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.