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.