La Classe! Le Shopping!

Well, I am now truly studying abroad! Classes started yesterday (after a rather intimidating speech my a representative of the American Embassy--apparently we might all get raped, killed, or robbed during our stay in Paris, and we should avoid sitting on balconies, as Americans frequently fall off of them... Also, if we are arrested, we are missing a few key rights, and can be held for 24 hours for any reason whatsoever. Mon dieu!) with "Intensive French," taught by an Asian graduate student who did not seem to understand that some of us have never had so much as a single French class, and don't even know the alphabet, let alone the days of the week or the number system. Luckily, I have studied French for a year (albeit with some questionable instruction...) and was able to hold my own--we were told that the class will be split up tomorrow. After a rushed lunch of panini and salads at an Italian cafe (we skipped the Subway, just on principle), we returned to the Skidmore Center for our French Culture course, "France Past and Present," which looks like it will be very interesting but unfortunately requires three rather expensive textbooks. Alas! Our first assignment (in addition to presentations on a province) is to try a French cheese we've never had before, and to buy it in a proper Fromagere or an open market, not a supermarket. Needless to say, I'm thrilled--although I foresee a very difficult decision-making process--and I'm going to the market in the morning tomorrow to see what I can find. Je suis tres excitee! After class, we had a meeting with Gabriella and Linda to report on our host-family experiences, mine marvelous, of course, a few others not so perfect but all very pleasant overall. Then we did a sort of "culture-shock" activity with one of the professors at the center, a researcher on cultural differences. We split up into two groups and our group had to build a bridge out of paper, tape, and glue using scissors as our only other tool, then we had to present it to the other group, who was given bizarre cultural rules to follow, one of which was a traditional greeting where two people kissed one another's shoulders, another of which was that only the men could use any tools. There was squealing, shoulder-kissing, and some lovely arts-and-crafts (our group got very involved with the bridge-making project). Great fun, c'est non? After class, I headed home via line 4, line 1, and Pont-de-Neuilly station, from which I walked and, on the way, bought my first French croissant! I accidentally went to the less-friendly (according to Geraldine) boulangerie dans la rue, but the croissant was absolutely delicious. I was fully planning to take a picture of it to preserve my first French pastry, but that just did not happen. Can you forgive me? Also, I realized that I've only ever had croissants in Europe--Italy and now France--so I have no sub-par U.S. croissants to compare them to. In all honesty, I'd rather keep it that way. At dinner, there was a cucumber and tomato salad (all of the vegetables here are so fresh! It's a glorious place to be a vegetarian!), followed by roasted eggplant and zucchini and tomatoes and more cucumbers with couscous, served with more amazing wine (three glasses last night! My, did I enjoy myself!), and followed by cheese (a goat's cheese and a blue cheese slightly milder than Roquefort), and then Creme Caramel (similar to flan or vanilla pudding). My stomach must be expanding! After dinner, I considered looking over my homework, but I was just trop fatiguee, so off to bed until today's early class.

Today, we had "Writing Arts Review," our first English class with Professor Simon. We discussed our goals for the semester--mine included becoming more succinct, less precious with my own writing, and learning to effectively communicate sensory or artistic experience through writing--did a fun little exercise thinking of as many specific, non-cliche, reds and blues we might use to describe a work of art, and then we discussed the controversial and intriguing question: "What is art?" What, indeed. We brought up a lot of things, from personal expression to the relationship between the artist and the audience/viewer, to openness to interpretation. We also noted that, though a simple chair is just that in the context of a classroom, if put on a pedestal, in a museum, or suspended by string in an exhibition, it can become art. Because the term "art" has become so broad in modern times, it is difficult to draw a line between what is art and what is not, and it becomes necessary to differentiate between "high art" and "pop art" and "craft art," etc. I personally believe that one can see nearly anything as art, and the only important thing is the viewer's ability to explain and defend the artistic nature of the thing. I suppose that's why I'm taking this course--I want to be able to effectively explain a piece of art and translate it into words so that others can see it and understand it in the same way that I do. 

After this deep pondering of the essential nature of art, we took a stroll to Les Printemps, a chic department store, bought sandwiches on the third floor, and picnicked on the terrace on the roof, from which one can see all around Paris. It was beautiful up there! It was a perfect day for a picnic, although a bit hot, even for me, and we lunched and then walked around the perimeter taking photographs of the city. Afterwards, most of the girls in the group decided to do some shopping, or, as it turned out, some tormented browsing. We went to the obscenely expensive designer department store, Les Galeries Lafayette, meandered though overpriced name-brand purses and handbags (which, though I was almost afraid to say it, I have never cared for in the least--I've always found most of them rather ugly), while everyone made moaning purse-noises and I wished desperately that I was not wearing the filthy flip-flops I've been wearing all summer. Then, we went to the shoe department. At this point, I joined in the wishful, tortured fun of desperately wanting a pair of lovely shoes and then seeing the immense price. Many of them cost more than my round-trip plane ticket here! Mon dieu... 

Later, we did do some actual shopping at some cheap stores in Les Halles. We tried to find it walking, but ended up taking the metro, after wandering around for a bit and stopping at a fruit & vegetable market (they're absolutely everywhere in Paris), where Alexa got some bananas, Katie got some Mirabelles (little yellow plums), and I got ripe black plums and fresh figs. Did I mention that I love it here? We finally reached Les Halles, where I bought some lovely high-heeled sandals (gray, not white, of course...) and a marvelous pair of faux-leather slouch ankle boots. I shan't dwell on them though--I was just glad to have some socially acceptable footwear, and (relatively) on the cheap, at that. In more interesting news, while we were walking in Les Halles, a woman stopped us and asked Katie if she'd be willing to model for her on Sunday! She would be paid 220Euro and would have to let the woman cut her hair short, but I suppose it pays to be tall, skinny, and blonde in Paris! However, when I got home and told Geraldine about it, she seemed rather skeptical... Apparently, girls get picked up to model and not-so-nice things can happen to them. Perhaps we'll send someone with her when/if she goes... But still, it makes for a great story. After un petit aperitif (white wine) with the group, I headed home on the metro for dinner, which was mozzarella, tomato, and basil salad, fresh red and green pepper salad, salade verte avec oeil d'olive, potato puree, more red wine--though not much, given the aperitif--more cheese, and a fresh nectarine. Tres bon! 

As far as my French language improvement goes, I translated my meusli box in the morning, and took a few little newspapers at the metro station, and was able to make some sense of the headlines. I have also been trying to use as much French as I can at home. Il est travaille difficile! But, speaking of hard work, I have some reading to attend to, so I shall end this post here. We visit Versailles on Sunday, though, so there will be much reporting to do here afterwards! Alors, a la prochain. 

Des Photographs

So basically, the Cathedral Notre Dame is crowded on Sundays:

The BEST ice cream cone I have ever had, period. :

Le Glacier Berthillon, the oldest ice-cream maker in Paris:

Some guy playing "Chicago Blues" on the street:

Le Creperie des Arts: 

La Fontaine San Michel:

My new room:

The view from my window:

At the Dammann Freres tea shop:

A la Place de Vosges:

The gardens at Musee Carnavalet:

Our little "Awesome Guide":

Louis XIV (The Sun King):

The roses in the gardens near the Musee:

A real live French couple at the gardens (am I a creep or what?):

Even the shrubbery is beautiful in Paris:

The window in my room in my apartment in Neuilly-sur-Seine:

Yes, there are trees growing on the roof of the apartment across from me:

So far, Paris is absolutely beautiful. The leaves are almost beginning to turn and the smell of l'automne is in the air. I expect it to become more beautiful every day that I'm here. I'll have to start taking pictures of the food, too--I planned to capture my first French croissant this afternoon, but that did not happen... C'est la vie! More on the way... 

Mon Premier Week-End a Paris!

Mon Dieu! This has been a whirlwind of a weekend! En ce moment, I am watching the sun rise out of my window in my new apartment in Paris, owned by a lovely couple (the woman is Irish!) who have been kind enough to speak to me mostly in English up to this point (we start French classes today) and who have grown children, so I get a room and bathroom all to myself. I just finished an espresso and a strong cup of Irish tea, and I'm up a bit too early to leave for class yet, so I'll try to record all the stuff I've been up to while I'm here. 

WAY back on Thursday, my parents and I left for the airport around 11:45 am, got there by 3pm (after having to drive around the airport twice to get into the proper parking area for my terminal, number 8), and I easily went through ticketing and bag-check (although I was nervous to say au revoir to my immense orange suitcase--I always get anxious about checking luggage), unfortunately found out that there was no place to eat lunch with my parents before the security check-in, so we got coffee and stood around with a few other students and parents from the group, until we had to say a somewhat awkward (for me) and a somewhat tearful (for the mothers) farewell, and then we were hurried through security and somehow ended up on the other side, at gate 35, waiting for our flight to Paris. The whole group was on the group flight but we didn't have seats together, so I spent my flight next to a blond woman who had the exact same copy of the New Yorker that I was reading. About seven very uncomfortable hours later (I was fine at first, of course, but after dinner I tried to sleep, which necessitated my curling up into the fetal position upright in the airplane seat, and when I was just about to drop off, they came around with coffee and breakfast.) we arrived at 7am at Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris. I exchanged $200 in traveler's cheques and received a pitiful 125 Euro, then we met Frederique, a mad French woman who works at the Skidmore Center, who informed us that we would be taken by shuttle to the Center. After lighting her cigarette (I am always prepared...), I waited around with the group (it was raining, which, in Paris, means awful traffic) for the shuttle, we loaded our piles and piles of luggage into the shuttle when it arrived, and we reached the Skidmore Center in one piece. The place is actually pretty cool, with windows in the classrooms looking out over the street with all sorts of foliage, and a computer room with funny French keyboards on all the computers (I felt like an idiot trying to type!). From there (where Frederique gave us quite a long talk about navigating the Paris subways and the various forms of transportation, while we all tried our hardest not to fall asleep--we had all  been up for far too long!) we went with Frederique to a cafe and we each had two cups of coffee (un noisette et un cafe au lait pour moi) to try to wake up. Afterwards, we had a beautiful lunch with Frederique, Sandy (another lovely French woman who works at the Center), and Linda Simon, my advisor and the director of the program. Tomato and mozzarella salad, vegetables gratin, and chocolat fondant... I was entirely stuffed. Then we had a bit of orientation at the Center, an introduction to the program and a basic French class where we learned some phrases to say to our host-families. We had a bit of a break then, in which a few girls took a nap, and then we were off again. We went with Sandy to get transportation passes (metro cards that we can use in the subway, on buses, and on RER trains) and international cell phones and SIM cards (this took an absolute ETERNITY!). At last, we returned to the Center to meet our host families and go HOME to our new home-stays. I was so thrilled to see my apartment! It's all light-colored rugs, glass and stainless steel furniture, big windows, and modern art... SO beautiful. We had a lovely, simple dinner of tomato salad with basil (my host-mom buys only organic tomatoes and in-season produce... could I be in a more perfect family?), penne with tomato sauce, wonderful French bread (which I had been looking forward to), delicious wine (one glass did me in, I was so exhausted from the flight and the long day of orientation), and the traditional cheese and fruit after dinner (again, the cheese was even better than what I had hoped for! Real Roquefort, Gruyere, and something delicious that started with a c... amazing), after which I was simply exhausted, but ended up not getting into bed until after 11pm, which Frederique said was the best way to get over jet-lag: just stay up until it's a normal time to go to bed, and when you wake up you'll be fine. 

On Saturday, by which time I was mostly awake but still not fully recovered, my host-mom (her name is Geraldine, by the way, and her husband is called Jean--they're both lovely people) drove me to the metro station, to which I will normally take the bus, and I was off to meet Frederique at the Center. I was there over a half-hour early (the metro took barely 20 minutes), and so had time to attempt to use the computers once more before everyone else arrived. We got our reduced lunch stipends (fees for insurance and textbooks were deducted), then headed off to the Marais to meet Linda and her husband for lunch at Chez Marianne, a Middle-Eastern restaurant with wonderful bread (think fresh pita, onion rolls, and fresh slices of rye) and plates of assorted Middle-Eastern appetizers to put on the bread--everything from liver pate to eggplant to tzatziki sauce. After lunch, we saw a lovely courtyard-garden where we waited to meet our "Awesome Guide," who would show us the Musee Carnavalet (a museum of French history). Our little guide arrived, and gave us an incredibly rapid tour of French history, bringing us all the way from the original tribe, the Parisi, to the French Revolution, Restoration, and modern France. We followed him out to a royal park, built for Louis XIII, he showed us the house of Victor Hugo, and then we parted ways. Linda took us to a lovely tea-shop where you can smell the tea before buying it, and then to a little cafe for some coffee. At this point, Linda and her husband left us, and our free time began. First, we had to find cell-phones for a few people who had brought phones from other countries and couldn't get them to work. We took care of this and by then it was time to head home for dinner. I took the metro easily, but didn't realize that, on the bus, one cannot exit through the door at the front, and ended up missing my stop and having to wait for another bus in the opposite direction! C'est la vie, I got home, and had a lovely dinner (Geraldine made Ratatouille with fresh, local, seasonal veggies) before heading out again to meet the group for our first night on the town. 

We had planned to walk on the Champs Elysees, but while waiting for everyone to arrive we decided to stop into a cafe for drinks, and after a bottle of wine (the most cost-effective option, we found) and some individual drinks (outrageously overpriced), we decided to go to the Eiffel Tower instead. Mon dieu, the tower is breathtaking at night! It was all lit up with gold lights, and at 1am it sparkled like mad, with silver lights flashing all up and down the scaffolding. It's also ENORMOUS when you get close to it, and I just couldn't stop gawking up at it--what a tourist! Then, we decided it was time go home. And the adventure began. A few girls took a taxi immediately, but the rest of us (since the metro was closed by now) went to look for the "Noctilien" (the night bus line) about which Frederique had briefly told us. I had a Noctilien map, and we tried in vain to find a single bus stop with a Noctilien sign. We asked a zillion people, none of whom seemed to know anything about a night bus and one of whom was a waiter who gestured off to the left, where we found no Noctilien stop, and we ended up wandering in circles all over Paris, checking every bus stop and, finally, getting taxis when one French woman seemed concerned for our safety (it was, by this time, 2:30 am...). Liz and I took a taxi to the Pont de Neuilly, a metro stop from which I knew my way home, and after a relatively pleasant walk (it's a safe, well-lit neighborhood), I was at last home (well, actually, I went the wrong way down the street at first, and had to turn around when I realized that the address numbers were going down and not up...) and thanked the Gods that I remembered the code into the apartment, since I'd left the slip of paper with the code on it on my desk in my room. Finally, at 3:30 am, I got gratefully into bed, and fell right to sleep.

The next day, we didn't have to meet Linda until noon, although I ended up getting up around 9:30am anyway... I took the lovely walk to Pont de Neuilly station (much nicer in the morning than at 3am), took the metro and then the RER to St. Michel-Notre Dame station, from which I easily found the Fontaine San Michel, where we were to meet Linda and her husband. Once we had all arrived, we went to the Creperie des Arts (a lovely crepe cafe with Greco-Roman decor, rustic dishware, faux-stone alcoves for the tables, and ceramic busts placed randomly all over the place) where we got delicious crepes (mine with Chevre, Bleue, Emmental, Noix (walnuts), salad, and sliced tomatoes--the blue cheese was so strong it literally made me sweat. I love this city) and then headed off for dessert: ice cream at Glacier Berthillon, the oldest ice-cream maker in Paris. This was truly amazing ice cream. I got une grande corne avec frais et chocolat et creme de chantilly (whipped cream). The whipped cream was incredibly fresh, the strawberry tasted like pure strawberry, and the chocolate was super-intense--like frozen mousse. With our ice-cream cones, we walked to the Cathedral Notre Dame for a very crowded tour (it was Sunday, after all), before which I foolishly used the public toilettes, for which there was an obscenely huge line and a bathroom attendant who banged on the stall doors shouting "pee-pee express! pee-pee express!" (actually, that part was pretty amusing). The Cathedral was lovely (of course my camera batteries died at this point) but horribly hot and crowded, so I was glad to get out in the open air as we walked to the RER station to go to the boat-dock for our reservation on a "Bateau Mouche" (tour boat). The boat went up and down the Seine, past the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Parliament building, and various other sites that I missed since, with the lovely breeze over the river and the warm sun up above, I fell asleep on the tour! Alas... but it was quite a nice nap. After that, we were thinking of getting drinks, but after stopping in one overpriced cafe (we'd wandered into a very ritzy area) I was simply too exhausted to continue and headed back to my apartment on metro line 1, which dropped me off at Pont de Nieully again, from which I took a lovely early-evening stroll, smelling the early-fall air and stopping at the two boulangeries/patisseries on the way to check prices (I still have yet to buy a French croissant...), and then had just enough time to e-mail my parents before yet another wonderful dinner: gazpacho, omelettes (with some ratatouille left over from last night), fresh bread, marvelous wine, cheese, and a ripe nectarine. Ooh la la! Then I had a shower in my tiny French bathroom (really, the shower-stall is closet sized! I'm sure I'll get used to it soon though), and gratefully got into bed.

Well now it is Monday morning and we start classes today at 10am. I just had a nice little breakfast of yogurt and meusli with a banana (yes, they keep all of my favorite things in this household...), as well as a strong espresso with milk (in addition to the tea--I'm still a bit jet-lagged and require the caffeine). Soon I will have to get on the bus that takes me to Porte de Chatallet, the metro station from which I can take line 3 right to the Skidmore Center. I have loads of pictures already, which I will post when I get home, but I wouldn't want to be late for my first day of classes, so au revoir! 

My Last Thursday in the United States

Lordy, lordy. One week left. In 7 days I will be on my way to JFK International Airport, and off to Paris! I finally got a 2GB memory card for my camera (I decided against dropping $150-200 on a new camera... my little Pentax has served me just fine up 'till now) so I can take plenty of full-sized pictures to post here, and now I just have to buy an international electricity adapter (I say as if I fully understand what kind I need... in fact I really just hope the people at Home Depot know what to get) and PACK. 

But now, of course, I'm getting all nostalgic, and making special breakfasts for my parents on an even more regular basis. On Tuesday it was strawberry-blueberry-banana-oatmeal pancakes, last week it was currant scones and blueberry-oatmeal pancakes, and this morning I went to buy eggs to make my Mom's favorite breakfast; eggs-in-a-basket. Simple, but lovely. Here's a picture of a recent breakfast, with the addition of kiwis. Fruit always makes a plate look better:

Oh man, I'm going to miss making breakfast for my parents. My French family will just have to get used to being fed in the morning. Even though they're not big on breakfast in France. I hope they don't mind. Also, I hope they have a dog. 

Adventures With The French Consulate, Part Deux

My oh my. I'll preface this post with the fact that I do now FINALLY have my French student visa. Also, no fathers or daughters were seriously harmed in the making of this day-long adventure. 

OK, so I get home at 2am on Monday August 24th, thinking that somehow I will go to the consulate on Tuesday, regardless of the fact that my receipt from the last visit reads clearly "August 24th 9-11am." Once I get home and start to discuss getting there with my Dad (he's a night-owl, what can I say?), I become increasingly sure that it would be a much better idea to go on the 24th instead of after. And so it begins. Will we drive into Manhattan, during rush hour, only to have me step into the consulate on the Upper East Side and wait god knows how long to get my visa, while Dad drives around aimlessly because it cots a zillion dollars to park in Manhattan? I think not. I think we should take the train. I log on to Amtrak.com, only to find that a same-day one-way trip just into Penn Station from Hartford will set us back $98. Shit. So no way we can do round-trip, but maybe a Greyhound back to Hartford? Yes, I reserve it. Non-refundable, mind you. This will be relevant later. 

So I get no sleep, my Dad gets an hour, and we leave by 5:30am. Wait, that's a lie. We should have left by 5:30am to catch the train leaving from Hartford at 6:26am. Instead, we leave at 6am. My Dad's pretty good at getting to Hartford quickly. We should have been a half hour late for the train. We were six minutes late for the train. Also, we missed the exit to the train station by a couple feet, and my Dad backs up on the freeway in the breakdown lane. We didn't die. I can't imagine not dying if I had been in the car with anyone else. So, in the train station, we're told that the best we can do is drive to New Haven and catch the train there. We do so. We find the parking garage almost entirely full and have to drive all the way up to the 4th floor. It is 7:19. The train will get in at 7:30. We park and race down the stairs and into the station. Dad says "did you lock the car?" I proceed to worry about my lovely little Honda for the rest of the day. We get to the desk and I beg the guy to tell me the train hasn't left yet. He says "why don't you just take Metro-North? It'll save you a bunch of money." OK, so he refunds the $98 and we buy round-trip tickets from New Haven to Grand Central Station (see, the car won't be in Hartford, so the Greyhound is out. There goes 44 bucks.) for, get this, $65. We saved 30 bucks! 60 bucks if we compare it to the price of an Amtrak round trip, right? Right. Missing the train saved us money, if it also cost my Dad a couple years off his life. Score.

So, the Metro-North train takes us right into Grand Central, from which we only have to take one subway, the 6 train, to the 77th street station, from which we follow the same zig-zag I ran with Mom on the 11th, although this time we're not late (we got to the consulate by 10am!) so we can actually walk. They let me in at 10 East 74th St. and we wait. And we wait. We are packed into the bathroom-sized waiting room with a ton of other people. And not a big bathroom, either. A truck-stop bathroom. Standing-room only. We wait for almost 2 hours as people filter in and out, shuffle their visa applications, twirl their hair, and eat bananas. Actually only one girl ate a banana, but I thought it was worth mentioning. She was pretty cute, too. FINALLY the little French man with longish salt-and-pepper hair (the one who tried to locate my mother last time) calls "Madeleen Hennessey" and makes sure that I'm aware that my last name is that of a fine cognac. Boy do I love the French. After a brief reminder that we all have to register with the French authorities upon arrival, our visas are stamped and signed. And now I have a visa. Thank God. 

So Dad and I find our way easily back to the 77th St. station and get on the subway back to Grand Central, where we find that the next train back to New Haven leaves in about 40 minutes, giving us enough time to get coffee (I downed a large iced coffee in about fourteen seconds. I needed that coffee.), a bagel for Dad (those New Yorkers really have bagels down, despite the $1.50 cost of cream cheese), and a peanut butter cookie for Mom (it was enormous!). Before we know it, we're on the train back to New Haven, and it's 2pm. 12 hours, a harrowing drive, and a visa later, we're pretty much done with the whole process. 

Also, on the train, I played Dad "Queen Bee" by Taj Mahal and "Fix You" by Coldplay, two of "our songs," on my iPod and, I hope, made up for the horrible ordeal I had just put him through. I love my Daddy, I really do, and I am going to miss him like crazy when I'm in France. In eight days. Oh God. 

The drive back from New Haven was punctuated by The White Stripes, Tom Petty, The Doors,  and the Rolling Stones, and Dad even filled my tank with gas. What did I do to deserve this man as my father?

So what else can I say? I've got my visa, and one week in the US until I set off on a much greater adventure. I imagine my blog posts will become vastly more interesting posthaste, but I certainly hope they will be less hectic and stressful. Needless to say, it was worth it. 

Imani In The Belly

I remember a book my parents read to me when I was younger called Imani In The Belly. They read it to me before bed while we were at the beach, during the two weeks we used to spend each summer in a beach house with my Grandparents on Old Lyme Shores. I can still picture in my mind the old, pink bedroom I used to sleep in, and the knobby white glass wall light next to the bed. The book had beautiful, vividly colored illustrations, so jagged and primitive that they almost hummed or moved on the page. The story was about an African woman who is swallowed by a lion, and must find a way to escape and get back to her children. She lights a fire inside the lion's belly and the smoke makes him sneeze her right back out. Or at least I'm pretty sure that's how it goes. I also remember that at some point Imani is walking with her daughter, and her daughter begs her for a piece of orange. I didn't understand what was so special about an orange, and my mother had to explain to me that in other countries oranges were much harder to come by, that they were a special treat. I wish an orange could make me as happy as it made the little girl in that book. 

I haven't the slightest idea why this story surfaced in my memory just now, but it does every now and then, and I supposed I would note it, on this day a mere three weeks from my departure from America all the way to Paris. The familiar becomes all the more precious when we are about to leave it behind, and I would give just about anything for another two weeks in that beach house, eating fresh doughnuts and my Grandmother's scrambled eggs. Now that the visa application is no longer standing between me and France, even as excited as I am to go abrod and experience a whole other world, I'm getting a not-entirely-pleasant feeling in my stomach, and I'm starting to fear that the big, strange city might swallow me up. I begin to wonder whether I am Imani or the lion. 

Adventures With The French Consulate

What an epic day in NYC. 

See, I'm going abroad next semester, and I will be in Paris from September 3rd to December 18th. This period of time is longer than 90 days, thus I require a long-stay French student visa. And so the fun begins. Anyone wishing to acquire such a visa must bring a big pile of documents IN PERSON to the visa section of their state's French Consulate (mine happened to be 10 East 74th St. in Manhattan) on a set appointment at least two weeks before their departure for France, since the consulate has recently increased the processing time. You will notice that today is August 11th, and with my departure on September 3rd, I was cutting it a bit close. Rescheduling, in the case of my neglecting any document or simply not having a document that the consulate (as I was warned) might randomly choose to request, would really not be possible. In other words, nothing could go wrong. Or else.

So I spent this week gathering documents, copying documents, filling out forms, and figuring out how to get from Penn Station, where our train from Hartford would leave us at 9:20 am, to 10 East 74th St. for my appointment at 10:30 am. This morning, I woke up at 4 am and did a wee double-check that I had everything I needed. Au contraire. I had overlooked a notarized financial guarantee promising that my parents would provide me with a $200 monthly allowance in addition to my college's fully-paid tuition, room, and board. Yes, not just a form, but a notarized form. Mind you, my bank does notarizations for free with almost no wait-time, and probably could have done so yesterday afternoon. But they certainly would not do so at 4 am this morning. Painful. OK then, I print a list of notaries in New York City, and I begin calling them all immediately. I find that several of these notaries provide 24-hour on-site "mobile notary" services. A mobile notary? Almost too good to be true. Almost. 

Meanwhile, Mom and I drive into Hartford, park in an all-day lot, and get on an Amtrak train to NYC. Three hours on a train, most of which time I'm repeatedly calling some various notaries. First, I leave messages. Then, a few pick up. No way they can meet me at the consulate at 10 am this morning. Now I'm starting to shit bricks. Finally, one guy calls me back, Mike. He can meet me at the consulate at 10:15 am. $45. Crap. Forty five bucks for a service I could have gotten for free. Goddamnit. Oh well, at least I have a notary, which really is a miracle all by itself. But here's the kicker: A few more of the notaries start to call back. Same-day mobile notary service rates: $60-$80. The way I see it, I saved $35. 

Back on the train, Mom and I get into Penn Station. We're ten minutes late, so we can't take the exact subway schedule I had printed out, but the same trains leave almost constantly, so we figure we can pull it off. A VERY kind man directs us to Herald Square Station, where we have to walk before we can take our first subway train. We take the R train to Lexington-59th, from which we take the 6 train (which I was convinced we would miss since we appeared to be on the wrong side of the tracks...) to the 77th St. station, from which we take a ridiculous and very rapid zig-zagging path to East 74th St. After momentary confusion between 7 and 11, I realize that 10 is across the street. And who is there waiting for me? Mike, the miracle mobile notary. I have never been happier to see a mousy man in glasses with a black shoulder-bag. Time? 10:19 am. The form and a copy are signed, notarized, and stamped. A personal check for $47 is written and accepted ($2 extra for the copy). Time? 10:26 am. My appointment? 10:30 am. Harrowing. 

This story is nowhere near over. A guard comes out to accept all the people with 10:30 appointments. Once inside, there is quite a line. So I wait, talk to a nice woman who works for the UN and is flying to Paris at 10 pm tonight (I suppose she's in the air now, if all went well), shuffle nervously through my documents for the millionth time, and inch towards the front of the line. Finally, I'm next in line. The woman in front of me takes out cash. Shit. Application fee. Luckily, a nice man has come out to make sure we have our passports ready, and I ask him if he might call my mother in from outside to pay the fee. He snatches my passport and zips down the stairs. Moments later, he re-emerges with my passport, only to say that my mother is not, in fact, outside the door. Oh God. Now I zip down the stairs and out the door to find my mother nowhere in sight. I call her cell phone, and she's down at Central Park. Needless to say, she hurries back, and we are allowed back inside. Now I've lost my place in line and have to wait again, but eventually we get up there, and Mom doesn't want to pay cash (we don't have much for a day in the city) and tries to use my father's credit card (she had recently lost hers somewhere in her room, admittedly because I bought something online and then left it on her bedside table... insignificant detail), which has both his picture and his name on it. He lent it to us for the day and provided us with a written note, signed, with permission to use it. The French woman behind the window does not care. She is in fact rather irritated by our attempt to use my Dad's card, and also by the fact that my mother seems not to have her own credit card. This, I suppose, is the unfriendly consulate employee about which I had been warned. After filling out some useless form, which the woman proceeded to tear in half, we paid the $70 in cash. Thank God Michael took a personal check. Money and passport taken, fingerprints scanned, photograph snapped, I was instructed to sit down and wait for my interview. Meanwhile, I met a UConn student going through the same process, and we ended up being called to our "interviews" simultaneously. The interview consisted of handing over various copies of documents to a MUCH NICER woman behind a window, having those documents stamped, and being told to return on August 24th to pick up my visa. What? Pick up my visa? This endeavor, over which I have been having a week-long anxiety attack, has actually been successful? What a relief. 

[INSERT MASSIVE SIGH OF RELIEF] 

Now my Mom and I had an afternoon to kill in NYC. Sounds like fun to me. But first, I was starving. All that anxiety and subway-navigating and speed-walking in 90-degree weather will make anyone hungry. Also, I had to find some sunglasses. I had forgotten my Ray-Ban knockoffs and simply had to find another pair. I found one just like mine for five bucks, with 400 UV protection to boot. Now I felt much better. Then we found a nice cheap sandwich shop (after passing up the pricey pizza place we'd found in a AAA guidebook), got some delicious sandwiches, and returned to Central Park. We sat on the grass in the shade, there was a lovely breeze, and my visa application was DONE! Also, I love when fresh basil and mozzarella are actually fresh basil and mozzarella. Even the rolls were good. Plus, the nice woman from the consulate was apparently on her lunch break, since she and a few friends (not including the unpleasant woman from earlier, I noticed) sat down to a little picnic behind us in the park. At this point, I would have almost been happy just to take a nap there in the grass. 

Then we pulled out our handy-dandy New Yorker Magazine to locate an interesting art exhibit nearby. The Met looked good, but we wouldn't have more than two hours, so it seemed like kind of a waste of money. Instead, we walked about 10 blocks up to look for a "Bodies Revealed" exhibit at the American Academy museum. We found it just past the Guggenheim, walked in, and found it closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. We loitered in the open and air-conditioned gift shop and debated whether we should just go back to Penn Station since we didn't want to shell out for the Met. We were then informed by the two guards at the museum that the $20 admission fee at the Met is in fact just a suggested donation, and that you can donate as little as a dollar and still get in. And so that is just what we did. We saw some beautiful stained glass done by Tiffany (really, it was amazing, massive wall-sized stuff), as well as some lovely sculptures in the New American Wing, and some alarmingly blue porcelain from the 19th century. Alas, soon it was time to get back out on the street and catch a bus back to the station. As we walked back to the bus stop, I spotted a lovely five-dollar red pashmina, and simply had to buy it. Moving on, we got the bus, got on for 50 cents because the driver took pity on my attempt to pay him in cash (they only take quarters, all you hicks from Connecticut), and found our way back to Penn Station, where we bought some delicious muffins from Krispy Kreme, a delicious smoothie, and what turned out to be a delicious salad. It's never hard to find something good to eat in a train station these days. 

Though the train was fifteen minutes late, we got home without a hitch, and now I just have to go back one more time before I'm finally ready to go to PARIS!!! I daresay I will have more to blog about then. If a bit less time in which to blog. It's a trade I'm willing to make.