Joyeux Noel!

Just when you thought I had nothing left to say about France, I come back with a list of thigns to say. First, France is the country of Christmas. Seriously. More lights in Paris than in New York. Sadly, I suck and never take photos, but there are many examples. For example, there is a Christmas tree in front of Notre Dame. It was beautiful and all lit up and made the cathedral about 10 times better. Gorgeous. My dear friend Liz sent me this link and I think France beats most other countries. Prends-toi un regard: http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/gallery/2008/dec/25/art-christmas-tree-lights-festive?picture=340829464

I was also fortunate enough to have a gorgeous, pine-smelling, beautiful real "arbre de noel" chez moi, à la française. The only thing was, they don't really decorate them right away, which made me sad because I love ornaments and seeing how different families decorate their trees. I also don't know if I've ever mentioned just how much food the French eat on Christmas. It must be the only freaking time they eat anything. Seriously. They make a huge turkey, much like ours for Thanksgiving, and stuff it with this delicious meat stuffing and serve it with veggies, but all of this AFTER they have already eaten oysters and several other small seafood items. Follow all that with cheese and salad and a huge buche de noel or whatever that cake was ( I didn't like it so much), and you have Thanksgiving. On Christmas. (read here for more French traditions: http://french.about.com/cs/culture/a/christmas.htm).

When I said goodbye to Madame de Ribier, i gave her a box of chocolates to say thank you, as a dual thank you-christmas gift. We both got a little teary eyed. I love that woman and I am going to miss her so much.

Merry Christmas to all.

Tristesse/joie.

I am currently sitting on my bed in New York. It is snowing and everything I see is white. I have been awake since 4am. I am still on Paris time but I am no longer there. I am heartbroken and ecstatic at the same time. Paris, tu me manques déjà. Tu as mangé mon coeur, comme une monstre, et tu n'as rien laissé. Maintenant, je suis triste et contente, triste pour ne pas avoir eu assez de temps pour voir chaque musée, monument, etc. mais je suis contente, parce que c'est toi, Paris, qui m'inspire maintenant de faire tous que je peux à New York.

Il faut absolument comprendre que Paris est comme une belle amie que je vais connaitre pour longtemps. Mon amie, mon amour. Et dans ce cas-là, je sais que je n'oublie jamais ma vie là-bas.

I will have to follow up with the details of my last week in Paris. Paris je t'aime. New York, I love you.

Dear Finals

I hate you.

The Brianne and Martha Project.

Last year and I guess more so last semester I decided I was going to make my attempts at baking and try to make a few of Martha Stewart's recipes from her Cookies book. Some of the cookies were a great success, some of the bars worked out, but mostly, just the granola worked...

In lieu of recent events, aka the fact that in France all I make is American comfort food (read: I make chili once a week and eat it every day for leftovers), I have decided to find inspiration in Martha's recipes. I will, over the next year, be like Julie and try to make all (read: try) of her recipes. So, if you were thinking about Christmas presents, baking supplies will be needed in great quantities, or you know, just gift cards to Whole Foods, Trader Joes, and other similar places. I might even have my hand at trying to make up my own recipes (egads!) and then hand them out. Basically, if you live in my dorm next semester, get ready for my baked love to come up to your door.

I suppose all of this is inspiration of the film, Julie & Julia, and the fact that my life has to have greater meaning that just doing homework and studying anti-Semitism in modern Europe...

Aside from all that, there is so much left for me to do in Paris and I have to get it all done! How am I ever going to get to all the things left on my list when there is a freaking grève??? Why do you people always strike in this bloody country? I hate living with all you radical revolutionaries. This whole "Vive la resistance" mentality has got to stop because people have things to do and things to see. I have narrowed it down to three very important things: 1. The Pinocathèque to see the Golden Age exhibition. 2. Les Invalides to see Napoleon's tomb. 3. Climb to the top of Notre Dame. As for food, I have narrowed it down to two restaurants I need to go to: 1. La Bourse ou La Vie 2. Aux Lyonnais.

Also, I would like to stop thinking about my professor at this moment in time and be able to get my work done in an efficient manner. God, please, save the queen.

(or find me the other homme de ma vie.)

Things Not Necessarily Related to Paris

So, the other day I realized I am probably in love with one of my professors. This is something I have always imagined would happen but in all honesty never truly felt it could occur. I was gravely mistaken. I will now divulge into the deepest parts of my heart to express the most ridiculous case of unrequited (and private) love that I have for this man.

First, he is young. I mean I think this is like the 4th semester he has ever taught. But he is beautiful and brilliant, and definitely fits into the category of real human beings (a category into which I do not necessarily fit). Perhaps this is just really bizarre or makes me seem like I have completely lost my mind in Frogland. But then I consider the fact that I only started to really feel this way after he decided to assign an excerpt from The Mandarins. Now, I just want to be like Simone de Beauvoir and fall in love with one of my professors. I can't stand it and I feel like it's actually suffocating me.

En fait, c'est une grande problème, parce que j'ai vraiment besoin de lui en futur. Il faut que je trouve un professeur pour m'écriver un lettre de support pour un programme avancé à NYU à New York. Bof, qu'est-ce que je dois faire? Je n'ai rien de ma tête et ça m'énerve enormément. Comme ça, je déteste ma vie. Ma vie compliqué, ma vie perdue... Et dans tous ces cas là, je n'ai aucune idée comment je peut lui demander de faire des choses comme ça pour moi. Je suis seulment une étudiante perdue dans le système.

I have to get back to New York.

Happy Thanksgiving.

There are so many things I have to be thankful for this year and always. Thursday evening, I enjoyed fantastic Thanksgiving dinner on the Eiffel Tower (not at the Jules Verne) with new friends, old friends, and a pretty decent attempt at capturing the joy that is Thanksgiving. Certain things were different but I can hardly complain about being able to eat on the Tower again - yes, I did it in senior year of High School. Yes, I am totally that cool. Regardless, the meal made me realize just how much I have to be grateful for in my life, starting with Paris. Everyone knows I complain about Paris. I have a hard time with its people, with the fact that they do not ever understand me, and am still not entirely pleased that eggs are not sold in a cold case. However, the De Ribiers have been so incredible, minus some internet drama, that I am able to push aside all of the issues I have with Paris and just say that I love it.

The truth is, there is no place like home, no place like New York. But there isn't supposed to be. I have my issues with the city as well, and at this point I assume it to be natural to be so ready to go home. By this point in the semester, I normally am so fried and so over being at NYU, and Thanksgiving always proves to be a relief. Now that its come and gone, I know I only have a matter of weeks left, and I find myself in a bittersweet position. I cannot wait to live my life and get back to the lifestyle I fell in love with last semester, but I don't want to leave this place anymore. This semester has been so heart-wrenching, so many different emotions occurring all that the same time, so many that sometimes I feel like I might burst.

Maybe I'm like one of the ex-pats now. I have two loves and two countries. Maybe I'll even consider Paris a second home when I get back to New York.

Ciao Bella! Or, Adrienne and Brianne find really old stuff...

Let me announce forwardly, and hopefully seriously, that I am officially moving to Italy. There are a series of reasons for this:
1. Pizza
2. Old shit just hanging all around the city (i.e. the Colloseum, Constantine's Arc, the Forum, and other things that I can't remember but photos will prove they exist)
3. Gelatto
4. Italian people in general.
5. The weather.

Roma was absolutely beautiful. The weather was perfect and was a much needed escape from all this ridiculous rain and cold and back and forth here in Paris. I think someone needs to decide if it's winter yet because I can't deal with these random bursts of 60 degree days and then 40 degree days and 30 degree mornings. One complaint I have about Rome - more than any other city I've seen in my brief stint here in Europe - is that there is ENTIRELY TOO MUCH GRAFITTI. Um, hello? Do you realize how important your city is? Please stop drawing shit all over it and defacing its beauty. Punks.

Adrienne and I started our day with delicious pasta. I won't tell you my food was amazing at every restaurant we ate at because that would be a blantant lie. But, it was cheap, and the two amazing meals and all the desserts outweigh the crappy pasta I had for my last meal there. I freaking love Napoleatano (sp?) style pizza. Anyone going to Rome needs to check out Da Ricci's (or, Est! Est! Est! to the locals) for an authentic meal that everyone in Rome apparently LOVES. Best pizza ever, ever, even better than Two Boots, but I might be the only one who still LOVES Two Boots. The rest of the day became a search for really old shit, as I put it every time, and our reaction was always "How old is that?"

Went to the Vatican, saw the Sistine Chapel, no big deal really... Except that it was and the Vatican is MASSIVE and I actually thought we were going to die Friday night from all the walking. Climbed to the top of St Peter's and really thought death was near... That hike made Sacre Coeur look like a breeze. St Peter's was beautiful and was my second favorite part of the trip, aside from the Coloseo, which was apparently not originally called that, thought I don't remember what they originally called it... Also, the pope was not present so I couldn't say hello, but I totally managed to use the Lord's name in vain at least 20 times. I think Adrienne was ready to hit me.

Seriously, I don't know HOW we did it, but I'm pretty sure we saw everything that most normal people see in Rome and then some. Thank God for my guide book. Also, leave it to me to happen to stumble upon the Jewish quarter in Rome of all places. Yes, it exists. No, I'm not making this up. You don't have to believe me. The square was called Jeruselum Plaza, no joke.

Let's talk about Gelatto. Went to Giolitti, where Audrey Hepburn goes in Roman Holiday, and got a chocolate, pignoli (pine nuts), and coffee gelatto cone and sighed. Hello, Italy, thank you for the gift of the best ice cream ever. The next night I went to Italy's oldest gelatto shop, which was right by my adorable B&B, and had rice, hazenut-chocolate that was not nutella because there were nuts in it, and tiramisu. HEAVENLY. The rice tasted like rice pudding. Who ever decided getting 3 flavors on a cone was a good idea is a genius. A genius. I hope to get to Ossining Pizzeria when I get home for some gelatto, unless there is a better place when I return.

I'm officially moving to the land of gelatto, pizza, and less pretentious women. The women were average sized, like me, and did not make me feel bad about the huge ass I have developped since arriving in France. Granted, I don't know how much of this weight is weight and not muscle. My legs are pretty stiff and I think it's from the stairs. Adrienne thinks it should have toned me down. I don't know if stairs do that but I imagine it wouldn't be as firm... I can't wait to get back to Palladium and be a real human being again.

On another note, our tour guide said something really powerful to us about Rome and world history. He said "Please do not think that this is just the history of Rome. There is no ethnic Roman. This is the history of the world. This is your history. You are all Romans." I thought this was really striking and it made me feel really connected to all the things I was seeing and made me understand the values of modern states and governments.

So go see your history. Maybe by the time you do, I'll have moved to Italy and you'll be able to stay with me and we can eat gelatto and I can live in a world that will probably only exist in my imagination.

I can't wait to leave France.

Grammar

At the beginning of the semester one of my professors told me to think in French. Naturally, I took her advice, but I fear it was the worst advice she could have given a student who is 1. taking a class in English 2. not a French major.

That Vichy paper that I was complaining about, well, I got an A-. No complaints here, but my professor (swoooooooooon) circled all the various issues with my grammar. I need to explain to him that I do not need to be placed in remedial English and that I actually just think in French. Je peux pas écrire en anglais et ça m'énerve énormement. Maintenant, je suis tellement triste parce que je suis inutile avec ma langue propre, et j'ai une accent qui est absolument américain, et aussi je ne comprends rien du tout les choses qui concern l'accord de grammaire. De plus, les français ne me comprenent pas, sauf les jeunes et les ados et mes profs. C'est ridicule et c'est pas juste! Also, Professor Jackson is like 10. I would like very much to find out when he got his PhD because I either want to be him or want to mock him for not having a life after university and going straight to get his doctorate. Either way, I need to figure out what I am doing with my life.

It's funny, because the French have a particular way of speaking English and now I am stuck in the middle of my French and their English and am developing some cracked out hybrid franglais that is not helping anyone. But, I really love when I don't have to think and can just miraculously speak French. That is a beautiful experience and I hope everyone here in Paris has had it.

Aside from all that nonsense, I still need to find another freaking class for my major and finish doing my Vichy reading, which is all about the roots of Anti-Semitism. I am starting to think my obsession with the Jews, Nazism, and racial theory is a serious issue. It shouldn't be so fascinating but it is and for whatever reason it just gets under my skin and I just yearn to understand all of it. Reasons to be a professor: you never stop learning and you never stop feeling inspired.

I have a lot of work to get done before I leave this weekend and I imagine I CANNOT go out until I go to Rome. Also, I am breaching on broke and should start my holiday shopping. Everyone is getting little Eiffel Towers, sorry. I'm cheap and this country is killing my wallet.

I should end this with some kind of announcement like I normally do, so I will end it how I ended my paper, with hopes that someone understands the reference - and if you want to read the paper I'll send it to you too.

"Germany is always the soldier and France is always the peasant."

Les Temps: Comment est-ce qu'il peut faire 15*C aujourd'hui?

Ok, France, let me in on your little secret. How the hell has it been so beautiful the past couple days?
Aside from the perpetual down pour yesterday, which limited me to my bed and watching the Simpsons dubbed in French (stay away, it's not entertaining), this weekend has been sunny and warm. And like 60 degrees fahrenheit. Oh and today I didn't need a winter coat or gloves. What is going on in this country? Everyone tells me that it's because of the different climate, which is obviously the most scientific answer, but it is indeed bizarre. What is most bizarre, however, is how the weather is different at different parts of the city. It's always at least 5-10 degrees warmer in my quartier than it is only 3 km away at the NYU center. My professor asked me if I lived in a "jolly quartier" (how I love this British man), and I supposed I'd have to say yes.

But this morning, I woke up to rain crashing on my window. Within two hours, it stopped and it was sunny. Then it was sunny for 3 hours in the Marais. Then the sun left me and oh wait, it actually gets dark here at 5PM. France, what the hell? You tease me with your spring like weather and then le soleil se couche.

I can't seriously complain, because I got to see so much and do so much that I had yet to do. I strolled on the Promenade Plantée, went to the Bastille, ate Churros, went out for delicious Sangria, went to the top of Sacre Coeur, and today I went to the Memorial de la Shoah - the Holocaust memorial museum in the Marais - and found bagels, but no cream cheese. France, you are trying to kill me.

I found my last name on the Wall of Names and I hope to find information about my family and see if these people are my distant relatives. It seems, through some online research, that my name has changed a few times (Sherbee, Sherba, etc.) so it's possible that they are not really my relatives, or that I am related to a lot more people than I thought I was.

To think, that in this Catholic country, I manage to find an intense passion for Judaic culture and a strong desire to find my family's origins. Take that, France!

My major in Fascism.

I was toying with the idea of staying all year. I applied and was accepted. It took me 10 days to realize that that was the end all be all fantasy of the year, even more unrealistic than my desires to marry my British Vichy France professor (who, btw, is apparently also a professor at Science-Politiques? Why aren't we in love?). Let us discuss Paris and the pros about going back to New York, but really only so I can major in fascism or Hitlerism. Because we all know, Hitler was a Jew and this therefore makes it somewhat acceptable for me to be obsessed with him and the development of Nazism and Totalitarianism. At this point, I should start considering Franco, because at least he didn't kill the Jews. Or maybe Mussolini, but I am not Italian and I'd prefer to learn how to speak Catalan...

Next semester may or may not be the semester of Fascism. I am still unsure of how I can manage this because surprise! I still have a MAP requirement to take. God save the Queen.

Really, though, none of that matters. Last night we had a cocktail party at NYU to celebrate our homestay families and generally get drunk on NYUs tab. I succeeded in both. First of all, my homestay family thinks I have a drinking problem. I think I have discussed this multiple times but last night they asked if the water I was downing was vodka. Always the butt of an alcohol joke, let me tell you. It can't go on like this forever, because as soon as I get back to New York it will be the same thing where I have an overwhelming fear of bars or going out in public, generally speaking. So we celebrated our homestay family and here are all the reasons I am thankful for them, even though they pick on me for liking wine more than usual:

1. They tell me I speak French really well, better than they had expected, and that they hope I continue to use the language in the future.
2. They share their life with me. The other day Madame showed me her scrapbook of all of her travels during her 20s, and it was so amazing.
3. I get a hello bisou when she returns from her vacations and she treats me like her granddaughter.
4. We have little chats every morning over coffee and cereal, and sometimes its the reason I am late but I don't mind.
5. They always tell me little tidbits about Paris, France, and various other places, that really end up being useful.

I have never felt so much love for a family who isn't mine. I would stay with them only so I could live with them again but I feel so silly for getting so attached. Any time I am having a hard time, or any time I feel like Paris is not where I should be, they remind me of how incredible this experience can be.

That's it for now. It's a beautiful day in Paris and I am still without internet.

Le Métro

In all honesty, I have grown to like the Paris métro. It tells you when to expect the next train, late at night tells you the time of the last dispatched train so you can decide if you can really make your transfer or not, and generally speaking, it is clean and well-lit. I rarely feel unsafe, except for when it's like 1:30 AM and I'm at Oberkampf or République. Then no one should really feel safe.

The métro is designed so that you never have to transfer more than twice, whereas in New York, more often than not you will just walk to the subway a couple avenues east or west so that you can avoid the idea of transferring, period. The other thing about New York is the fact that the subway runs uptown-downtown, and you don't really need to know more than that. If you can count, you can navigate the New York City Subway System. In Paris, however, you have to know the name of the direction you are going, because it is not necessarily uptown or downtown, or east or West. Admittedly, the subways going into Brooklyn and Queens get a bit confusing, but at least those say Brooklyn-bound or Queens-bound.

But on the subject of transferring twice, I have discovered a métro line that I simply adore and a concept Paris should really jump onto and employ all over the city: the 14. How I love the 14! It cuts out half of my travel time, EVEN IF I have to transfer twice. It skips through have the freaking city and gets me to Châtelet in less than 20 minutes, and getting to Châtelet means I can get to the Marais or the Latin Quarter before I can say "le dernier métro." I think this line, and possibly the 11, are the only lines similar enough to the famous New York express/local system. Paris, get more express trains. Your dépaysés and ex-pats will cry with happiness. In New York, time is money. In Paris, time is spent on the métro or waiting in ridiculous lines, because everyone in this bloody country has to "faire la queue" just to say hello or how are you.

I have also discovered the reason for why the métro is so hot here, and why it reflects the real temperature in New York. The trains here do not go straight. They turn and as a result, the air flow is limited and the heat is not released. It gets trapped. I also don't think there are many street grates (is that what they are called?) in this city. In New York, it's a direct line. Some of the stations, like Times Square, are hot but that is because they are hubs and a bunch of lines are coming together. If only this city didn't try to hard to keep its snail mentality.

Worse comes to worse, I will continue to take the 14 n'importe où, and I encourage all of you to do the same.

But, I don't really encourage anyone to "faire le queue."

Pensées

So, when I initially started this blog, I planned on writing in it multiple times a week about things going on in my life, in Paris, and specifically of general thoughts I had concerning the city and the new life experiences I have here and those I have in New York. The posts have turned into a laundry list of things that I do over the weekends, and I feel like there are a lot of little charms of things that I have done that I have never really written about. So, to make this somewhat therapeutic and somewhat more consistent, I will begin a series of posts about things involving Paris and life that I have yet to write about.

There are a lot of things about New York that I miss; that being said, I am still unsure if I am fully homesick. I am so envious of people who are in New York right now, and upset with every new, exciting thing I hear about going on there. I miss Brooklyn, I miss going to The Fiddler with Meredith and dancing on the bar - even when still somewhat sober - and I miss driving my car up Mount Airy Road to go to babysit Palmer. I miss TJ and Caroline, and playing with the animals, and even getting into fights with Caroline because she is learning a new sense of rebellion. I miss Chanci, and her unplanned humor, because she can be so funny, just like her sisters. I miss my parents more than I ever thought I would. I skyped with my father for the first time the other day, I was crying from general stress of papers and midterms, but I think I cried because he finally did something for himself and finally went out and got himself a gift.

On the flipside, I love this city. This morning, I woke up in a friend's bed after we had had a truly lovely dinner party - which I fell asleep through halfway - and realized that I am not so alone. I had a really good week, as everything has calmed down and I can finally breathe here. My Vichy class has inspired me and reminded me why I am in college and what I can do with my education if I just keep working.

Every week I go to a new museum with my Art History class. Last week we went to the Orsay, a museum I have visited before, and the paintings we saw were ones I had seen in the past but they still moved me. There is something powerful about this city, about the art, the architecture, and even the street signs, that warms and fills my heart until sometimes I feel like it might just burst. Alexandre Cabanel's Venus, almost always brings tears to my eyes. The idealized woman finds herself in the idealized city. Two of my professors here inspire me every day. One of them reminds me of a passion that I have a large fear of pursuing, the other reminds me that the path I have chosen and am making and taking for myself is going to bring me right where I need to be. To be moved by such beauty on a daily basis makes me realize what a beautiful place Paris is and what a beautiful life I have here. What beauty is it that gives us such warmth? I wonder about this constantly. A couple weeks ago I found myself in the Louvre and I saw, for the first time, Vermeer's The Astronomer. My eyes filled with tears. The color were still so vibrant after all of these years, and the man's robe was still so green, still so beautiful... How those colors remain so full of life is a mystery to me.

I have heard from Parisians that there are places in Paris where they go that still touch them. Aygline, Madam de Ribier's daughter, told me that every time she comes to Paris she goes to Place de la Concorde, to be reminded of just why this city is called the city of lights. For me, every time I see the Eiffel Tower, as cliché as that sounds, I stop in awe and marvel and I just stare at that construction, that glorious tower on the river, and when it sparkles, I am moved. Every chance I get, I go to the Trocadero and just sit and stare at the tower. It fills me with this sense of rootedness, much like the feelings I get from going to the Met while in New York.

Ceux qui sont mes pensées pour aujourd'hui. Et, avec ça, tout va bien.

Halloween: day of the dead and the true start of a week from Hell.

Halloween in Paris sucks. In fact, it blows. The parties are not all that great and people mock you openly on the street if you are in costume. My friend was dressed as a cat and people actually meowed at her. Are you serious? Even some frenchies got dressed up, which was great to see, because that means that these people might actually love my country, but it was at the same time disheartening because people who mocked us actually knew we were American. Talk about double standards.

However, last weekend, apart from being in bed all day Sunday working on my tumultuous Vichy France paper and crying to my father, was fantastic. My soon-to-be-roommate came to visit and I made a huge dinner to celebrate her arrival. A delicious penne vodka, spinach with emmenthal, lemon, and butter, and Adrienne made some guacamole. After our food coma, we ran off to Trocadero to see the Eiffel Tower's new light show. It was a bit tacky but a great way to show Miranda the city. We walked to Concorde and I wanted to die from food coma and general exhaustion, but it was well worth it, especially after seeing the reason why Paris is called the city of lights.

Saturday I took Miranda on the world's fastest and most jam-packed tour of Paris. It was Halloween, so we went to Pere Lachaise, where I have never been, and we saw Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde's tombstones. The tombstones were pieces of art and were huge, grandiose celebrations of death. I was happy she and I could both see it for the first time together. After that we ate a quick lunch and I had a delicious croque poulet, like a croque monsieur but with chicken. It is infinitely better with chicken, laisse-moi vous dire. Following that we ran through Notre Dame, ate delicious macarons at Pierre Hermes (where I will bring everyone who visits me here to taste their first macarons), ran to Sacre Coeur, ate incredible confit de canard (duck confit) at Le Sancerre (officially a new favorite place), and then celebrated Halloween, American-style, sans costumes.

Also, lets talk about the fact that studying abroad actually implies studying. Who knew? Not me. This past week has been the week from hell and back and over again Starting with my professor who actually thought a week was enough time to write an 8 page paper, everything just went downhill. Now, my tests are all over and I am infinitely relieved. La vie est bonne et tout va bien. I can relax and not have a mini seizure every time I turn around. Therefore, this weekend, I am celebrating with a bottle of Côtes des Rhones.

Faire la fête ce weekend.

Pancakes, Beer, Hash, and Eurotrash

Fact: smoking hash and pot in 'coffeeshops' in Amsterdam is legal.
Fact: you can buy joints or bags or seeds.
Fact: you can buy mushrooms and herbal drugs in things called 'smart shops.'

All of these places are names in English. This is not only because the Dutch all speak English and want to spread their knowledge, it's because Amsterdam's coffee shops and smart shops are so successful because of English, because of tourism, because I met a handful of Dutchmen who told me point blank that few people really smokes pot after the age of 20, because apparently it loses its edge. So kids, if you thought everyone in Amsterdam was a pot head or still on that long acid trip, you thought wrong. Sure, coffeeshops have to do well enough to survive without tourism, but it is hardly the culture I expected. Overall, it was just a more liberal city, but then again any place where foreigners can come to party and hire a prostitute would have to be. People might have been trashed but I think it was more drunken debauchery than anything else.

The other thing is, people in Amsterdam are just nice. Aside from the guys I met at one bar (leave it to me to find the arrogant assholes even in Holland), everyone was so excited to help us and tell us where to go, even our cab driver. Needless to say, we took suggestions from them and from the little Lonely Planet guide I bought - both of which proved overwhelmingly helpful in terms of navigating a city where every street can really start to look the same and to help find some delicious eats. Every meal was amazing and I definitely wasn't close to high for most of them. We had delicious pancakes, steak, street waffles with chocolate, stroop waffles, frites, and even quiche. A successful eating tour, if I do say so myself.

Side note: people in Europe do not dance at concerts or in clubs as much as we do in America. I suppose we really do do everything in excess. So lame, Europe.

I got to see the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum (the national gallery), and Sunday we managed to squeeze in the Anne Frank house before catching our train back to Paris. Overall, I don't feel like I missed out on too much and didn't really feel right trying all those crazy mushrooms, because I like being alive and didn't trust myself in a foreign city doing that kind of shit. I also didn't want to be that kid who goes to Amsterdam, loses her wallet, passport, all major lifelines, and is potentially raped or dead on the street. It's a grim image, so I decided to avoid it. However, I may put in some orders with people who are going again soon... We will see.

All of this traveling just makes me miss Paris and I am so glad to be here and to be back to reality. Now homework awaits me. Meh.

Escargots, more like escarNO.

This weekend, paid by in full by your favorite bureaucracy at NYU, I traveled to Bourgogne, a small region southwest of Paris, located in the center of the Country, because anything that is not the south or on a border is simply considered central. Totally the midwest of Paris, but with better food, less cornfields, and probably an equal number of cows. The cows, by the way, were not the black spotted ones we see upstate or in Amish country, nor were they even brown. These babies were pure white but had muddy feet so they looked like the wore little shoes... very cute, very country, and definitely not Parisian.

We arrived in a little town called Beaune, where one could find the Hospices de Beaune, a hospital set up during the medieval period by the Duc de Bourgogne (Duke of Burgundy, for those of you not willing to say that outloud and figure it out), to provide medical services and care for the hundreds of poor people living in his duchy (province/region/land that he reigned over). I took this tour in french and wanted to die. The guide was smart, but not really funny, and thought I understood his french, it was so easy to ignore him. The hospital was gorgeous but cold, because in case anyone in the States didn't know, it gets cold in France, which I didn't know, so I spent the better half of my time trying to get warm. After this I tried boeuf bourgignon, at a traditional Bourgogne restaurant/café, which claimed to have all the traditional dishes. I had discovered this specific dish by watching Julie and Julia in the states but what I got did NOT look like what came out of Amy Adam's oven, and it did NOT taste like it should have... So I am going to try to find this dish in Paris again, so that I can taste Amy Adam's and not have my dreams crushed. Moreover, I have been talking about eating this freaking dish SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE. So I will find it and I will eat it and it will be (or better be) delicious.

Next part of the trip takes me to these really really intense, amazing, and prehistoric caves called the Grottes d'Arcy (http://www.grottes-arcy.net/visite.html). Like Lascaux caves, but MORE LEGIT. Our tour guide, whose English was adorable and who was extremely sassy, completely bashed Lascaux and said that the drawings you see there are artificial and constantly retouched, whereas hers were not, and were preserved by natural elements, like caltite or calcite or both. Apparently, according to the Lascaux site, the original cave is just closed to the public so they created a replica. Just imagine seeing a hand that was painted 28,000 years ago and seeing it on the wall of a cave. Imagine seeing an outline of a lion and an outline of a deer that incorporates the natural contours of the cave to create artistic dimension and perception. Really amazing stuff.

I don't think the rest of the trip matters as much as my meals do. After bouef bourgignon being a bust, I was waiting to find something truly delicious and anxious for dinner. Well, folks, the wine at dinner was delicious, but once I saw that I actually was being served escargot I couldn't regain mental stability. First of all, those little suckers are black, and black is NEVER an appetizing color. Think burnt, wrinkly clams. I like to see my coquillages and understand what the hell I'm eating. First of two attempts to eat it was a fail. I got it in my mouth but immediately pulled it out. I couldn't get the image of a real life snail out of my head. For those of you who don't know, I am petrified of worms and snails. If anyone remembers the TV show Goosebumps from the 90s, you can thank them for my chronic fear of invertebraes. I wanted to cry. I probably drank more wine than anyone in that room to calm myself down. (which was actually amazing, because Bourgignon Pinot Noir is so smooth it's almost like drinking a hearty white wine.) Second attempt, I chewed 3 times and downed the little shit with wine and water. Now, I have been talking about trying escargot since arriving. I have been hoping to see it on a menu, or to see frogs legs, or something, and might even try pigeon. I couldn't separate the image. Michelle sat there eating them like it was her fucking job and I was just in shock. THANK GOD OUR MAIN DISH WAS CHICKEN. And dessert was this chocolate mousse milk thing, equally delicious, but no coffee was served, so I drank more wine... I had visions of the snail crawling around inside me and felt very ill so went to bed. No nightmares but the next morning I felt a severe fear that it would foam from my mouth if I ate anything too salty...

All in all, a good trip on NYU's tab. I saw some pretty cool stuff and ate some pretty disgusting stuff. I also caught up on sleep like no one's business and that brings me much joy. This week should be good because it's Adrienne's birthday so we have stuff to do for her, but will also be très triste because I have a ton of work, which I am going to start now, because I got a C on my first quiz for Vichy France because my professor obviously doesn't know that 1. NYU students don't get quizzes ever 2. the word for quiz means little test, not a 15 short answer exam to be completed in 20 minutes. Way to be a show off doctoral student. At least he's good to look at and equally as brilliant to listen to; he inspires me and helps me realize more and more that I should just go get my doctorate and teach college kids about things I love. (namely, Louis XIV.)

I hope that I figure out what I'm doing with myself sooner than later because it's getting close to LSAT time, and time to study for the LSATs and time to start deciding whether I will actually apply to grad school right out of college or hope to find a real job that doesn't involve nannying forever. My father told me there was a lot of money being a professional nanny. I asked him if he ever expected to be taken care of when he's old and sick... I think then he understood just how much more money there is everywhere else...

La prochaine fois: birthdays and Amsterdam.

bisous à tout le monde!

Proseem? Prosím! Pivo!

So this weekend, Michelle and I traveled to Praha (Prague, for the unknowing) to visit some of my favorite babies. Kyle played an excellent tour guide and if I didn't have a heart I would have started calling him Tour Guide Kyle-Doll... Ok, that's a bit much. But seriously, most accommodating host and I hope to be the best hostess cupcake when he and Alexis come to visit in a month.

Prague is an, erm, interesting city. Parts of it are gorgeous, as in: The Charles Bridge, Prague Castle, Old Town, the astronomical/astrological clock (both names work, ok?!), and anything that is well, distinctly old. As a matter of fact, my favorite parts of Prague were buildings that were super old and probably older than many things I've seen here in Paris. However, with all beauty there is a downfall, that downfall being the Czech language. Now, there is nothing wrong with Czech, but there is something super wrong with it when you can't speak it. I have never felt so hopeless in all of my life. I mean these people are talking a million miles a minute in a language that just sounds funny. I can't blame them for it, but it just makes me realize what a huge Francophile I really am. Aside from funny speech, there are parts of Prague that made me feel like I was in a huge time warp. The transportation system seems to be stuck in the 80s, particularly with its decoration. It really is the city of red: red roofs and red metros. It is not distinctly Western, in the sense that fashion has really not come to this city and the women are not as preoccupied with beautifying themselves every morning as they are in Paris. That was a huge relief when I rolled out of bed at 7AM to catch my flight. Food in itself is so heavy and people drink beer with everything. Apparently you can get beer in the morning with breakfast. HOW ARE EUROPEANS SO THIN? This is all so mysterious to me... I finally got my Goulash and my spaetzel so I am a happy little expat in Paris.

Walking over the Charles Bridge was like living a dream. Charlie bought me this poster a couple years ago that was of the Charles Bridge, when I started thinking that maybe I'd want to study in Prague (no way, no how), and so my only true hope for this weekend was to walk across the bridge at twilight. Mission Accomplished, thanks to Tour Guide Kyle and Michelle for depeching herself all over Praha with us. The view from the bridge made me understand why people consider Prague the Paris of the East, which is apparently geographically incorrect, as Kyle tells me Prague is actually central Europe. Anything past Germany is East to me... slash anything that was Communist is obvious East. As a European Studies student, I should probably be less shallow about the countries I visit and should probably refer to them based on where they are located. Anyway, it was magical, the lights from the city all came on around the same time, and the light was a golden, slightly fluorescent glow, similar to that from the view of Pont Des Arts, and that brought me much joy.

The other thing is at a certain point, you assume that every one in Europe speaks English. I assume everyone speaks either French or English, always hoping for the former so I can see how obvious my American accent is. The truth is, they don't. It's definitely a Western thing for people to speak English, and Western I think truly meaning France and Germany. People in Barcelona spoke English, but not the cab drivers. So much of it is a generation thing, and I feel so guilty going to countries and not even knowing the basics of the language. Like, in Barcelona, I forgot that Hola was "hello." Uh... it's not like my little sister doesn't watch Dora or Diego at home. I guess it is now my job to try to learn a couple other languages so I don't seem like such an American bigot.

This post is really erratic, but then again so is my life right now, as I describe pieces of art I don't understand and study for a test that on things in French history that I barely understand. Who knew the Vichy period didn't mean the part of France taken over by Germany? I know that now.

Other accomplishments this week: I ate at Les Deux Magots, tried beef carpaccio, tried fried cheese in Praha, didn't die or have a heart attack on the plane, made a relatively yummy dinner for Adrienne and myself, and have almost managed to upload everything off my external harddrive onto my computer. Three cheers for getting shit done.

Rock on.

Bar-they-lone-ahhh

This weekend I went to Barcelona, which is not really pronounced how it looks, because all Catalans have lisps. No, really, and they have a lot of freaky X's in their words that make no sense and for all practical purposes, should not exist because they are neither phonetic nor are they pretty. All of this made me come to appreciate French even more than I ever have because it is pretty and more often than not makes sense in terms of pronunciation. (even if you disagree, Kyle.)

I spent the weekend with my two best friends from NYU and all I can really say about it is the three of us really understand the importance of eating. I mean I have never seen so much freaking food. Tasting menus are intense. How much freaking food can a person eat in one meal AND how can a meal last 3 hours? Thank god we were good company because I would be gnawing on my fork if I wasn't with Kyle, Alex, and her parents... BUT the food was fabulous, the wine even better, so maybe I would have been fine... or just drunk.

For those of you who haven't been to Barcelona, you should go just to see the Gaudi Sagrada Familia cathedral. It was gorgeous, and definitely one of the most intricately designed buildings I have ever seen in my life. It beats anything that I have here in Paris, and that is saying a lot, because I typically prefer classic, baroque, or gothic buildings, many of which I can find just around the corner. The cathedral is insane. I could have just seen that and gotten back on the plane. Or, rather, seen that, drank more Spanish wine, taken another shower in the hotel suite, and than returned chez de Ribiers.

Busy week in Paris this week: two class trips to two different museums on Wednesday (Cluny and the Louvre) which will both be fantastic and overly educational with a side of intense because those classes are held entirely in French. Mon Dieu. I also have family dinner on Weds which is always fantastic. Madame de Ribier grows increasingly impressed with my French and that brings me so much joy.

Pictures from Barcelona can be found on Facebook. Nothing else to report except apparently Adrienne ran into the British boy that I plan on marrying so maybe I should try to call him again.

Bisous.

Mon Dieu! Ma vie est tellement difficile!

Bonjour mes amies! Je suis très desolée que je n'ecrite rien depuis quelques semaines! Malheuresement, j'ai une raison triste d'expliquer à tous. Ok enough French. First of all, this country is technologically challenged. I mean what the shit? THERE IS NO LEGITIMATE MAC STORE IN PARIS. The other night, after a beautiful jog, and a beautiful day, I returned chez les De Ribiers to disocover that my hard drive had crashed. I wept for that and also for many other things - like The Reader, which is the saddest yet most powerful love story that I have EVER read. Please read it and thank me for it later. Or hate me because you will see how no man will ever love you like that...

Long story short, my Mac, better knozn as my first born for the pain I suffer each day without it, is currently sitting in some Mac repair shop by the Pompidou. GOOD NEWS: They accept Apple Care in France. EVEN BETTER NEWS: It will not violate my Apple Care in the States. God might actually like me if they can manage to fix it.

Otherwise, Paris is treating me pretty freaking well. I have made some pretty cool friends, especially this girl Maddie who is basically my Ava - really, both Avz's combined - here in the city of lights. We experience epic nights together in bars where she probably can't show her face again. It is basically amazing and we are headed to Amsterdam together which I Bet will be a shit show.

***I apologize for the typos of which I am sure there are many. I am currently typing on a French keyboard and c'est pas facile!***

So much has happened in the past week. I went to Giverny, where Monet's house is located, saw his house and the gardens, and felt like I was in a painting. If you ever have the chance to go, I insist you do, because it is like nothing I have ever seen before. I enjoyed a delicious crêpe after, and a citron pressé, which is just squeezed lemon juice that you make your own lemonade from. It was fab.

Last weekend I discovered that I truly do love British men and that the French, if you let them near you, think that you are their girlfriend immediaterly. I met this guy at The Hideout, and he would not let me be. I was furious. He was drunk as hell, did not speak English, and could not understand my French. Fortunately, he was better thzn the guy who kept calling me a douchebag because I said in French and English that he was too drunk and could not articulate himself properly. I might be a douche, but at least I don't allow myself to be seen in public like that. It's not acceptable to be seen drunk like that in Paris. The Parisians definitely do not get that sloppy, and it was attrocious.

Fortunately, Mr. Oxford University Robert came to save me and swpet me off my feet. One thing that I must point out is that men here are not quick to buy you drinks. I don't really understand it but I truly hate it. Robert is from London and is currently a student at Sciènce-Po, the politcal science school here in Paris where Sarkozy and most major French politicians have studied. Swoon. He kind of looks like Charles, which is totally appropriate, because obviously big name schools and flippy hair do it for me.

We started class this week and I am exceedingly excited for my Vichy France class. My prof is beautiful and brilliant; an Oxford grad as well, as far as I know, who focused on Modern France for his Ph.D. and is also an LSP Professor. Love at first sight and I totally call dibs on being the first person to ruin his reputation as a prof, though admittedly, I'd like to get an A instead of getting other things... I only have one course that seems particularly daunting, and that is because my prof is this intense French Art Historian, who is super intelligent and knowledgeable, but super UNaccommodating for those of us who do not speak native French. I just want to shout MOINS VITES, SVP!!! Meh. But the concept is really cool and we are going to all of these museums, like the Louvre but also some obscure ones like the Musée L'Orangerie. It will be très formidable.

Bon, je suis à la biblio, donc il faut que je fasse mes devoirs. My Franglais gets better every day. I am in love with Paris and not sure I ever went to speak regular anglais ever again.

GROS BISOUS, MES AMOURS!!

AND I FORGOT: I tried DUCK last week. It was the most sumptuous, delicious, sensual, sensational; whatever sexy, erotic, tasty, savory word you want to use, that's how I feel about duck. And about all the future weight I will gain because of it.

Techno Parade, and other things.

First, let's discuss the Techno Parade: a parade of huge busses filled with DJs, speakers, and ravers, dancing in the daylight, and most likely all on drugs. It was incredible. Alex and I, after enjoying some Leffe at his cute little apartment in Montmartre, went down to the Bastille and caught the end of it. Uh, can we say SHIT SHOW??? Everyone was tripping on something, or coming down from their trips, or straight up having seizures because of their trips, and falling all over the place. In between the people nearly dying on the side of the road, il y avait beaucoup de monde sur La Bastille. Literally STANDING on the Bastille. Seriously? Aparently the cops came with tear gas to subdue the crowds a bit, but people were still crazy. Beer bottles and broken glass everywhere, but no stench of weed. It was like the Halloween Parade times 80. However, ignoring the madness and the incredibly disturbing sights, and the fact that a lot of people I know got mugged or almost mugged, it was amazing to see just how many people in Paris and the surrounding area LOVE techno. I mean, a FULL DAY devoted to Techno and it's glory. I think this deserve an A+ for effort and delivery, and Alex deserves an honorable mention for being a great wingman, though I do wish we had gotten there earlier. Dancing in the parade was a lot of fun, especially because everyone there (at least in the parade and not on the sidelines) wanted to have a good time. AND A GOOD TIME WAS HAD BY ALL (or at least me...).

The rest of the night included getting some dinner crêpes and heading to a few bars on Rue Mouffetard. For the record, Oberkampf is damn shitty for bars. Rue Mouffetard is LEGIT. There are a million places to go and it's covered by youths, aka students who live in the Mouffetard Residences. I was so happy to see people my age in the bars and to see that France actually does have a nightlife or at least one street that slightly resembles New York. Though, I must say, I do miss the Williamsburg circuit because all of those bars were great and not just better than mediocre, like they are here. Met some cool NYUers and somehow ended up at the Hideout. I feel like the Hideout is becoming my place.

Sunday I went to Hôtel de Ville, the mayor's office or the equivalent of City Hall, here in Paris. It was Les Journées de Patrimoine (Heritage Weekend) here in Paris, so all of the major government buildings were open to the public. I could've gone to see Sarkozy's palace, but beaucoup de monde was there as well. Parisians here are never far from a piece of art or paintings; so many of the buildings have art that covers every wall. I would die a very pleasant death if I were just a cleaning lady in Hôtel de Ville or Versailles, or something similar. Truly breathtaking. I felt sick after a bit so Adrienne and I returned home to go buy some groceries. I bought a couple figs and was quite impressed. They are tres delicieux.

One thing I really have noticed is that my franglais is amazing. I can't speak French in public to save my life, but I can whip out French words in coversation like nobody's business. I am starting to think en français and sometimes I say "Je" instead of "I." I wonder quand this will be une problème. Ce n'est pas grâve.

Et, maintenant, je pense que je vais courir au Parc Monceau. Tout à l'heure.

Steak Tartare

After several years of being a vegetarian, my love for meat came back with vengeance. Let's discuss: consider how I broke vegetarianism. A plate of filet mignon, the most delicious and sumptuous of all the steaks, though I do prefer a hangar steak myself. Last night, after a lovely evening at the Centre Pompidou (Paris' answer to the MoMA), Adrienne, Michelle, Nicole, and I managed to find a decently priced little bistro/brasserie right next to the museum. The prices were fabulous and I think I might go back to this place again. I fell in love.

I spotted the Steak Tartare immediately. Since I feel like my time abroad should be a time of "firsts" (see other entries about my series of firsts: cabaret shows, macarons (OMG), bone marrow, and my first kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower), I decided I absolutely HAD to try the steak tartare. First of all, it looks disgusting. Like cat food on a plate. The server told me the difference between cru and poêlé, cold or slightly cooked, and so I went with poêlé to play it safe, because I've been sick and really didn't need to eat any E.Coli. It was magical. It came with frites and une petite salade with a dijon vinaigrette and I sighed with each bite, and in between enjoyed a smooth Bordeaux AOC. AOC in France means it is legitimate, a Bordeaux created in Bordeaux. In other words: Accept no substitutions. This shit is the best. Also, fun fact: Champagne is ONLY Champagne IF IT COMES FROM CHAMPAGNE. That's right kids - your sparkling wine from California IS NOT CHAMPAGNE. So get over it.

So the steak. I mean it was like a raw hamburger with the most amazing texture and taste, with a little bit of horseradish added in for a little kick. I swooned. After the date I had last week, I now know that I just love boeuf. Boeuf is fantastic and every time I eat it I will probably swoon like this. I just hope I can find an amazing burger place here in Paris, though most menus have American options and burgers. I'm looking for Spotted Pig quality burgers, with roquefort because that's all over France.

Also, enjoyed a Hoegarten (spelling?) last night with lime. The citrus really changes the taste of the beer. It was like a Belgian (or German?) Corona, except it didn't taste like pee.

I had my first experience at the Pompidou, which is super cool but better if you're into Modern Art, which I can't really say that I am, sadly, and I enjoyed my first Steak Tartare with some good company. I hope I get over this fear of ham that I have so I can try a croque-madame, and I should really work on the snails thing. If anyone knows where I can find frog legs, let me know.

Now, off to another first: THE TECHNO PARADE IN PARIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A day filled with all things techno and DJ FLOATS. WHY DOESN'T NEW YORK DO THIS? THIS IS THE GREATEST IDEA EVER! I can't wait. French hipsters at the Bastille? I'm all about that.

Versailles and the first week of the Intensive courses

My blog is named after my favorite man in all of history, the incredible Louis XIV. He was indeed the state, and his château, Versailles, just outside of Paris, is most likely the greatest single piece of real estate I have ever seen in my life. For those of you who have not ever been to Versailles I have two things to say to you: 1. You have no excuse UNLESS you've never been to Europe. 2. The only thing you need to know is that GOLD coats almost the entire building. It is incredible.

When Adrienne and I stepped off the RER - similar to the Metro North and LIRR for you New York Folks that acts as a Metro while it goes through the city of Paris, so I guess more like the Path to NJ, which I have never taken - I couldn't have felt happier. Versailles is a town that is all about this Paris. We had to walk through a mini street fair to get to the palace.

Now, I have visited the château before, so the reason for the visit was really just to see the gardens. OH MY GOSH, LOUIS, DID YOU DO ANYTHING WRONG? The most beautiful place, the most incredibly extravagant ponds, called "bassins" en français, and MORE GOLD AND MORE IRON. Hello, money. The fountains are not allowed to run constantly because France has water restraint laws and lots of issues with conserving water and energy. Electricity is more expensive than in the States, according to Madame. Anyway, could not have been a better day. The sun was shining on my face and it warmed my heart to see all the French children and tourists - who might as well be children - running around. What is more, is that NYU does this nifty thing where it lies on our ID cards and says we're Art History students so we can get into all the museums for free. All we paid was 6 euro for the gardens and 3 euro for the best fresh squeezed orange juice ever. In case you didn't know, which I didn't either, Versailles still has a small orange grove where it produces oranges to make juice for its tourists. How clever. Louis XIV, always thinking for the future.

The Hall of Mirrors had finally finished its reconstruction and looked incredible. I took vanity shots all over the place and took photos of photos and it was the most entertaining 20 minutes of my day. I felt it was appropriate to be so vain if I was standing in a place where Louis XIV lived and where the Coronation of Napoleon painting hung. The chandeliers reflected off the windows and I can only dream about what it would have looked like with real candles and not our tacky electric bulbs.

To continue our day trips to see old palaces, we went to the Luxumbourg Gardens to meet with some of Adrienne's friends, and it was fab. A jazz band was playing, and sang "New York, New York," which obviously made me homesick and also made me realize how badly I wish there were jewish delis in France. If anyone knows where I can find one, tell me.

This weekend I hope to find the techno parade (again if anyone knows about this TELL ME), and possibly get myself out to Giverny.

Now to start my homework because I have to intensively review grammar for the week. Ça ne me plaît pas.

Things Not to Do in Paris: #2

Do not leave a nightclub unless you have already requested a cab. Especially if the Metro is closed. Especially if you are with 20 other NYU students who need to find cabs too. You will freeze on the side of the road at a "taxi stand," because you cannot hail cabs in Paris the way you can in New York.

Also, do not wear cutesy dresses to Australian bars in Chatelet because most of the men there will have huge noses and will not want to let you go even if you insist that you have places to go and people to see.

Paris is not a city that easily accommodates its night owls.

Rage hard, work hard.

True Life: I am a shit show

Ok, so as you can tell from the title of this post, I have obviously had my most ridiculous Parisian experience yet. HOWEVER, it was not with a Parisian. Sorry Frenchies, until you warm up to me and my yankee friends, I will probably not be able to have these ridiculous experiences with you; regardless, you are still beautiful and I wish you would all teach me French.

So, at the FIAP - where the NYU kids who aren't so fortunate to be landed in housing immediately are placed - I met this charming young man named Charles (HAH!), who was extremely sexy. Adrienne found him impossibly arrogant, and so naturally, I was attracted to him. I was hoping that he was at NYU, so I started flirting with him ruthlessly. After discovering that he went to Stanford and was in Paris for 2 weeks JUST TO LEARN FRENCH, I was immediately enamored. We invited him out to celebrate the rest of NYU's arrival and he and I shared a bottle of Pinot Noir. It seems all men know if they can pick a good bottle of le vin rouge, they will have the keys to my heart, among other things.

We hit it off and I expressed my love and passion for Paris and Versailles and told him I would take him to do something extremely touristy if he and I could organize something. He was, naturally, impressed with my New York sass and wit. I got a phone call the next day and then we made plans for dinner, to celebrate his last night in Paris.

We went to chez L'ami Jean, (http://www.amijean.eu/index.htm), which I have read about in my little TimeOut book, so it seemed I had a major Foodie on my hands. It was a night of firsts: my first date on a whim, the first time I have ever had WAGYU - an amazing Japanese beef that made me want to burst into tears because it was so delicious -, the first time I have ever eaten bone marrow which was also the most savory thing I have ever eaten. Every bite made my mouth water and my heart fill with pure foodie joy. We shared an enormous plate of steak and potatoes and the evening made me want to avoid sodium for at least a week. I have never enjoyed salt so much. I didn't even need dessert. On top of that, the waiter recommended a fantastic Bordeaux that was slightly dry and really made the beef taste a million times better. I wish I took photos of the beef. When it arrived I couldn't stop talking about blood or chanting BOEUF. I think Charles thought I was nuts, but the whole time I just noticed the awe on his face with anything I said. We all know I'm ridiculous but I wonder just how impressed he was by my ridiculous behavior.

ALSO: If this is a California thing, I am moving to Cali. Not only did he come pick me up at the De Ribier's, he came up for a glass of wine with Monsieur de Ribier and myself. It was adorable. He couldn't believe the apartment and then he paid for CABS, IN PARIS, THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Hello, you may actually be more chivalrous than the last Charles I dated. If this is a trend with the name, I will continue to date people that refer to themselves as Charles and go to elite schools. Monsieur de Ribier was extremely impressed when he heard that Charles went to Stanford. "C'est tres bonne cette université, c'est une des plus bonnes dans le monde" etc etc.

After we had consumed the most beef I have ever consumed in one sitting, he looked and me and asked if I wanted to go to a Cabaret show. WHAT? DO I WANT TO GO WATCH NAKED WOMEN WITH SOMEONE I JUST MET? I was hesitant at first but then considered the fact that I have been thinking about strip clubs and cabaret shows and how it would be really difficult to find someone to go with because any situation involving naked women and alcohol immediately becomes awkward. I wanted to go to one in New York, but they can be so shady and expensive, and not everyone at NYU is as strange as I am. (Note: I am not gay.) So, I took him up on the offer.

We went to this Cabaret called Crazy Horse. (http://www.lecrazyhorseparis.com/ There is also one in Vegas, naturally) It was fascinating. The women were identical in form, though not really on top of their act, as many of them were delayed in steps, etc. It was like they were genetically engineered for this club, I mean the size of their breasts to the dimples on their backs, these women were like clones. Beautiful, eerie, French, lip-singing clones. And, on top of that, it was just breasts. I definitely saw the female body like never before. And what is more, the show proved how much the French love American music and pop culture. Only one song was in French. They even played Britney, Bitch.

The Paris metro closes very early on weekdays, so we rushed to the subway. When I realized we wouldn't make it back to the FIAP, I dragged him on top of the Trocadero. When we walked out, the Eiffel Tower was sparkling. It's as if I knew it was going to sparkle and I knew I needed to see it and I knew I needed to see it after this incredible night of new things. We watched it and he held me and it was like a seen in some cliché French movie except neither of us was French (which made it slightly devastating). He wanted to find a cab and so we walked down the stairs and hopped into a Benz, because a lot of taxis in Paris are Mercedes, and carried on with our night.

Now, it is slightly sad that I will never see him again. I did not ask for his number and though I did manage to find him on Facebook (because I am a pro), I know I can't contact him. It would simply take away from the experience, which was incredibly liberating and just fantastic. I don't even think I am putting into words. This may have been the best date I have ever been on and I am actually starting to think that it's really going to be okay if I don't ever see this boy ever again.

It's like what this guy once said to me: Women have a lot of difficulty with one night stands and with things that they realize will not continue or will never come to fruition. They cannot be friends with their one night stands. I really agree with this, because it's true. Most women I know play Coyote Ugly and run away from one night stands.

Now I can say "We'll always have Paris" and actually mean it.

On to the next adventure, mes amours.

Things Not to Do in Paris: #1

Do not go to elite youth hostels and flirt with boys who decide to sit at your friend's table, unless they are from a program actually staying in Paris, will live in Paris for a few months, or at least speak French, or are European. You may discover, very sadly, that they are really just American students on vacation. Or, Stanford students with girlfriends (ok, I deduced this from brilliant Facebook stalking), who probably just want a companion in their hostel suite. And you will be sad, because they will be handsome, but they will always and forever be tourists.

I think this makes it sound like I'm not a tourist. Admittedly, Adrienne and my cab ride home from the FIAP was a beautiful, little Parisian tour, making stops along the Seine - though really just at red lights. It made me miss New York and taking cabs home from Rockefeller Center and also from the Upper East Side.


edit: Stanford boy called for dinner tomorrow. Why isn't he French and why do I have orientation?

FINALLY.

ADRIENNE AND THE REST OF NYU HAS ARRIVED!!!!!!!!!!!

I will soon have a roommate and a companion for all things Paris. Woot.
I also have the luck of meeting someone who is from the States but is leaving and thanks to my fabulous Facebook stalking skills, might have a girlfriend. Pish Posh.

Orientation starts tomorrow and I am SO excited to spend time with new babies and new people, and specifically the birthday babies Charlie and Michelle. Anniversaires cette semaine! Macarons!

So late so I am going to sleep.

Running.

Two things I can disprove about the French thus far: 1. Not everybody smokes. In fact, the people I live with find it disgusting. All of them. Even their 2 daughters. 2. Everyone is thin because they actually exercise.

Today I went for my first run in Paris, and really in a place other than New York, because I won't even run at home on the streets. Fact: Parisians do actually run on the streets. A friend told me that the French will never walk around sweaty or gross after exercising. This is total bullshit. I have seen more sweaty Parisians running, along the Seine, in my neighborhood, and in Passy, than I had ever seen in New York. Also, the parks here are designed for runners. The "tracks" or pathways that circle the park are not concrete, thus they are far better to run on. The track at le Parc Monceau, close to my apartment in the 17th, is fan-freaking-tastic. Though I could not run for the full 45 minutes that I normally go out for, there was tons of space for me to stop, stretch, do a couple yoga poses, and then continue on my little brisk jog. Runners here motivate me more than anyone in New York. They are legit: a lot of people run with weights and few people wear little matching outfits like they do on the West Side Highway in New York (actually, there were a lot of outfits that were just plain awful and I don't know how they left the house, even if just to run, in clothes like that). Also, something interesting: the water fountains were not like the ones we have that come up to your chest and you lean. You have to bend down, and its almost like a dual water fountain/foot rinse.

Also, after doing a bit of online research, I was able to find a gym similar to Bally Total or one of those other all female clubs called "Lady Fitness." Few people in my area speak English well, so I hope my French will be good enough to figure out if I can get a membership.

Now, time to shower and go back to the park to finish the book I never read for Orientation which starts, erm, tomorrow.

Michael Jackson.

I would just like to point out that it seems the French either: A. Do not know MJ is dead or B. Have decided to resurrect him in their bar scene. SERIOUSLY. I was at this bar, called The Hideout, an Irish pub in the 1st, really classy, and close to another Irish pub I drank at three years ago. (Manse, you would be proud!) The bar had a club in its basement and honestly, most of the music it played was from the late 80s to early 90s. Eventually, they played "She-Wolf", which was so appropriate because of the full moon, and I decided to start howling. AHHHWOOOOOOOO. I also did this outside at the full moon. (Mind you, I just got home.)

After dancing to many MJ songs, including "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" and "Billie Jean", my friends and I were pooped. We went upstairs to obviously drink more and I went outside for a cigarette. I met a French man who did not understand that all 4 of us were studying at the same university at the same time. He kept asking me if they were visiting me. Naturally, the other 3 speak better French than I do, so it would be really funny if they were my guests.

When "Thriller" came on, I rushed out on the dance floor and pulled out some serious dance moves - Jennifer Garner in 13 Going on 30-style. It was a scene out of a tacky American-in-Paris film, but it was très chic. I felt like maybe I should return to New York so that I could dance in the Halloween parade with the other zombies who do legitimate Thriller moves on 6th Ave. I am now sort of sad that I will miss Halloween for the first time in, oh, TWENTY YEARS.

I also looked totallement française in my boots and all my black attire.

Now, to sleep, and hopefully rid myself of all the MJ songs I heard today. Also, someone please alert all French DJs that it is NOT EASY to dance to Blondie's "Heart of Glass" while under the influence. Actually, it is never easy to dance to that song and it should probably remain in the 80s where it belongs. And someone please alert the French that Britney and Lady GaGa are more important than MJ in the present day.

Bonne nuit!

Boots.

Everyone knows I love boots. I practically lived in my Fryes and my black boots for the better half of last year. However, no one in the States truly understands that not all boots are created equal. Some are, in fact, season-less. If I can wear flip flops until it's 45 degrees (fahrenheit, bien sûr), then I think I should be able to wear my boots in the summer when it is 80+ degrees. This is a concept French women truly seem to understand. Since arriving, I have seen women wear boots every day. The weather has been drastically different every day: Monday was 80 degrees, Tuesday was 70 something and rainy, and the rest of the days have been sort of like that, with today being the coldest, at 60 degrees, with some serious rain this morning. Every day, I saw French women on the Métro and in the streets wearing boots. I am in boot heaven. (It also seems that the leaves are changing, or just look slightly burnt.)

Today I celebrated by breaking out my Fryes, the BEST investment I have EVER made in my waredrobe, and strolling down the Champs-Elysées. Granted, I only went there to exchange my travelers checks, which are a huge pain in the ass because you cannot just walk into any bank and expect them to exchange them. I still felt very über sophisticated and très chouette.

I think I will go boot shopping tomorrow on my mission to get lost and discover hidden treasures of Paris... or I might just go after I get falafel at LAs on rue de Rosiers.

What the Seine can do for you

So, I guess I have to revoke some of the rather sharp things I said about Paris yesterday. The truth is, I am lonely, culture-shocked, and most likely still jetlagged. But today, I had a really beautiful afternoon with the lovely Nicole Catá, who I have to say, reminded me of all the reasons I came to Paris in the first place.

I met her at Notre Dame, which is definitely my favorite "monument" in the city of Paris; my favorite thing that I've seen in France in this point of my life is probably Versailles (which has this awesome modern art display outside that I CANNOT WAIT to see in a couple weeks). Notre Dame, for me, just represents this sweeping, massive beauty that is hardly containable, yet, it is placed on a little island in the heart of the city. I assume it had recently been cleaned, because the stone was hardly smoky. Afterwards, we enjoyed glasses of wine from the Loire River Valley, a crisp white wine that did not leave any sharp aftertaste, and crêpes. Instead of the ritual banane-nutella, I ordred a miel noix, which simply means nuts and honey (in reverse order). It was delicious. Simple, and probably less heavy than the banane-nutella. We walked along the Seine, which I had been dying to do since arriving, and took touristy photos while reminiscing about our high school trip to Paris together a few years ago. How many memories I made in this city one time before and how many more I can make. (Everyone must really think I'm bipolar - I swear it was the jetlag... and groceries... the land of yogurt, puh puh.)

Another thing: You know the smell of the rain? In New York, when it rains, particularly in the city, there is this smell. Here, that smell is different. Not better or worse, but, it exists. And I love the smell the rain makes.

So, now I am home, in my oversized chambre-de-bonne, listening to the rain fall on my windows, and considering doing some of the required reading that I did not do before. I think I will finish the mini-bottle of wine I bought. (It's called L'Art du Vin, or something like that, hah!)

à la prochaine fois.

Chez de Ribier.

So I am finally in Paris and finally starting to get settled. On the way here, I realized two things: I can watch a lot of movies on a flight to Paris and that the Irish secretly love to shop. Has anyone ever been to Dublin airport? Talk about a shopping mall inside an airport. Seriously. Shops all over and good ones too, a huge makeup store which may or may not have been Sephora, and a STARBUCKS. American commercialism at it's finest, bien sûr. It was a rather stressful experience at 2AM USA time, after having not really slept in quite some time.

Now that I am here, there are a series of other things that I have noticed about Paris and about my outlook on most things. First, I compare everything to New York. I was in Los Angeles a couple weeks ago, and kept complaining about how the city didn't have subways and how it was grey and how there was barely any grass, and really the only nice thing about it was its suburbs and littler cities (like Pasadena).

It's hard to distinguish what is simply Parisian or European and what is simply New York. For example: Le Métro. Why must I make so many connections all the time and why is it not a grid the way New York is? The answer is obvious, but the complaint resonates. It's just different. Thankfully, the trip to the NYU center is very easy. Also, it seems my homestay parents vote on taking the métro everywhere. I asked how far the Champs-Elysées was, because I obviously wanted to shop or SOMETHING with all the time I have been spending alone, and they said a 30 minute walk and just to take the subway. I just asked how far it was, and wanted to walk. Also, this morning, I am pretty sure there 40-year-old daughter told me putting sugar in my coffee would make me fat... Not sure how I feel about that.

Other differences include things that I didn't realize would bother me. Eggs are not sold in a cold case/fridge like they are in the US. WHAT???!?! This is not ok. Eggs are supposed to be cold and you are supposed to warm them up. I put them in the fridge when I got home and hopefully they will not explode...

Also, there is an entire aisle dedicated to yogurt. Yogurt. And let me tell you, if they didn't sell Activia or a yogurt called "Taillefine" which pretty much means "good size/shape" implying that it is a light yogurt, I would not be eating yogurt with my baguette for breakfast. Aycline, the 40 year old daughter, said "France is the land of yogurt." Truer words have never been spoken. So, France is the land of yogurt, wine, cheese, and bread.

However, one thing that is AMAZING: Special K Red Berries here has RASPBERRIES too! WHY IS IT NOT LIKE THIS IN THE US? Having those little freeze dried berries has made breakfast so much better. There are also a couple fantastic bakeries that I have found that are apparently chains, so maybe they will be in the US when I come home.

One thing that struck me the most is how paranoid it seems the French are. For example, Madame de Ribier told me that if I ever go to pay with a credit card, I have to insist they bring the machine to me at the table, or just do it right in front of me, because places are known to photograph the cards. Seriously? Also, apparently almost every phone shop has a security guard because cell phones are stolen constantly so that gang members cannot be tracked. She also told me that if I ever see 3 people approach me on the métro to move quickly because two of them will try to squish me and the other will steal my purse. Aycline then made a comment about the Bronx and how people steal stuff there and I defended my state and the current population of the Bronx by saying that no one really steals stuff on the subways that frequently because 1. people in New York will get involved unless the person has a gun and 2. people generally mug people later at night or if they are just plain nuts. we don't have "gypsies" so to speak. And according to the de Ribier's, no one in Paris will help you on the métro or anywhere if you are having an issue with having stuff stolen. No one. Uhhh... C'est incroyable! Mais pourquoi?! The French are pretty helpful on the street though the judge me when I give up in French and switch to English after many failed attempts to buy various things.

And fleas in the métro? No thanks... I have bites all over my face and I cannot believe that they are from fleas. Aycline insists there are no mosquitos in Paris. I disagree but will continue to sleep with my window open because it can be hot in a chambre de bonne (maid's quarters or little bedroom in the attic.)

Otherwise, the food is good, the people are friendly, the students at NYU so far are nice, but I am simply DYING for everyone else to get here so I can go on an adventure. The sidewalks and streets are gorgeous and there are trees and parks everywhere. I have to adventure over to my park, but everyone insists it's beautiful. And, it is not difficult to eat well CHEAP here, no matter what anyone says... I think I will eat smoked salmon and fromage blanc sandwiches for the rest of my life.

À tout à l'heure.

Packing for the adventure.

Next Sunday, my brief life of 4 months begins in Paris. I can hardly contain myself, or any of my belongings into a suitcase. I have always dreamed of this city, having visited only once before, and continued paining myself through French grammar for the past seven years. Needless to say, I am ecstatic. My whole life, down to the place I brush my teeth, the place I get my coffee, and the place I attend class, is about to change. The only constant, however, will be my undying love for crêpes and nutella, which will be satisfied multiple times a week, and will probably result in some severe wardrobe malfunctions in the future.

Paris, je te verrai encore! Mais oui, je viendrai!