty minutes, and the teacher talks us through some aspect of pronunciation or what-have-you and gives us phrases or words that we'll use in the next half of the class. Then we move downstairs to the "lab" where there are tape recorders hooked up to each individual desk, and every student has their own headset, including a mic. We go through with the professor and repeat what she says, then rewind and listen to our own voices pronounce things. Next we play the recording of the teacher's voice, only this time we re-record our own pronunciations, and listen to them over again (ideally, they're better the second time). If there's time, the teacher then talks to us individually (through our headsets–so cool) about nit-picky things in our pronunciation. It's really a cool class, and I think it will help a lot. The professor told me I have excellent pronunciation, though, and my host family has said that my French is very pretty. So hooray for French immersion in elementary school!

Tomorrow, my goal is to go shopping for a new pair of jeans. I have lost weight in the past month (noticeably—my watch is significantly looser and my pants that fit perfectly are now way too large). Another stop will be the pharmacie so I can get some vitamins, as I'm not eating as well as I should, I don't think. I have a sore throat again, although that's likely because of lack of sleep and stress. I've been staying up way too late.

Buying a sketchbook is also at the top of my to-do list. There's an art supply store close to my classes, and I've been spending way too much time doodling in the corners (and smack-dab in the middle) of my notes, which can't be good. I'm sure my professors appreciate that. But in my painting class, we're looking at these images, and it makes me want to draw. If I turn my head out the window, I have an unobstructed view of the towers of Notre Dame. How can I possibly be here for nine months and not have a sketchbook? It'd be like my dad coming over here without a camera.

Other than that, the dollar is now 1.33 to the euro, so yay for failing economies. My life is relatively calm. This weekend is a day-trip to Fontainebleu and Vaux-le-Vicomte.

please tell me what we've learned

I am sick again. Either my immune system is useless or simply unused to being continuously exposed to so many germs (le Métro, par example), but it sucks regardless of the reason. There's that funny sick feeling in my chest when I breath, and a nice rattling cough.

I had a class early this morning which required getting up and being out of the house by 8:25. Yes, I know, boo-hoo. But it's extraordinarily early for me and my other classes aren't til noon so this one's a shock to the system. It was the first session of French Society, and for the third time in my three first classes, I got a brief review of French history. I feel like I'm taking the same class over and over again. Oh well. And then I'm writing this in my cours practique because we're talking about articles and homestly, I learned this in elementary school. We also did a dictée (where the prof reads out a short text and we have to copy it down word for word, and every mistake of spelling, accents, etc. counts off) in which I made no mistakes whatsoever. I'm asking her tomorrow if I can move up to the harder class; this is ridiculously easy.

Then this afternoon at the AIFS office, there was a free wine and cheese tasting. Good wine, one from the Pays d'Oc and a bordeaux, plus cheese fresh from a fromagerie. I was planning on buying some socks and jeans (glamorous, right?) after class, but that fell through when I continued to feel like crap. There's a Gap and United Colors of Benetton nearby, and I really do need to make my way through them at some point in the near future. At the moment, I'm having to do laundry once a week, and that's expensive.

Mental note: I need to pay more attention to what I'm eating. For most meals, I have a panini (baguette and homemade jam for breakfast). Vegetables and fruit are needed, not just bread and pastries, pasta, meat, and cheese.

i've been searching for something, taken out of my soul

Where have I been the past few days?

I have moved into a new place, with a roommate, closer to the school and in a more commercial district. It's interesting how I usually get my way when I complain enough. That's what I did yesterday once I got done with class: repack all my stuff and find my way to the new place.

But this weekend, I took a trip to Normandy and Brittany. Friday after class I went out with a few kids and we bought vodka and Orangina at Monoprix (like Target, only actually French), picked up paninis at a small cafe, and headed over to sit under the Eiffel Tower for the evening. It's a spectacular sight at night, for those who haven't seen it, it gets lit up in blues and purples, and every hour or so it sparkles for a few minutes. I have photos that will be posted once my camera battery is recharged and the pictures downloaded.

Following the late night, I got up Saturday morning at 7 to meet the group at Trocadero at 7:45, and we departed for a day of traveling. Our first stop was the Memorial at Caen, a museum to peace that covers from the end of World War I up through September 11. The people who think the French don't appreciate what the US did in WWII either aren't paying attention, or know nothing about the French. Not only did they give us the land for the American Cemetry by Omaha beach, they also have as an exhibit in their museum covering a terrorist attack on our country, and saying how we need to remember what happened, and honor those who died.

But the museum itself was very elaborate. Like a maze and set up to ressemble a battleground or city in ruin or city under Nazi control (depending on where in the museum), it was filled with planes, tanks, jeeps, lots of little trinkets like a uniform and letters from soldiers. They had actual Nazi armbands and flags, as well as signed notes by Charles de Gualle. I enjoyed it, though everything they had written about the history I already knew. So instead of taking hours reading all the little placards, I got to just gaze at the photos and paraphernalia.

Then we continued on our journey to the next stop: the beaches of Normandy. First, we got off the bus for 10 minutes on a cliff overlooking the various beaches. After that, we stopped at the American Cemetery, where it was a good 20 minute walked downhill to Omaha beach that I walked with a friend. We decided the walk was worth it, to actually stand on the beach itself, and we also came to the conclusion that, given the extraordinary width of the beach, I wouldn't want to cross it (completely flat, very wide open) with people sitting on top of the hill shooting at me. And I wouldn't want to climb that hill carrying weapons and equipment, being shot at, with dead bodies all around. It was bad enough climbing it with a nice path and stairs, in mid-October (and not early June, when I bet it was hot as hell). The cemetery itself looks just like it did in Saving Private Ryan.

Our next, and final, stop of the day was Pont d'Hoc, where there are remains of a German bunker and the land is still riddled with giant holes in the ground, grown in with grass but still these enormous ditches, and every so often a chunk of concrete and barbed wire mesh scattered around. It was incredible. You stand on the ruins of the bunker, looking down a sheer cliff at the ocean where over 50 years ago, an army of men my age stormed the beach under fire and scaled the cliff for the freedom of people they've never met. And these holes in the ground that make for really fun running around were the result of bombs and landmines (of which there may or may not still be some around that area–you're supposed to only walk on places that have already been well traveled). Flowers are growing in them now, but people died there.

Finally, we arrived in St. Malo for the night; it's a port city surrounded by walls and well-known for its seafood and cider. The cider wasn't impressive, and the restaurant we chose wasn't either, but after dinner, a few of us wandered around and found the coolest bar I've ever seen. Instead of bar stools, there were swings hanging from the ceiling (you couldn't actually swing much, but that's not the point). Floor to ceiling, the place was covered in costumed figurines, some frightening, some adorable. It had a Carnivale feel to it. We split a bottle of cider (again, not impressed), then met up with others and walked around the ramparts of the city in the middle of the night. Got up early the next morning to go exploring before we left, and because the tide was out, I could walk to an island just off from Saint-Malo, with all kinds of rocks and fun slippery places. I ended up with wet shoes and socks for the day.

That's when we set off for Mont-St.-Michael. It's a famous French tourist site, so look it up on Google. Though heavily packed with people, it was spectacular. The sights . . . unfortunately, my camera battery died just as we climbed to the very top of the island (a very steep walk, up a large number of stairs). Which just means I'll have to go back. Fine with me. The tour guide rushed us through the abbey, and while I can understand why (we were a large group, with a time limit on when we needed to leave in order to make it back to Paris), I would much rather take my time. And it was frustrating that they don't allow you to see the original grotto and church that are much older than the abbey because the monks still use that area. Hmph. It's a lousy excuse.

At 9 o'clock at night, we got back Paris.

Monday was a hectic day, with class in the morning and afternoon, then getting back to my apartment, calling a taxi, hefting all my stuff downstairs by myself, and moving across the river. I unpacked and had dinner with my host family, who asked lots of questions and seem to be really nice. The only downside I've found is that six people have to share one toilet, but I'm finding that in Paris, this is common. How is beyond me.

Today, I got up and found my new way to class, and discovered that I've either got a cold or allergies. I don't know which I'd prefer. But stuffy nose, sneezing, coughing, not fun. After cours practique, I was done for the day academically, and hung out in the AIFS office until something interesting came up. Taking a short break to pick up lunch at a deli down the street, I was subsequently asked by a guy who worked at the deli for my phone number because I am "très belle". Odd thing, that. I gave it to him, but whether I answer or not is still in question.

What did come up that was interesting was a concert at Notre Dame. It started at 8:30, and featured a boys choir for only 10 euro. I went with a few other girls, after we got sushi for dinner and gelato for dessert. I sat in Notre Dame (which I can see out the window of my classroom, by the way, and it is really distracting) looking up at the ceiling, listening to these voices echoing around the space, wondering how on earth I got there.

i go walkin' in my sleep

I'm taking what's called a 'cours practique', or literally translated, practical course. It's a French language course that I have everyday for two hours. Today was the first session, and we went around and took a tally of where everyone in the class was from: 2 Korea, 2 China, 2 Taiwan, 2 USA, 1 Bolivia, 1 Indonesia, 1 Venezeula, 1 Japan, 1 Sweden, 1 Germany, 1 Turkey, 1 Poland, 1 Saudi Arabia, 1 Iran. We all more or less speak French. That's pretty incredible; I'd never have that kind of diversity in a class in Columbia. Even at NYU, I doubt I'd find a class made up like that.

Every morning on the way to class, I walk up Boulevard Saint-Michael, cross Rue Soufflot and pass beside the Panthèon. There are tourists everywhere, looking at maps, taking photos, generally stalling the pedestrian traffic while I'm trying to hurry to get to class on time or buy textbooks and grab lunch before my next class. The fact that this is my life right now? Kind of makes me giddy.

And then the giddiness died temporarily. I went to my next class, La civilisation française, and was bored to tears for two and a half hours. It's a history of France course, and whoa is it dumbed down. We covered prehistory through the Hundred Years War in that time period, which would, if properly addressed, take an entire semester in and of itself. (The extent of our coverage of Clovis? "He was baptized to make his wife happy!" . . . Ugh) I'm a history major; I love history, and I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spoon just to make things a little more interesting. I don't know how people who hate history to begin with were dealing. And what makes it worse? I could've taught the class better. I know more than the professor; she was reading her info off of little study guides for students. The information given was basic at best, and mostly idiotic. Here's to hoping the rest of my classes aren't that bad.

But I'm in Paris. Saturday, early in the morning, I'll be heading out to Normandy and Brittany for the weekend. I'll stay the night in Saint-Malo and visit Mont-Saint-Michael. For all that I complain, life is really cool right now. Even though I could use more sleep.

My walk to class in the mornings:

And then we have my neighborhood:

And then the shots requested by my mom of the view out my window:

poisoned by these fairy tales

Yesterday, I met with the AIFS people, and while I don't know if anything will really change, it was, at least, mildly successful in that it finally got the point across. It was very much one of those cross-things-off-the-list days, where you go all over getting chores and other assorted not-fun things done. I signed up and paid for the trip to Normandy this weekend, as well as for a concert, ballet, and theater that AIFS offers every semester (they give us a list of available shows, and on a first-come-first-serve basis, we get to sign up). Because I got there in time to beat most of the kids in line, I am going to see the Lion King musical in French on December 3rd! There's also another day trip in two weeks to Fontainbleu and the chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte, where Man in the Iron Mask was filmed. I signed up for that, and for the fondue soiree tonight at seven.

My feet hurt because I was wearing heeled boots that I'm not adjusted to walking all over town in, so I hung around in the computer lab of the AIFS office for a little while, talking with some of the other kids. They were signing up for classes back in the States for the spring semester (USC doesn't do registration until November 10th!). I spoke to the Resident Director too and got my classes changed. Instead of taking any class in English, I'm now taking three in French plus the language course. La civilisation française (French Civilization), la societé française (French Society), and La peinture du XVIème au XVIIIème siècles (Paintings from the 16th through 18th centuries). The painting class meets half the time at the Louvre. I'm taking a class on paintings with the real, live paintings right there. At the Louvre. How awesome an opportunity is that?

Two girls decided to go get food, and I tagged along. We stopped for Mexican, which was very good but not at all Mexican food like I'm used to eating. I mean, they had burritos, but the flavors and such were just so off. Not off in a bad way, but noticeable that I'm much farther away from Mexico than I usually am. After that was the really boring part: I had to buy a passe Navigo. It's a pass for the public transit system that you can charge for up to a month at a time. To get one involves going to one of the offices around town and presenting both ID and proof of residence in Paris. Then they take a horrific photo of you, and hand you a card that you take to little machines all over the place and charge it. Unfortunately, my credit card wasn't accepted at those machines, and I had to go to an actual window to charge the thing. 55 euro for a month of metro, bus, RER usage. Not a bad deal.

In addition, has everyone been keeping up with the financial crisis? Of course you have. Well, it's spread across the pond too, and banks over here are failing, in need of government bailout, etc. Which means that the euro has dropped against the dollar in recent days. Any little bit helps. I certainly don't like the state of our economy, but as long as we're not the only ones in financial crisis, well, I don't mind it so much. Misery loves company, and all that.

So I had to take a break from writing this post to go to the fondue soiree, and while I got a bit lost initially, I eventually found it. I, along with pretty much everyone else, was disappointed with the dinner. I like bread and cheese as much as the next Frenchperson, but I need something more substantial for a meal. It was not very satisfying all by itself.

Afterwards, it was raining. I got myself invited along with a group of kids who were going to someone's apartment to hang out, because apparently it wasn't far from the restaurant. We bought bottles of wine at the grocery store across the street, splitting up into pairs to buy them. Then we sat around and chatted for several hours. It was nice to sit around with kids my age and just chill, even if we did spend a lot of time razzing on other people.

I have no idea what the plans are for tomorrow. I would like to have a picnic under the Eiffel Tower, but I don't know if the weather will cooperate. And I get my schedule card for my French language classes tomorrow; classes start officially on Thursday. Mid-October, and I'm only now starting classes. South Carolina has their fall break this weekend.

Nice life, right?

je sais bien que j'ai tout inventé

Sundays in Europe: honest-to-God days of rest. I dragged myself outside to the Boulangerie down the street and bought a pain au chocolat (a pastry with chocolate) for dessert, which marks the extent of my outdoor ventures today. I ended up skipping the trip to the Louvre; there will be other Sundays, and I was too tired. I do not want to wear myself out and get sick again.

Classes start Thursday of this week, and I'm looking forward to it. Not only will it give me somewhat of a schedule to base my days around, I also—gasp! Shock! Horror!—like learning. And hopefully, they'll help me get a hold of this language. I can get by, but nowhere near fluent. I have to think too much before I speak.

This morning, I got to thinking about a few things. And I tend to ask the people around me their opinion before making decisions about anything. Even if I know which way I want to decide in my head, I have to seek approval from friends and family. It's not that I can't make my own choices, I've usually already picked a side before voicing the decision aloud. I just seem to need to justify my choice by getting everyone else to agree. If I present the choice to someone, and they chose differently, it makes me feel like I've chosen wrong. But that's stupid, and I know it. Everyone thinks differently and has different opinions; people disagree. I'm well aware of that except, it seems, for when it comes to choices I have to make. I want everyone to be in agreement with me.

Bottom line: I don't want to disappoint people..

I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this. Just a note to myself that I don't have to justify anything.

"It's the quintessence of royalty to project nobility of spirit and strength of character to the weaker masses."

nuit blanche

Like most plans I attempt to make, tonight's fell through. One girl decided she didn't want to go out with us, and another just didn't respond at all to our conversation via Facebook (calling each other with cell phones costs way too much). The last and final girl made plans with another group of people, so I tagged along to that instead. She lives nearby, and we met up at the metro station where we proceeded to take the train around the city before coming back to our destination, making us a good 30 minutes late. We went around our butts to get to our elbows. Oh well.

We managed to get to the courtyard of the Louvre by 11, and struggled with no cell phones (we didn't have any minutes on our cards) to find the rest of the group. Somehow it all came together and we met up in front of a giant stage set up outside the Louvre for a performance of Chinese opera. There were too many people for short little me to see what was going on onstage, but the decor was spectacular.

While Nuit Blanche is intended to be an artistic event, mostly what I observed was an excuse to stay up all night. There were artistic venues, like the opera, but they turned out to be few and far between. People tended to just walk the streets and sit in the cafes that were open at 1 and 2 in the morning. The group I was with hung out in Saint Germain, where our first stop was the McDonalds. Several girls needed to use the restroom, and in order to do so, you had to buy something. The result? Me and a bag of french fries. Oh, how I love fast food. It's so bad for you, but so good.

After that, we went walking. It took awhile to find a cafe that could accommodate all eight of us, and when we did, it was expensive. Or at least, that's what everyone was complaining about, and yeah, okay, 6 euro for a beer is expensive. But we're in Saint Germain on Nuit Blanche in Paris—expensive is the name of the game. That's why you don't drink and party every night: when the special occasions come, you can splurge. I bought a glass of rose wine and that was fine with me. Cheapest drink of the lot too, cause wine was cheaper than beer. ;)

And then we ran out of things to do. Half of us were tired and wanted to go to bed, a quarter wanted to go to a club, and another quarter wanted to do something but had no money. I was 'eh' about all three. I wanted a crepe, but didn't want to spend money and wanted to go to bed. I followed the group going home back to the metro station, where I had to catch a train going in the opposite direction from everyone else. Mom, Dad, don't freak. If I'd felt unsafe, I'd have gotten a taxi, but there were so many people about that it was really nothing. Changed trains, caught the last one going out toward Trocadero (my stop), without incident.

The problem came at Trocadero. It was 2 am, and the metro had extended hours for the night that ended at 2. But while the trains were still finishing their run, the entrances and exits to the metro station had already been gated closed. A whole hoard of people, including me, were coming off the train and had no way out.

This is where, for probably the first time in my life, I'm going to thank rowdy young men. A group of them forced open one of the gates and we all scrambled underneath to get out. I made it home safe and sound, and here I am. Going to bed so I can wake up at 9 and get to the Louvre to meet the same group at 10 to tour the museum. First Sunday of every month, museum entries are free.

Bienvenue à Paris.

i am a princess on the way to my throne, destined to seek, destined to know

As today I was feeling significantly better (I can actually swallow again!), I went on the group daytrip to Chartres. It's a small town to the west and slightly south of Paris. By bus, it took us an hour and fifteen minutes to get there (two hours to get back—hooray traffic! Nice to know some things are universal), and though the weather was rainy, cold, and generally lousy, the trip was worthwhile. I won't say it was fun, because I spent a good hour wandering around the freezing rain by myself in Chartres. Worthwhile.

But we started off with a tour of the cathedral. It's the fifth one to be built on the site, and most of the current cathedral was built in the 12th century. The tourist guidebook will tell you it's one of the best preserved of the Medieval cathedrals anywhere in Europe, and it's probably true, although hard to tell what with all the scaffolding. Every face of the outside had scaffolding up somewhere, and inside a whole panel of stained glass windows had been removed for cleaning (they needed it). The rose windows were all beautiful, but unless you're a total nutso about these things, the cathedrals kind of look alike when you're looking up. Vaulted ceilings, colorful stained glass, ribbed columns, etc. And nothing wrong with that: it's always spectacular. Our tour guide also took the time to explain that in the stained glass, at the bottom, you can usually tell who donated the money for the particular window because they're images representing them. For instance, a noble family donated the money for a window, and their coat of arms is in the lower corners. Another window was paid for by a guild or brotherhood of cobblers, and in the bottom of their window were several scenes of people either cutting leather, trying on shoes, or sizing them. It's nifty to think that these people were real, they lived a completely different life from what we're used to, they'd never seen skyscrapers or photographs, and they donated money to building a church that's still around to this day, with their mark on it. This is why I love history.

You've got to think about what it was like back in the 12th century. No paved roads or cars, no New York city skylines or skyscrapers, and out of the trees and few short buildings rises this enormous towering structure jutting into the sky. It would've been visible for miles on a clear day. The fact that people spent a lifetime building these things, that they involved so much effort and money and time, but people did it anyway. To walk through a single doorway (and there are three main entrances), you pass under at least 100 or more meticulously carved statues of saints and symbols that would've been painted into vivid life. (Where they've gone in and cleaned the outside of the cathedral, you can see the underpaint they used that's still on the statures, and little splotches of actual color paint remain.) Inside are the stained glass windows from every direction, bringing in light and setting stories aglow. Each paneled square is 4 feet long and there are more than 20 panels in each window. They're bright, literally like looking at the inside of a kaleidoscope, and the colors aren't random. Every picture in every panel has a specific, intentional meaning. For instance, the cross is portrayed in the color green because it's believed to be made out of the Tree of Life, and living tree wood is green.

The problem with stained glass windows is that they're a royal pain to take pictures of. They turn out either way too blurry or with the rest of the photo in complete darkness. So what I have to show doesn't give detail, merely demostrates the colors present and intricacy of each panel. I'm also not a photographer; that's my dad's job. I may have a fancy camera, but really all I know how to do is point and click.

Chartres - 01

Chartres - 03

Chartres - 12

Chartres - 13

Chartres - 14

Chartres - 16

Chartres - 27

Chartres - 20

Ignore the people in the foreground of that first one; unfortunately, they exist over here too (I kid, I kid—partially). Look at those sculptures, the windows, and try to imagine how much work went into making these things. It's really incredible.

And now onward.

The biggest disappointment was the utter lack of spirituality to the place. For a Medieval cathedral, I had higher hopes. Alas, there were wooden school chairs set up everywhere and tour guides with huge groups filling them. On the floor of the cathedral, one of the things it's most famous for, is the labyrinth. But people were treating it like a game—no respect whatsoever to the fact that some people might be there for an actual spiritual journey (that's what walking the labyrinth represents). I tried walking it, seriously, and groups of tourists kept walking in my way or doubling back and giggling in groups as if there was something to figure out. There isn't. It's not a maze, which has choices and doesn't necessarily get you to an end. With a labyrinth, it's a single path that winds around a center point that is inevitably reached if the path is followed. It was mildly annoying. And while I've been to other cathedrals that were tourist stops, I could still find a quiet place to sit, light a candle, and feel like there was something there beyond me and the immediate world. From a spiritual standpoint, Chartres cathedral was somewhat of a let-down. If I were there during mass, I'm hoping it would be different.

Anyway, I was determined to stick to at least a few kids in our group while in Chartres, and I failed rather miserably (suited the weather nicely). When the tour of the cathedral was over, I turn around and everyone has disappeared. I explored (in the rain, in the cold) some of the city streets, shivering and munching on an apple, before finally heading back toward the bus and finding the majority of the kids sitting in a small deli-sort of place just around the corner from the bus. They were warm and sipping hot tea or coffee, and I'm a soaking popsicle.

Ah, well. On the way back, I decided to butt my way into a conversation and asked what a couple girls were doing for tomorrow night, October 4th. You see, in Paris, this night is something called "Nuit Blanche" or White Night. During this night, there are special activities all over Paris and lots of things stay open all night. The city is, in some parts, all lit up. And while I excel at the outcast, loner type, I don't really want to spend my entire year abroad alone. Social Anxiety Disorder? Pssssssh. I'll just ask if I can come along.

So I did ask. So I will be coming along. Progress, methinks. Mehopes.

Well, we drove back into Paris, and I came to the realisation that I have a fixation with the Effiel Tower. It's not exceptionally beautifully (I wouldn't, say, decorate my house with it), nor is it the most complicated structure around, nor is it the largest. The sight of it, the shape, is so familiar the world over you'd think we'd be used to it, right? Yet every time I come around a corner, and there it is, towering on the horizon or the top peeking over a building, it takes my breath away. I'm not sure I can tell you why, but I can't take my eyes off it when it's in view. And pictures? They don't come close to capturing it. It's like the structure itself has charisma, and more of it than Obama. I could honestly spend hours, days just looking at it. If only I could see it from my window.

If only it weren't so cold outside. Today, the weather was mid-winter-in-Charlotte-or-Columbia cold. I am very glad my heavy coats are about to be in transit. No wonder Dante thought Hell was frozen over.

doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd - voltaire

I've been MIA all week and here's why: I've been sick. Worst sore throat I've ever had (and that's saying something) coupled with general feeling of ugh and some nausea thrown in for fun. My first week in Paris has been spent mostly in bed or laying around my room, though I did drag myself out for a language placement test at the Sorbonne and class registration. I tested into the Intermediate level (I was severely ill while taking this test, so I'm rather proud to say that) and as a result, I'll be taking one class in French. One in English, because it's only offered that way. And apart from a French language course that will be everyday, that is my class schedule for the fall. Two once-a-week classes and one class everyday. Not so bad, really. Plenty of time leftover to explore the city.

Being sick has been an educational experience. I went to the doctor twice, on Monday and on Wednesday, wherein the same exact things occurred: I wait in the nice little waiting room, get called into his office (literally, an office, with a desk and chairs like you'd find in a bank), describe my symptoms, he looks down my throat, and says he'll give me a prescription (first time for throat lozenges, the second time for antibiotics). It felt more like a business meeting than a visit to the doctor. Also, I paid 50 euro for the first visit, and nothing for the second, because it was a follow-up, and thus free. Very different experience from going to the doctor's office in the States.

I have to say, I much prefer having a parent or friend around to drive me so I don't have to drag my sick self into real clothes and walk several blocks to the doctor's (and another several to the pharmacy).

I've discovered, too, that the Europeans have an aversion to ice. They don't use it, they don't make it in their homes, and they generally think you're weird for wanting it. One of the things I love best when ill is a machine that makes ice chips. They feel very good on a sore throat, or after you've thrown up. But the Europeans seem to think that cold stuff of any kind is bad for you when you're sick. I'm sneaking around to eat my ice cream and to put my water bottles in the freezer so they get nice and slushy with ice.

This morning, my host came in the room to say she was going to the grocery store, and did I want anything. I asked for apples (which she already had) and peanut butter (which she couldn't comprehend in the slightest). She insisted I needed to eat something more substantial than that (obviously she doesn't yet know that I don't eat much when I'm sick) and offered to buy some ham and cheese.

Ham and cheese. How French is that?

But I held firm that peanut butter and crackers and a nice apple would be plenty.

Another strange fact? They don't use shower curtains here. It's taking some getting used to.

Now, I'm sure some of you are aware from talking to my parents of my housing situation. The apartment is lovely, the host is very kind and generous, but I'm a good 15 minute walk from the nearest other student. And it's not a convenient walk, it's a going-out-of-the-way walk. There was the understanding, of course, that we might be placed in less centralized locations and have somewhat of a commute to the school. According to the AIFS website and their own program brochures, we were to be placed in a Parisian home with another student, unless specifically requesting a single room (and paying the $600 fee for a single). I did not, in any form or fashion, request to be in a Parisian home by myself. All my forms that I filled out at various stages say, quite clearly, that I requested a roommate/housemate. I did request a room to myself, with another student in a separate room but in the same house, as that was an option. But where I am is very isolating.

I've talked several times now with the AIFS people (while sick) and been rather politely blown off. They dismissed my concerns about walking back to my apartment, by myself, in the dark, in a city, on streets that are residential so not well lit at night. They insisted that having another student 15 mintues away was the same as having a roommate, as I could do stuff with them. And then they keep saying that I said I wanted a single homestay, which I never did, at any time. An individual room with a housemate, yes, I said that. But there is a huge difference between the two, and I expressed on the forms quite clearly my preference (I said "Double, with individual rooms" as my first choice and my second choice was just "Double".) Granted, a lot of the kids in the program are not friend-material for me, but that doesn't mean that I want to be isolated in a foreign country.

So it's going to be a bit of a fight, I think. Once I feel up to it, I'm meeting with the AIFS people again. Because I seriously do not want to live here for a year, isolated and way far from the school. If I were closer to the school, and to an area where there were lots of little restaurants and places to shop, it'd be different. I would be able to stand having no one else my age living with me. But I have to walk at least 10 minutes to reach a restaurant or shopping street. There's a grocery store right across the street, but other than that, it's all residential. And there are no other students close (I don't care what they say, 15 minute walk and an entirely separate train station do not equal "close", unless we're comparing it to, say, the distance from where I live to Italy. Then they're close. But walking around by myself at night to get back? Not so close).

Ah, the neverending drama that is my life.

And a note: can I not, please, be defined as shy? The AIFS people here have all decided I'm "shy". I'm not shy. I'll get up on a stage and sing in front of hundreds or thousands of people, no problem (in fact, I'd love to, point the way). I'll speak up to anyone and inject my opinions because I have no problem sharing, and I like to argue. I will call a guy I barely know and ask him to go to the movies with me ;) and I will butt heads with pretty much all authority figures. I am not shy. I'm quiet. Most of the time, I prefer to listen and observe, and I don't always have something that I just have to say. When I feel like it, I'll speak up. But don't label me shy because I'm not giggly and outgoing.