Une Journee Pleine!

I had quite a day today! In the morning, I got up to go to the pharmacy for some band-aids and antibiotic ointment--my feet are really in poor shape, what with the new shoes and all the walking I've been doing. I planned to check the Monoprix first, but I found the Pharmacy before I found the Monoprix, and ended up spending 10 Euro on what would have cost me about $4 in the states. Seriously, 48 band-aids for 4,50? Also, when I went to the counter to ask for an antibiotic, I asked for an ointment like, say Neosporin, for preventing infection. Apparently, you need a prescription in France for antibiotic ointment (either that or the pharmacist's English was really bad), so all I could get was some unfamiliar cream with probably a minute amount of antibiotic agents in it. I also desperately needed cellphone minutes, so I stopped at a Tabac to get 15 Euros worth of minutes to put on my cellphone (which was a bit difficult to actually do, even with Geraldine helping me--you have to call a number and then punch in a series of numbers followed by the pound key, and then punch in the code on the receipt from the tabac, and it's rather hard to follow oral instructions over a bad connection IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE). Then I noticed that the open market was on again, and I decided to stroll around and maybe get some fruit. I decided that I could definitely go for a pear, and started to look around for the ripest and the best priced. I passed a pretty serious butcher's shop, with lapins entiers (whole rabbits, sans skin of course), whole birds, some of which I did not recognize, and the largest sausages I have ever seen. This time there were a lot more clothes at the market, as well as some ethnic stands--Middle-Eastern food, what looked like Japanese food, and some Italian specialties. Still looking for pears, I had seen some ripe ones somewhere at the end of a fruit table, but was entirely unable to locate them again. The market is actually rather confusing, I found, or at least maze-like, and since one fruit stand looks much like another I had to try to navigate based on the poissoneries (there were two, I think...) and the fromagers (there were more than last time). The bakery was also different, and while I considered buying some Madeleines (though I did not, since Geraldine told me that there was a very good bakery on Rue de Chezy that made Madeleines fresh one day a week, and I plan to go on that day and get a marvelous fresh Madeleine, which will be my first in Paris) the woman behind the case of bread passed me a sample of some delicious Pain de Citron (like a lemon pound-cake--it tasted very Italian, or at least like something that reminded me of my Grandmother... anyway it was wonderful). Back to my search for pears, I ended up at a fruit table where an attractive Frenchman behind the table handed me a Mirabelle plum to try. It was perfect, of course, but I was looking for pears. So I asked him if he had any pears ("poire" is the word for pear in French, but I'm pretty sure I was pronouncing it terribly), and he grabs one and cuts off a slice for me to try. It was a bit grainy and I actually didn't like it that much--either it isn't pear season yet or it was a type of pear I don't like--and I asked him if he had any Anjou pears. He didn't seem to know what I was talking about. But aren't Anjou pears from France? Up to this point, I thought they were, and "d'Anjou" is not that hard to pronounce, so I'm sure I was saying it properly... Oh well, he had only "Williams" pears, and I certainly did not want one. So I figured I might buy an apple. I asked him if he had any and, AGAIN, he whips out the knife and offers me a slice. Unfortunately, the apples weren't that great either (the season really hasn't started and they were green apples anyway), so I awkwardly walked away. He didn't seem to mind, though, so I guess free sampled are common here, too.

After deciding I didn't want to buy anything at the market, I had to find my way OUT of the market, which was actually a bit of a task given how similar the fruit tables looked. I eventually got out at the proper side with the help of a poissonerie (hooray for raw fish!), and headed back towards Inkermann, the street I'd taken to get there, and when I located it (I realized why I'd missed it last time--the name changes do Rue d'Orleans about two-thirds of the way to Rue Charles de Gaulle... no wonder) I decided to go past to keep looking for the Monoprix, which I hadn't been able to find before and which, according to Geraldine, made its bread fresh and had a good fromager. I found it at the far end of Rue de Chezy (although somehow on my way back I ended up on Inkermann and didn't get to see the Chezy boulangerie), went down to the bakery to buy a mini-croissant and a mini raisin pastry for ,40 Euro each (the raisin pastry was better than the croissant, but neither of them were warm, which means I probably will not buy them there again), then found the large cheese department. I had already bought my cheese for class, but there were a few more I wanted to look at, and although I didn't really plan to buy anything, when I asked the fellow working there whether or not they had Robechon (I might be spelling that wrong), he asked me if I wanted to sample it. Well, of course I did. It wasn't good enough to buy, so I browsed a bit more and saw Morbier, an AOC (government protected) cheese I'd read about with a telltale line of (tasteless) ash running through the middle. I tried that as well, but still didn't feel like buying it. Then I wandered to la sectionne de chevre and picked out Neufchatel Fermier (a farmer's goat cheese made with raw goat's milk and molded into a heart--I mean, it was heart-shaped, how could I resist?), a small piece of Pelardon (a raw goat's-milk cheese), and a small piece of Saint-Marcellin (fromage du lait cru--a raw cow's milk cheese). All of these are AOC cheeses, and I plan to try as many as I can before I leave here. Bring on the cholesterol. Did I say cholesterol? I meant delicious. And the cheese-fellow even threw in an adorable tiny little pot of confiture des figues (fig jam) to have with the cheese. It's all about the free stuff today, I suppose.

So after this big adventure in the morning, I did a bit of reading for my French culture class, and then decided to visit the Jardins de Tiuleries. I took my usual walk to Pont de Neuilly (it's already a common thing for me, which is bizarre, since I'm in Paris and it's only been a week, but I like that I'm becoming comfortable with my surroundings), got off the 1 at Concorde, which goes out to the breathtaking Place de Concorde, a massive square with French government buildings, museums, the Eiffel tower in the distance, and the Egyptian obelisk that Napoleon absolutely did not steal--it was given as a gift, our Awesome Guide from La Musee de Carnavalet assured us. From there it's just a short walk to the main entrance to the Tuileries Gardens, but the main entrance was rather a lot to take. It was uncomfortably warm (the sun had come out very strongly since the more overcast morning), crawling with tourists (as if I'm not a tourist myself...), painfully bright (the main entranceway is this vast paved area covered with light-colored sand and lined with white decorative Urns and Pedestals, all reflecting the sunglight), and tainted by some American rap music that a vendor was playing too loudly. I almost regretted coming, to be honest, but I turned off to the right, away from the crowd, and found an interesting abstract sculpture by some stairs. I took some pictures, then saw a man in a suit go up the stairs, so I knew it wasn't blocked up, so I decided to follow him. Up the stairs, there was a paved and sanded sidewalk shaded by a line of trees--turning a lovely golden color--on either side, and at the edge of the walkway, which was up above ground-level, I could see the street below and, just beyond it, the Seine. There was also a very distressed-looking lion statue that caught my attention--I might have expected to see a tin man somewhere nearby...

In any case, I followed the walkway around the gardens all the way to the entrance across from the Musee d'Orsay and went in that way, walking around the center in the outskirts of the garden, encountering Parisians on their lunch-breaks, Parisians taking naps, Parisians reading Agatha Christie novels (really, I saw a guy reading an Agatha Christie novel--I can only hope he was American!), and an interesting jungle-like area, the focal point of which seemed to be an artificial fallen tree. Tres bizarre! I found a place to sit by a little pond, and saw a Parisian duck taking a nap (public napping seems widely accepted here in Paris... they arrest you for that in the US... unless of course you're a duck.), then moved on to a pool with a fountain-spout in the center, where I sat down to write. I had rather a lot to say about the scenery and about Paris, and I lost myself for a bit in my little black notebook. Then I just sat back trying to soak in as much as Paris in September as I possible could--it really is incredibly beautiful. The gardens have everything from marble statues to manicured grass (the workers I found at the edges of the garden were quite a contrast to the Parisians and tourists at their leisure) and beautiful flowers. The ground was littered with crinkly brown leaves that scuttled around in the breeze, which was welcome in the hot sun but less welcome in the shade by the pool, where the wind carried some of the fountain-splash over in my direction. When I finally got up to look around in the center of the gardens, I was briefly accosted by a man who clearly knew I was not French but insisted that I looked French, said that he liked my style, and also said he was "interested in attractive girls who look French but are not" because "French girls are boring." Oh? This is news to me. Also, he explained to me the concept of Proust's Madeleine (the Madeleine cookie as a symbol of youth and the past and of pleasant days gone by) and attempted to get my cellphone number (which I pretended I did not have) or my "hotmail." He said that although it was "very scary," one must take risks while in Paris. I thought not. I told him that if he found me again while I was here I would maybe give him my e-mail address. I think that if he actually found me again I would call the police. But hey, he didn't persist, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Also, he taught me something about Proust. For me, that's major brownie points.

After this encounter, I did some more wandering, took a zillion pictures of the Greco-Roman-style statues around the center of the gardens, and sat down at an identical pool on the opposite side of the garden. In this pool, there were little toy sailboats, and two little boys playing with them, pushing the boats away from the edges of the pool with sticks. They were so involved in their play that they didn't notice my taking pictures, and then one of them left and came back to take some pictures of his own, snapping digital photos of his sailboat with a camera much better than my own! In my subsequent wanderings, I somehow ended up all the way at the Jardins de Carrousel, where a lot of young men and women were lounging on the grass (the grass wasn't roped off like in the Tuileries gardens), and where I found an enormous arch at the entrance, an immense statue of either Victory of Justice, some old Frenchmen playing bocce, and a little maze of bushes with statues sprinkled among the footpaths. Mind you, this is the extreme other end of the garden rather far from the metro station. At this point, my feet were not happy with me. But I found my way to the metro and got off and Pont de Neuilly, by which time I was absolutely ravenous. I had resisted buying an overpriced piece of bread from Paul, the chain boulangerie (not a real boulangerie, really) that had a stand in the park, and had also resisted the ridiculously overpriced restaurant in the gardens (8 Euro for a bowl of ice cream? I think not.), so I stopped for some lovely-looking tomatoes at the little grocery on Rue de Chateau (there are fresh fruit and vegetables sold absolutely everywherearound here), a demi-baguette at the correct boulangerie (the one Geraldine recommended--half a baguette is ,45 euro!)--some of which I ate on the walk home, in the way of the eating-while-walking Parisians, and made a lovely tomato and mozzarella sandwich with fresh basil from the Bijassons basil plant. Tres Deliceuse! Also, the Bijassons went out for dinner tonight, so I was on my own about dinner--une petite salad mixte avec chevre, followed by a tasting of my new cheeses, accompanied by grapes and a white peach. My feet and I have had quite a day, and I'm almost glad to stay in and do my reading for class.

And of course, here are some pictures from my travels:

So, I noticed that I can see an American flag from my breakfast table chez Bijassons...

Plus de fromage...

Place de Concorde:

The interesting statue:

The unhappy lion:

The mysterious fallen tree:

A walkway in the gardens (oh, l'automne...):

The sleeping duck:

The Jardins de Tuileries:

A lovely flowering tree, with what I assume to be an important building in the background:

One of the countless, lovely rows of flowers:

The oddly-manicured trees:

The Rape of Europa:

Julius Caesar:

...I have no idea.

One of the lovely trees along with one of the urns that were absolutely everywhere:

God, this place is beautiful:

Even the pigeons wear black in Paris--and they're rude, too.

The little French boys with their sailboats:

A tigress seriously owning a crocodile:

Un petit bateau au voile:

Old Frenchmen playing bocce:

Again, no idea:

A statue I encountered in the almost-maze in the Carrousel Gardens:

Youth at its leisure:

The immense arch that I'm sure has important significance but is not the Arc de Triomphe:

Neuilly Centre--almost home:

C'est tout. A la prochain!

Je Suis Sortie en Vain!

Bien, I just returned from an amusing little excursion into la nuit de Paris. I was going to the Latin Quarter to meet some of the other Skidmore students, and when I got to the station where I was supposed to find them, I realized I had entirely run out of cell-phone minutes. No calls, no text-messages, nothing could go through. So I asked a waiter (or more likely a chef--he was wearing an apron) on his smoking break "ou est le tabac?" to find a tobacconist where I could buy more minutes. He gestured down the street and said something in French (of course) that I couldn't quite understand, but I started walking in the direction he had indicated. I got all the way down to an intersection and, while trying my phone again, heard three girls about my age speaking English. It turned out that they were students from California who were studying in Germany but had come to visit Paris while they were abroad. I asked them if they had a cellphone I could use, but when I tried to call my friend, the number didn't work. So I turned back around to a little street-grocery owned by two Cubans... or maybe they were Moroccans--I wasn't sure. Anyway, I asked them if I could use their phone, and spent quite a while trying to explain what I wanted since neither of them spoke English. Meanwhile, a very tall, very drunk looking fellow tried to join the conversation, and telling me (I think) that I could use a phone for 2 Euro. Eventually, the Cubans (this is all assumption here--I also assumed that they were brothers, don't ask me why) told me that the tabac was closed, but one of them was kind enough to lend me his cellphone, by which I was again unable to reach my friend. Also, while I was trying to call, the very drunk fellow walked around the shelves to get his bottle of wine and surprised me with a loud "bonjour!" at my left shoulder--a bit unsettling. At this point, it was after 11pm and I figured I would just head back home. There will be other Thursday evenings! Also, tomorrow is Friday, and we will certainly be going out then. 

Back on the metro, I took the 7 line (on which I saw a man who looked so strikingly like Barack Obama that I almost tripped on my way off of the train) to meet the 1 line at Chatelet Station, where, while I was walking towards the "Depart" of the 1 towards La Defence, I passed a pair of Parisian men locked in a passionate discussion of some sort. And I suppose the stereotype of the tres active Parisian conversation is true, because one of the men was gesturing so furiously that he accidentally smacked me in the collarbone as I walked by! He and his friend thought this was hilarious, as did I--it was not a very hard smack--and I could hear them laughing down the corridor all the way to the train. At that point, I decided that this night, however futile, simply had to be recorded.

I took the 1 back to Pont de Neuilly, spending part of my ride trying to guess which passengers were Parisian and which were not, and also musing on a group of Muslim women wearing head-scarves, which, if Sarkozy had his way, would be interdit (forbidden). I always wonder when I see Muslim women with the traditional head-covering whether they wish they could have their head bare like mine or whether they consider all the bare female heads around them to be vulgar... But really, Sarkozy, it's all about freedom of choice. Banning religious garments has the same ultimate effect as enforcing them! Ah, mais je digresse... 

From Pont de Neuilly I took my regular stroll home, past the closed boulangeries and fromager and bon marche (like a convenience store), and to be honest I was not entirely disappointed with my evening. I didn't spend a single Euro on a drink in a bar or a club, I didn't get lost, and I didn't come home awfully late on a super-crowded, or worse, nearly-deserted metro, and I got a lot of people-watching in. I did feel a bit of a fool trying to talk to the Cubans, but I think I made a good decision in coming home rather than continuing to wander the Latin Quarter in search of a phone. C'est la vie! Plus, I can sleep in tonight, because there are no classes tomorrow! Alors, pour maintenant, bonne sioree! 

Au Marche! Le Fromage! Les fruits! Le pain!

This morning I got up early to walk to the open market on Rue Charles de Gaulle, and after a lovely walk over (the trees are beginning to change, the sun was warm, the apartments were elegant, and the breeze was marvelous) I arrived at an almost overwhelming display of fresh fruit, vegetables, cheese, fish, and meats. They were even selling suede boots, leather wallets, belts and all manner of random shoe-type things. The fruits were so lovely and brightly colored that I simply had to mark myself as an American and take pictures of everything. After wandering, amazed, through the aisles of tomatoes, bananas, strawberries, pears, apples, grapes, and pungent fish filets, I asked "ou est le fromagere?" and was directed to two places where I might buy an exciting new cheese for my assignment. The first place I looked had a ridiculously large selection of cheese, and business was going rather fast--rapid French, various measurements and numbers I could not identify, and enormous pieces of cheese being cut to particular weights--so I decided to try the less-lively fromagere (which turned out to be slightly more expensive, but still less than the one on Rue de Chateau), where, after much consideration, I chose a round of "Perail," a soft fromage de brebis (ewe's cheese, made from pasteurized sheep's milk), and a ball of "Galopin Fromage de chevre," a fromage de chevre cru (unpasteurized goat's cheese). Afterwards, I just had to buy some fruit to go with my cheese, and after considering some pears that looked lovely but were not quite ripe I decided on a small bunch of black seeded grapes. After a bit more browsing, I started on my walk home, and stopped at a boulangerie (not a real one, I found out later from Geraldine, but a chain... the bread was still delicious, however) for a fresh baguette, which was warm when it was handed to me and which I could not resist eating on the walk home, when it was still a bit warm to the touch. I ended up going around the long way, and by the time I got back to my apartment my poor little feet were killing me! Note to anyone reading this: never wear new shoes to the market, not to mention cheap high-heeled sandals. Ouch! 

Here are some pictures from my walk to and from the market, the market itself, and the lovely foodie-loot I came home with:

Neuilly au septembre:

Le Boulevard Bineau:

A lovely intersection near the market:

Fresh fish! I'm sure you can imagine the smell... 

The most beautiful vegetables I have ever seen:

J'adore des bananes!

Des belles fraises:

Beaucoup de fromage suisse!

Fresh figs:


This really is my kind of place. 

Plus de fromage...

Madeleines!

Plus de fromage... 

Some lovely pears that were simply not ready to accompany my cheese:

Are these not the most beautiful berries? C'est non?

Yes, I actually made this poor fruit-vendor pose for me:

Some lovely roses at a fleurer on my walk back from the market:

...Is that a baguette in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me? Oh, how Parisian I felt carrying a baguette on the street... 

Le Fromager a la Rue de Chateau:

Plus de fromage...

Some gorgeous tarts at the boulangerie that Geraldine recommended:

Yes, I live here. :) 

A perfect meal:

I swear, the baguette was much larger when I started walking... 

Apparently, this particular cheese was a favorite of Napoleon:

After my adventure in the market, I had to get to French class at the Center, was nearly late because I missed the bus and had to wait for the next one, but arrived just in time. Another amusing class with Professor Heng, who spent an inordinate amount of time trying to explain a "Croque Monseur" to us, even to the extent of drawing a picture of the sandwich on the white-board. During our lunch break, we went to the cafe across the street from the center, ordered sandwiches and salads as well as a plate of mixed cheeses (unfortunately for the others who had not yet bought their cheese, none of which were new to us). At this point, I took out my half-baguette and apple and grapes and my two rounds of cheese and had a lovely lunch in addition to my salad. I felt a bit awkward doing this in a restaurant but, hey, it was an assignment. The chevre was lovely, creamy, and had a nice, mild bite to it, and went marvelously with the baguette and the grapes. The Perais was sweet, creamy-soft, almost gooey, and slightly--though not unpleasantly--on the salty side. It was lovely with slices of apple, as was the blue cheese that came on the mixed plate. 

Then we had our afternoon class, our first day of "Travel Writing," during which we took a little stroll just down the street to a little urban park, "La Square Emile Chautemps," and wrote in our little journals for a bit. I always feel self-conscious writing in public, but soon I was so deeply involved in what I love the most--writing, of course, except perhaps for reading--that I returned to the classroom a bit late. I sat on a bench in front of the fountain in the square, next to a woman and her son, who got up immediately after I chose them as my writing subject, and near the children's playground, where I observed that all joyful play-shrieking sounds the same in Paris as it does anywhere in the US. If only we all could remain children... 

After class, I went to buy my French textbook, and then my feet hurt so much that I really could walk no more. I headed home for a lovely dinner--fresh melon, followed by spinach ravioli with peas and fresh Parmesan sauce, followed by salade verte avec oeil d'olive, followed by more of that lovely cheese from this morning, this time enhanced by a glorious glass of red wine, and tiny sweet green plums--and now I still have some reading that I have neglected (I spent almost three hours last night perusing a guidebook of Paris and became so involved that I lost track of the time) as well as my damaged feet to attend to, so for the moment, au revoir! 

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.