Not much of interest has happened since I last updated. Except that time that Leah and I went to buy yarn...in the ghetto. To be fair, it wasn't really the ghetto, but Barbes Rochechwhatever was certainly a higher level of sketchiness than I had as yet experienced in Paris. This made it all the funnier when we went into stores and asked if anyone knew where we could find yarn. "You know, the soft thing with which you do the knitting? And the crocheting? It makes a scarf for to keep warm?" Yes.
We also had to figure out if "textiles" was the same word in French as it is in English. We decided it was either the same, or it actually meant crackhouse, but the store with the big "textiles" sign turned out to be closed upon further inspection, so I honestly still don't know.
But the short story is that we didn't find any yarn, just a lot of fabric, much of which was hideously ugly. Like in the fuzzy, hot-fuschia zebra way. So after our futile quest we met up with Leah's friend from Bowdoin and headed to the Marais for FALAFEL! Which I had been craving like a nutcase for quite some time. It was tasty, if kind of expensive. It was so cold that we ended up wandering around the gift shop of the Centre Pompidou for no apparent reason other than the desire to not get frostbite. But we did find some postcards with the same technicolor zebra pattern we'd seen on fabric earlier. At least now we know who buys that crap, I guess.
Our lit prof is still pretty evil, only now we're reading a book which is stupid in an entirely different way from anything we've yet to see. It reminds me of that time I read the first 15 pages of Twilight and wanted to shoot myself in the foot because it was so hilariously badly written. In grammar we're learning the subjonctif (il faut que nous apprenions le subjonctif...fo' serious). And phonetique is nulle as usual. Theatre consists of me drawing christmas narwhals while our prof makes up things to take up our three hour class and prepares us to see a play which she fully admits might suck. Apparently it's gotten so awful reviews in le Monde, so that should be, you know, enjoyable.
Friday might involve a pizza party for Lizzie's birthday, and Saturday is Mwantuali's pot de Noel, after which we are returning chez moi to (hopefully) watch Love Actually, paint our nails, drink hot chocolate and probably eat more cochonerie (literally means "piggery" but is used to describe unhealthy food stuffs). And Monday is our long-awaited foray to Angelina's, which I have to prepare for by dreaming about montblancs and not eating anything remotely sugary for...as long as I can beforehand, which admittedly is not that long. Whatevs.
Only a little over a week before I go home for Christmas. Paris at Christmas is actually not all that Christmasy. With the whole "etat laique" thing going on it's kind of inappropriate to have open displays of religiousness, which is why the holiday windows at Galleries Lafayette are made up of purple rock men, octopuses (octopi?), babies on mushrooms and mechanical bunnies. I never thought I would be in support of open displays of religiousness either, mainly because I'm not religious in any way, shape or form, but I love Christmas with a flaming passion and I kind of need to have the traditional Christmas trees and Santa's and angels with harps and horns and reindeer and elves. I'm also OBSESSED with Christmas carols, as most of you know because you've probably gotten frostbite as a result. And if visual displays of religion are scarce here, songs about it are even harder to find. Except in Lily's Bread (an American bakery), and even then it's "White Christmas" and "Chestnuts Roasting" etc. Also, singing in public is probably frowned upon in France unless you're actually good at it, which I am certainly not. And lastly, wearing red and green striped socks and jingle bell earrings is definitely a faux pas. So needless to say I haven't gotten my Christmas fix in yet and am looking forward to being able to do so very soonly.
PS - I am obsessed with Fleet Foxes' White Winter Hymnal, so I'm hoping that one Hilary Raye Bovay might have put it onto a certain mix CD which may or may not be making its way across the Atlantic ocean to me as I type this. Hmmm!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Christmas squirrels, naked Shakespeare and a mustard manifestation. And cowboys. Again.
I guess it's only appropriate that after our French surrealism-induced stressful week, we had an action packed and fairly ridiculous Friday and Saturday.
Friday included the most delicious bread ever (from Lily's Bread by the Bon Marche where I will definitely be returning as much as humanly possible), a jar of Nutella that cost 43 euros because it was HUGE, and a Christmas squirrel. That's what I said.
Ellen, Kristin and I are innocently browsing the Christmas section of Bon Marche (like Galleries Lafayette, only more expensive if you can believe it) which is jam-packed with elegantly decorated Christmas trees, all the ornaments (mostly of the ball variety) you could ever want, garlands, stick-on star and snowflake wall decorations, shiny lights and more. When what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a not-so-small (or subtle) white squirrel with a feathery tail and an acorn between its two front paws, clipped onto the branch of one of the trees. I felt like David Sedaris trying to identify "What one does" on certain French holidays--does one clip little doves and lovebirds onto one's tree in an attempt to make it prettier? Yes, one might do that. Does one clip a SQUIRREL onto one's tree for no apparent reason? Yes, apparently in France one might do that as well. Naturally upon seeing this phenomenon of French culture our immediate reaction was to clip it into my hair and take a million photos with Ellen's phone. Words cannot express how amazed I am that we didn't get thrown out. But actually the cashier was American, so maybe I'm not that surprised. Her mind was probably still boggling over the aforementioned squirrel as well.
We had tickets for Midsummer Night's Dream (in French!) that night at some theatre in the 17e, so after Bon Marche and Lily's Bread Kristin and I met up with Hannah at my house. We decided to head up to rue Mouffetard to find something to eat before the show, the only problem being that we'd have to make it quick because seating was not assigned and we wanted to not get trapped behind some million foot tall French guy with a big head (like we always do when we go to the theatre with our class). So we (stupidly) chose an Indian place because we were all craving it and it was relatively empty, it being the beginning of the night (no self-respecting French people go out to dinner before 8h00). It turned out that the people at this restaurant, despite the fact that they had been able to convey to us that they were in fact open and we should eat there, did not understand our French. Or, for that matter, our English. In fact, they did not understand any languages that were not Indian, which none of us speak. We thought about having Kristin try Chinese, but I figured it would be futile. They brought us things we hadn't ordered (twice!) only to realize after a painful period of confusion that they belonged to the table next to us. Whcih was the only other occupied table in the restaurant. Uh, okay. After all that the food wasn't that great and they kept not understanding our request for the bill because we had to leave like yesterday.
When we finally got out of there we got a call from Sky saying that he had gone to the wrong theatre and would be late. Awesome, because we had hoped that he was already there saving us seats. This didn't seem like a huge problem as French people are never early and rarely on time for anything. It became a problem, however, when we realized the ridiculous metro route we would have to take to get there. It became a HUGE problem when we ended up waiting more than 10 minutes for our last connection (on which we had like 9 stops), and it became slightly hilarious (in a depressing way) when the train was packed to bursting with people. Not all of whom wear deoderant. And all of whom are taller than me. You can guess how that went.
When we got out of the metro we RAN to the theatre, getting there like 2 minutes after the start of the show and having to wait for like 20 more minutes before they let us in. When they did let us in it was between scenes and we had to walk DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STAGE. Fortunately there were a lot of other people with us, but it was still probably the most embarassing thing ever. I will never be late again, EVER.
But once we sat down and got to finally watch the play it was all worth it. Out in the lobby of the theatre we'd been sort-of watching it on a tiny TV screen, and it hadn't looked so great. First of all, it was in a black box theatre (who does Midsummer Night's Dream, of all things, in a black box?) and there didn't seem to be much (read as: any) decor. Yuck. But we came in on Bottom's first scene and he was absolutely hilarious (and quite reminiscent of our Phonetics teacher). Then, for whatever reason, there appeared a man in a fuschia fairy costume with glitter and sequins, suspended from the ceiling, flailing around. Then he sang some of his lines to a rock and roll song, and I knew that all our suffering had not been in vain.
The play was really very good with a ton of original ideas I'd never seen before. My favorite was that in a couple of scenes Helena followed Demetrius around with a video camera which they projected onto the huge screen that made the backdrop. Another weird thing was that they occasionally switched phrases into English--"keeng of zee faeriez," and in the scene where Puck scares the shit out of the Mechanicals, "we are haunted..." Also during that scene they projected Puck's face onto the huge screen and flashed all these crazy colors, which was super creepy. ALSO, they used the same actors for Oberon and Titania for the Duke and Hippolyta, which was really cool. They actually sat up from behind a platform as Oberon and Titania and started changing their clothes into the costumes of the Duke and Hippolyta, which was the coolest thing ever. Although I think maybe it was just an excuse for the actress to get naked, which she had already done in the scene where Titania falls in love with Bottom. Awkward to the max, thanks France.
Saturday was our excursion to Dijon just for the day, which was good because that was all the group madness I could handle after 4 1/2 hours of sleep. We were all excited to have a guide that wasn't Laurent, but it turned out that she was actually even more irritating. Yes, I know it's her job to drone on about the art history, but I don't really get why Hamilton employs people specifically for that subject. I'd be fine with just the general history and random trivia, I don't need to know who made the door-frame on the church, especially when he was nobody I've ever heard of. Anyway, we had lunch as a group, which consisted of pumpkin flan (wasn't as good as you might think), salmon in mustardy sauce with mashed potatoes, and pears with vanilla ice cream, red wine sauce and gingerbread. I wasn't a fan of the dessert, but I did like the salmon and potatoes.
After lunch we followed the useless guide around for awhile, visited the home of Colby's Dijon director (which is ancient and gorgeous), and bought a lot of gingerbread which turned out to be kind of gross.
Then I met up with Sarah Hirsch! It was fun to see someone I knew, and more importantly someone who is having ocean withdrawals like me. We saw some guy playing a kazoo, had hot chocolate, and watched cowboys square dancing. Yes, that's what I said. COWBOYS. Square dancing. In France. FOR THE SECOND TIME. I don't think it was the same people we saw in Avignon, which makes it all the more hilarious.
When we got back from Dijon a bunch of us headed over to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which serves (you guessed it) breakfast, as one might find in America. There are also burgers--most remarkably BACON CHEESEBURGERS WITH PICKLES AND ONIONS AND FRENCHFRIES and a chocolate milkshake, which is exactly what I had. I know I'm in the land of tasty and delicious food, but seriously, that was the most satifsying meal I've had in quite some time. It made up for the fact that we had to wait FOREVER while the French people at the only big table ordered more food, fed it to eachother slowly and disgustingly, and made out really obnoxiously.
Then Emily and I walked home in the freezing cold and tried not to get pnuemonia. Why do all stories end like that?
Friday included the most delicious bread ever (from Lily's Bread by the Bon Marche where I will definitely be returning as much as humanly possible), a jar of Nutella that cost 43 euros because it was HUGE, and a Christmas squirrel. That's what I said.
Ellen, Kristin and I are innocently browsing the Christmas section of Bon Marche (like Galleries Lafayette, only more expensive if you can believe it) which is jam-packed with elegantly decorated Christmas trees, all the ornaments (mostly of the ball variety) you could ever want, garlands, stick-on star and snowflake wall decorations, shiny lights and more. When what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a not-so-small (or subtle) white squirrel with a feathery tail and an acorn between its two front paws, clipped onto the branch of one of the trees. I felt like David Sedaris trying to identify "What one does" on certain French holidays--does one clip little doves and lovebirds onto one's tree in an attempt to make it prettier? Yes, one might do that. Does one clip a SQUIRREL onto one's tree for no apparent reason? Yes, apparently in France one might do that as well. Naturally upon seeing this phenomenon of French culture our immediate reaction was to clip it into my hair and take a million photos with Ellen's phone. Words cannot express how amazed I am that we didn't get thrown out. But actually the cashier was American, so maybe I'm not that surprised. Her mind was probably still boggling over the aforementioned squirrel as well.
We had tickets for Midsummer Night's Dream (in French!) that night at some theatre in the 17e, so after Bon Marche and Lily's Bread Kristin and I met up with Hannah at my house. We decided to head up to rue Mouffetard to find something to eat before the show, the only problem being that we'd have to make it quick because seating was not assigned and we wanted to not get trapped behind some million foot tall French guy with a big head (like we always do when we go to the theatre with our class). So we (stupidly) chose an Indian place because we were all craving it and it was relatively empty, it being the beginning of the night (no self-respecting French people go out to dinner before 8h00). It turned out that the people at this restaurant, despite the fact that they had been able to convey to us that they were in fact open and we should eat there, did not understand our French. Or, for that matter, our English. In fact, they did not understand any languages that were not Indian, which none of us speak. We thought about having Kristin try Chinese, but I figured it would be futile. They brought us things we hadn't ordered (twice!) only to realize after a painful period of confusion that they belonged to the table next to us. Whcih was the only other occupied table in the restaurant. Uh, okay. After all that the food wasn't that great and they kept not understanding our request for the bill because we had to leave like yesterday.
When we finally got out of there we got a call from Sky saying that he had gone to the wrong theatre and would be late. Awesome, because we had hoped that he was already there saving us seats. This didn't seem like a huge problem as French people are never early and rarely on time for anything. It became a problem, however, when we realized the ridiculous metro route we would have to take to get there. It became a HUGE problem when we ended up waiting more than 10 minutes for our last connection (on which we had like 9 stops), and it became slightly hilarious (in a depressing way) when the train was packed to bursting with people. Not all of whom wear deoderant. And all of whom are taller than me. You can guess how that went.
When we got out of the metro we RAN to the theatre, getting there like 2 minutes after the start of the show and having to wait for like 20 more minutes before they let us in. When they did let us in it was between scenes and we had to walk DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STAGE. Fortunately there were a lot of other people with us, but it was still probably the most embarassing thing ever. I will never be late again, EVER.
But once we sat down and got to finally watch the play it was all worth it. Out in the lobby of the theatre we'd been sort-of watching it on a tiny TV screen, and it hadn't looked so great. First of all, it was in a black box theatre (who does Midsummer Night's Dream, of all things, in a black box?) and there didn't seem to be much (read as: any) decor. Yuck. But we came in on Bottom's first scene and he was absolutely hilarious (and quite reminiscent of our Phonetics teacher). Then, for whatever reason, there appeared a man in a fuschia fairy costume with glitter and sequins, suspended from the ceiling, flailing around. Then he sang some of his lines to a rock and roll song, and I knew that all our suffering had not been in vain.
The play was really very good with a ton of original ideas I'd never seen before. My favorite was that in a couple of scenes Helena followed Demetrius around with a video camera which they projected onto the huge screen that made the backdrop. Another weird thing was that they occasionally switched phrases into English--"keeng of zee faeriez," and in the scene where Puck scares the shit out of the Mechanicals, "we are haunted..." Also during that scene they projected Puck's face onto the huge screen and flashed all these crazy colors, which was super creepy. ALSO, they used the same actors for Oberon and Titania for the Duke and Hippolyta, which was really cool. They actually sat up from behind a platform as Oberon and Titania and started changing their clothes into the costumes of the Duke and Hippolyta, which was the coolest thing ever. Although I think maybe it was just an excuse for the actress to get naked, which she had already done in the scene where Titania falls in love with Bottom. Awkward to the max, thanks France.
Saturday was our excursion to Dijon just for the day, which was good because that was all the group madness I could handle after 4 1/2 hours of sleep. We were all excited to have a guide that wasn't Laurent, but it turned out that she was actually even more irritating. Yes, I know it's her job to drone on about the art history, but I don't really get why Hamilton employs people specifically for that subject. I'd be fine with just the general history and random trivia, I don't need to know who made the door-frame on the church, especially when he was nobody I've ever heard of. Anyway, we had lunch as a group, which consisted of pumpkin flan (wasn't as good as you might think), salmon in mustardy sauce with mashed potatoes, and pears with vanilla ice cream, red wine sauce and gingerbread. I wasn't a fan of the dessert, but I did like the salmon and potatoes.
After lunch we followed the useless guide around for awhile, visited the home of Colby's Dijon director (which is ancient and gorgeous), and bought a lot of gingerbread which turned out to be kind of gross.
Then I met up with Sarah Hirsch! It was fun to see someone I knew, and more importantly someone who is having ocean withdrawals like me. We saw some guy playing a kazoo, had hot chocolate, and watched cowboys square dancing. Yes, that's what I said. COWBOYS. Square dancing. In France. FOR THE SECOND TIME. I don't think it was the same people we saw in Avignon, which makes it all the more hilarious.
When we got back from Dijon a bunch of us headed over to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which serves (you guessed it) breakfast, as one might find in America. There are also burgers--most remarkably BACON CHEESEBURGERS WITH PICKLES AND ONIONS AND FRENCHFRIES and a chocolate milkshake, which is exactly what I had. I know I'm in the land of tasty and delicious food, but seriously, that was the most satifsying meal I've had in quite some time. It made up for the fact that we had to wait FOREVER while the French people at the only big table ordered more food, fed it to eachother slowly and disgustingly, and made out really obnoxiously.
Then Emily and I walked home in the freezing cold and tried not to get pnuemonia. Why do all stories end like that?
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I am still writing my surrealism paper, and all I want to do is design Christmas (and Hannukah and Kwanzaa) cards with narwhals on them. Parce que j'aime bien les narvals.
That is all.
PS - I am ridiculously tired for no apparent reason. Well, right now I have a reason since it's two in the morning, but I've been tired for no reason all week and it sucks. Because literally if I stop doing whatever I'm doing, I WILL FALL ASLEEP. Like really. Today, while reading surrealism, I was leaning on my elbow with my chin in my hand, and I swear I fell asleep (like actually sleeping, not just lazing around with my eyes closed) for a good fifteen minutes. Then I woke up, and now my neck hurts.
BUT I have cornichons, so that's okay.
Also, my French lesson for the day:
Me: Valerie, do you know what a narwhal is?
Valerie: Uh, NO.
Me: You know, it lives in the sea?
Valerie: A whale? A fish? A seal?
Me: No, it has a hard thing on its head--
Valerie: A...clam? A lobster?
Me: NO! It's like if a whale and a unicorn had a baby.
Valerie: ...
Me: NARWHAL? NARWHAL NARWHAL NARWHAL! You know?
Valerie: ...uh, no.
That is all.
PS - I am ridiculously tired for no apparent reason. Well, right now I have a reason since it's two in the morning, but I've been tired for no reason all week and it sucks. Because literally if I stop doing whatever I'm doing, I WILL FALL ASLEEP. Like really. Today, while reading surrealism, I was leaning on my elbow with my chin in my hand, and I swear I fell asleep (like actually sleeping, not just lazing around with my eyes closed) for a good fifteen minutes. Then I woke up, and now my neck hurts.
BUT I have cornichons, so that's okay.
Also, my French lesson for the day:
Me: Valerie, do you know what a narwhal is?
Valerie: Uh, NO.
Me: You know, it lives in the sea?
Valerie: A whale? A fish? A seal?
Me: No, it has a hard thing on its head--
Valerie: A...clam? A lobster?
Me: NO! It's like if a whale and a unicorn had a baby.
Valerie: ...
Me: NARWHAL? NARWHAL NARWHAL NARWHAL! You know?
Valerie: ...uh, no.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Food, glorious food!
So it has been a food-filled few days since I last updated, and for a change not much of the aforementioned food has been French.
My mom arrived on Thursday and, despite the fact that Thursday night was our group Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to go to Angelina's for hot chocolate and a Mont Blanc beforehand. Words cannot describe how amazing it was. The hot chocolate there is literally what happens when you take a block of the most delicious, richest and probably most fattening chocolate on EARTH, put it in a cup and melt it. Then you put a huge blob of chantilly cream into it and consume, taking breaks periodically because ingesting that amount of chocolate is no easy feat. A Mont Blanc is essentially a huge ball of chantilly cream, thickly coated in creme de marron (chestnut cream) and sat atop a marang type thing. The only problem with them is that you probably won't be able to bring yourself to eat another one for at least six months later.
Thanksgiving that night was in an odd restaurant on Blvd. Montparnasse not far from Reid Hall, where they stuck us on the basement with a lot of flashy lights and did their best to recreate a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. The fact that they even tried was pretty adorable, which made up for the fact that, let's face it, French people just don't get it. We had turkey of course, but it was rolled into a weird little cylinder shape with the stuffing (mostly finely minced vegetables and some kind of sauce) inside. The mashed potatoes were actually chunky and delicious (surprising, since the only puree I've ever had here has been very, very fine), but the green beans were gross and obviously from a can. The pumpkin soup they served us for the first course was really good even though it tasted not a whole lot like pumpkin. And then there were profiterols (sp?) for dessert because the French (understandably) have no concept of pumpkin pie.
Anyway, it was entertaining. Emily and I walked home in the FREEZING COLD, and when I arrived I found my mom eating apperatifs with French people. Then Marie-Antoinette (no joke, that's still her name), tried to teach me how to walk with a dictionary on my head for some reason I still don't understand.
The next day was our Thanksgiving with Valerie and basically every other French person in the world. Mom and I proceeded to not wake up until 11am, at which point we sort of panicked and hurried out to do the shopping. We ran around looking for the ingredients for stuffing, sweet potatoes w/ brown sugar and butter, green bean casserole, pearl onions w/ some kind of saucey thing, pumpkin and peacan pie, as well as the stuff for the apperatifs. Compared to the actual cooking, the shopping was easy. Which is saying something because I'm pretty sure it took us a good half hour to figure out what was heavy cream and what was sour cream (which is kind of important when you're using it to make pumpkin pie).
Once we got back to the house with our little wheely cart full of food stuffs (and some pizzas because we were dying of hunger), we began the process of cooking on someone elses kitchen. Let me just point out that French peoples kitchens are, first of all, TINY and second of all just plain weird. A can opener? Oh yes, there's a can opener, it just happens to be a jagged little piece of metal that you have to STAB into the can and then SAW UP AND DOWN AT THE RISK OF HACKING OFF YOUR FINGERS until the can is open. Luckily the three cans of green beans we needed had those easy-open tops, but sadly I can't say the same for the two pumpkin pie mixes and the cranberry sauce (which we made Valerie open in the hopes that she would show us how you're actually supposed to do it, but it turns out that we were right and can openers in France are just idiotic).
We made the pies first (in ridiculously huge pie pans), then we peeled, cut and boiled the sweet potatoes and baked them with brown sugar and butter (they were amazing), and ripped up two baguettes, cooked some sausages, and hacked up a whole lot of cellery and onions for the stuffing. The green bean casserole was interesting because the canned beans here are not at all like the ones we have at home, the mushroom soup isn't condensed, and they don't have little onion rings to go on top so we used onion crackers instead.
We actually didn't have too much trouble with the turkey, which Valerie had ordered from the butcher. It had been stuffed with god only knows what because French people have a very different idea of stuffing, but it actually was pretty good. And the turkey itself turned out really well even though carving it was a fairly interesting process, mainly because no one knew how to do it.
There were eleven of us for dinner--me, Mom, Valerie, Maria, Edouard, Sophie and Jean-Michel and their daughters Camille and Juliette, and Madame Stevens and her husband Jean-Francois. It was a good time, the food was delicious, and even though none of the French people liked the pumpkin pie (it turned out a little different just because of the weird ingredients, but I think pumpkin pie doesn't translate well in general), I had a lot of fun. I even made little leaf-shaped place cards for everyone, which they thought was hilarious. I would have made a turkey center-piece if I knew where to find pinecones, but I don't think they exist in Paris.
Mom left on Saturday morning, and all I did during the day was eat leftovers. Sophie and Jean-Michel actually came over again, expressly to eat the leftovers, and then Leah and Kristin showed up and had some pumpkin pie before we headed to Ellen's.
Ellen's apartment is RIDICULOUS. She has a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower from her bedroom window and an upholstered hallway along with the biggest kitchen I have seen in France so far. She also has a marble floor. On the ceiling. I don't know what that's about, but it is the shiniest thing I have ever seen in my life and I kept getting distracted from The Devil Wears Prada to stare at it. Ellen's host mom (who goes away to her country house every weekend) also had a lot of silver tea services, fainting couches, and things that looked like family heirlooms. She may or may not have been horrified to know that there were seven little Americans squealing about her worldly possessions while they cooked macaroni and cheese and watched a chick flick. But she told Ellen she could have friends over, so maybe not.
After our mac&cheese, which we made with huge blocks of ementhal and gouda, we (and by we I mean Leah, who I am going to marry because she is an amazing cook) made pancakes with apples and chocolate, which we ate with maple syrup and nutella (not all at once, obviously). It was absolutely delicious.
Today I have done absolutely nothing useful except write in this blog and eat cereal and madeleines. Quelle vie!
My mom arrived on Thursday and, despite the fact that Thursday night was our group Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to go to Angelina's for hot chocolate and a Mont Blanc beforehand. Words cannot describe how amazing it was. The hot chocolate there is literally what happens when you take a block of the most delicious, richest and probably most fattening chocolate on EARTH, put it in a cup and melt it. Then you put a huge blob of chantilly cream into it and consume, taking breaks periodically because ingesting that amount of chocolate is no easy feat. A Mont Blanc is essentially a huge ball of chantilly cream, thickly coated in creme de marron (chestnut cream) and sat atop a marang type thing. The only problem with them is that you probably won't be able to bring yourself to eat another one for at least six months later.
Thanksgiving that night was in an odd restaurant on Blvd. Montparnasse not far from Reid Hall, where they stuck us on the basement with a lot of flashy lights and did their best to recreate a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. The fact that they even tried was pretty adorable, which made up for the fact that, let's face it, French people just don't get it. We had turkey of course, but it was rolled into a weird little cylinder shape with the stuffing (mostly finely minced vegetables and some kind of sauce) inside. The mashed potatoes were actually chunky and delicious (surprising, since the only puree I've ever had here has been very, very fine), but the green beans were gross and obviously from a can. The pumpkin soup they served us for the first course was really good even though it tasted not a whole lot like pumpkin. And then there were profiterols (sp?) for dessert because the French (understandably) have no concept of pumpkin pie.
Anyway, it was entertaining. Emily and I walked home in the FREEZING COLD, and when I arrived I found my mom eating apperatifs with French people. Then Marie-Antoinette (no joke, that's still her name), tried to teach me how to walk with a dictionary on my head for some reason I still don't understand.
The next day was our Thanksgiving with Valerie and basically every other French person in the world. Mom and I proceeded to not wake up until 11am, at which point we sort of panicked and hurried out to do the shopping. We ran around looking for the ingredients for stuffing, sweet potatoes w/ brown sugar and butter, green bean casserole, pearl onions w/ some kind of saucey thing, pumpkin and peacan pie, as well as the stuff for the apperatifs. Compared to the actual cooking, the shopping was easy. Which is saying something because I'm pretty sure it took us a good half hour to figure out what was heavy cream and what was sour cream (which is kind of important when you're using it to make pumpkin pie).
Once we got back to the house with our little wheely cart full of food stuffs (and some pizzas because we were dying of hunger), we began the process of cooking on someone elses kitchen. Let me just point out that French peoples kitchens are, first of all, TINY and second of all just plain weird. A can opener? Oh yes, there's a can opener, it just happens to be a jagged little piece of metal that you have to STAB into the can and then SAW UP AND DOWN AT THE RISK OF HACKING OFF YOUR FINGERS until the can is open. Luckily the three cans of green beans we needed had those easy-open tops, but sadly I can't say the same for the two pumpkin pie mixes and the cranberry sauce (which we made Valerie open in the hopes that she would show us how you're actually supposed to do it, but it turns out that we were right and can openers in France are just idiotic).
We made the pies first (in ridiculously huge pie pans), then we peeled, cut and boiled the sweet potatoes and baked them with brown sugar and butter (they were amazing), and ripped up two baguettes, cooked some sausages, and hacked up a whole lot of cellery and onions for the stuffing. The green bean casserole was interesting because the canned beans here are not at all like the ones we have at home, the mushroom soup isn't condensed, and they don't have little onion rings to go on top so we used onion crackers instead.
We actually didn't have too much trouble with the turkey, which Valerie had ordered from the butcher. It had been stuffed with god only knows what because French people have a very different idea of stuffing, but it actually was pretty good. And the turkey itself turned out really well even though carving it was a fairly interesting process, mainly because no one knew how to do it.
There were eleven of us for dinner--me, Mom, Valerie, Maria, Edouard, Sophie and Jean-Michel and their daughters Camille and Juliette, and Madame Stevens and her husband Jean-Francois. It was a good time, the food was delicious, and even though none of the French people liked the pumpkin pie (it turned out a little different just because of the weird ingredients, but I think pumpkin pie doesn't translate well in general), I had a lot of fun. I even made little leaf-shaped place cards for everyone, which they thought was hilarious. I would have made a turkey center-piece if I knew where to find pinecones, but I don't think they exist in Paris.
Mom left on Saturday morning, and all I did during the day was eat leftovers. Sophie and Jean-Michel actually came over again, expressly to eat the leftovers, and then Leah and Kristin showed up and had some pumpkin pie before we headed to Ellen's.
Ellen's apartment is RIDICULOUS. She has a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower from her bedroom window and an upholstered hallway along with the biggest kitchen I have seen in France so far. She also has a marble floor. On the ceiling. I don't know what that's about, but it is the shiniest thing I have ever seen in my life and I kept getting distracted from The Devil Wears Prada to stare at it. Ellen's host mom (who goes away to her country house every weekend) also had a lot of silver tea services, fainting couches, and things that looked like family heirlooms. She may or may not have been horrified to know that there were seven little Americans squealing about her worldly possessions while they cooked macaroni and cheese and watched a chick flick. But she told Ellen she could have friends over, so maybe not.
After our mac&cheese, which we made with huge blocks of ementhal and gouda, we (and by we I mean Leah, who I am going to marry because she is an amazing cook) made pancakes with apples and chocolate, which we ate with maple syrup and nutella (not all at once, obviously). It was absolutely delicious.
Today I have done absolutely nothing useful except write in this blog and eat cereal and madeleines. Quelle vie!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
les poubelles
I just saw the most ridiculous play I have ever seen in my LIFE. In fact, I would venture to say that it was the most ridiculous play ever written in the history of the WORLD. But it was a work of surrealism, so maybe I should say that it was the most ridiculous play ever written in the history of the thing that is a LARGE BALL OF ROCK, and not the earth, because what is the earthy, anyway?
Sorry if you're reading this, Professor Mwantuali, but surrealism just isn't my thing.
Anyway, the play was about this guy who is blind and stuck in a chair because his legs don't work (for whatever reason), his servant who can't sit down (you know, because that's normal), and his two parents who live in trashcans upstage. You only ever see their heads because apparently you need to assume that the rest of their bodies are in the process of decomposing. OBVIOUSLY. I would try to describe the plot except for the fact that THERE ISN'T ONE, and I would tell you about the dialogue and discussion points, but THERE ARE NONE. Or at least I'm not smart enough to extract them from the quivering, jellied mass that was my brain before I saw this play.
And right now I'm supposed to be reading le Manifeste du Surrealisme, which is (if possible) even more mind-bogglingly confusing than Fin du Partie (the play). But I can't do it, I've had enough mental suffering for one night.
Lastly, and very unimportantly, I'm really glad that the French government thought it appropriate to give me the x-ray of my lungs they took at my doctor's appointment for my carte de sejour. It was really fun to be able to grin like an idiot whenever anyone asked me what was in the huge envelope I was carrying and say, "My lungs, of course!" And now Valerie has put the x-ray with all of HER x-rays (because apparently one makes a home library of one's internal organs in France), so whenever I get anxious about their welfare I can say "But Valerie, what have you done with my lungs?!" So needless to say I do this at LEAST every other day, just because I find it funny.
I think I'm sleep deprived (or my brain has been sucked out by Samuel Beckett), I need to go to bed now.
Sorry if you're reading this, Professor Mwantuali, but surrealism just isn't my thing.
Anyway, the play was about this guy who is blind and stuck in a chair because his legs don't work (for whatever reason), his servant who can't sit down (you know, because that's normal), and his two parents who live in trashcans upstage. You only ever see their heads because apparently you need to assume that the rest of their bodies are in the process of decomposing. OBVIOUSLY. I would try to describe the plot except for the fact that THERE ISN'T ONE, and I would tell you about the dialogue and discussion points, but THERE ARE NONE. Or at least I'm not smart enough to extract them from the quivering, jellied mass that was my brain before I saw this play.
And right now I'm supposed to be reading le Manifeste du Surrealisme, which is (if possible) even more mind-bogglingly confusing than Fin du Partie (the play). But I can't do it, I've had enough mental suffering for one night.
Lastly, and very unimportantly, I'm really glad that the French government thought it appropriate to give me the x-ray of my lungs they took at my doctor's appointment for my carte de sejour. It was really fun to be able to grin like an idiot whenever anyone asked me what was in the huge envelope I was carrying and say, "My lungs, of course!" And now Valerie has put the x-ray with all of HER x-rays (because apparently one makes a home library of one's internal organs in France), so whenever I get anxious about their welfare I can say "But Valerie, what have you done with my lungs?!" So needless to say I do this at LEAST every other day, just because I find it funny.
I think I'm sleep deprived (or my brain has been sucked out by Samuel Beckett), I need to go to bed now.
Monday, November 24, 2008
So after much pain and suffering I think I finally have my courses for next semester planned. They should go as follows:
1) Grammaire at Hamilton, Tues/Thurs 11:15 - 12:30
2) Modernisme Americain at Paris III Monde Anglophone, Tues 3 - 5
3) Paris Multiculturelle at Hamilton, Thurs 1:15 - 2:30
4) L'Enfant aux Pays des Adultes at Paris III, Fri 12 - 2
Which means I get to take one of my two literature classes in English. Which is great, because there's no way I would be able to even look at the cover of As I Lay Dying in any other language without having an anneurism. I would've preferred Modernisme Brittanique just for the joy of discussing Woolf with French people, but sadly that clashes with Grammaire. I also would've preferred Moyen Age, le Myth de Tristan et Yseult over Paris Multiculturelle, but I don't think three literature classes would be a wise idea.
Saturday night was dinner with Leah and her boyfriend Drew who was visiting from Italy. It was tres amusante, except for the mean crepe man who, even though we came to his establishment bearing at least eight hungry people willing to pay him for food, was irritated and snappish with us. But his crepes were delicious, both the savory (cheese, ham and lettuce) and the sweet (nutelle and bananas). Afterwards we wandered around aimlessly in the freezing cold, found Brandon-the-Birthday-Boy, and Jess and Rebecca, and tried to find some place to go that wasn't jam packed with French people who were overly enthusiastic about whatever sport it was that they were all watching. I think it was rugby, but I could be wrong. Anyway, after a lot of "What do you want to do?" "I don't know, what do you want to do?"-ing, we (me, Kristin, Hannah, Ellen and Linnaea) came back to my house to have a sleepover. We figured if Leah and Drew were getting to have a sleepover we should have one too, so Ellen brought Pride and Prejudice, we bought a huge bag of gummies, and it was deliciously stereotypical and very entertaining.
The next day it was disgusting--freezing cold and gray with super dark clouds, and it even changed from rain to snow for a few minutes, but nothing stuck. Kristin, Hannah and I stayed inside, made some pasta and planned our courses, then headed to the Andy Warhol museum at the Luxembourg to meet Jen. The exhibition was disappointingly small (mostly disappointing because it wasn't free, even with our art history cards) but it was alright.
Then I decided I would rather walk home in the pouring rain under the ominous looking sky than wait 25 minutes for the bus, so I did. It turned out not to be the best idea since the bottom half of my jeans was completely soaked by the time I got back. Oh well.
Today the computer man fixed my computer. To be fair, it wasn't actually broken, I'm just an idiot. But either way it works now, and he even told me how to make it connect to Valerie's internet, which is good. Or it will be if it works.
Ellen, Kristin and I metroed it over to the Champs Elysees to look at the Marche de Noel, which is pretty cool but not as Christmasy as I'd like. But there's a ferris wheel, which means I definitely have to come back, preferrably at night, to ride it like the nerd that I am.
Lastly, I have to read the rest of Therese Raquin for tomorrow, which makes my brain ache a little just thinking about it. I can't wait to be in better lit classes next semester. I also can't wait to do a workshop, possibly with Hannah so I don't have to be all alone in my geekery.
Alors, a plus tard mes chouchous.
1) Grammaire at Hamilton, Tues/Thurs 11:15 - 12:30
2) Modernisme Americain at Paris III Monde Anglophone, Tues 3 - 5
3) Paris Multiculturelle at Hamilton, Thurs 1:15 - 2:30
4) L'Enfant aux Pays des Adultes at Paris III, Fri 12 - 2
Which means I get to take one of my two literature classes in English. Which is great, because there's no way I would be able to even look at the cover of As I Lay Dying in any other language without having an anneurism. I would've preferred Modernisme Brittanique just for the joy of discussing Woolf with French people, but sadly that clashes with Grammaire. I also would've preferred Moyen Age, le Myth de Tristan et Yseult over Paris Multiculturelle, but I don't think three literature classes would be a wise idea.
Saturday night was dinner with Leah and her boyfriend Drew who was visiting from Italy. It was tres amusante, except for the mean crepe man who, even though we came to his establishment bearing at least eight hungry people willing to pay him for food, was irritated and snappish with us. But his crepes were delicious, both the savory (cheese, ham and lettuce) and the sweet (nutelle and bananas). Afterwards we wandered around aimlessly in the freezing cold, found Brandon-the-Birthday-Boy, and Jess and Rebecca, and tried to find some place to go that wasn't jam packed with French people who were overly enthusiastic about whatever sport it was that they were all watching. I think it was rugby, but I could be wrong. Anyway, after a lot of "What do you want to do?" "I don't know, what do you want to do?"-ing, we (me, Kristin, Hannah, Ellen and Linnaea) came back to my house to have a sleepover. We figured if Leah and Drew were getting to have a sleepover we should have one too, so Ellen brought Pride and Prejudice, we bought a huge bag of gummies, and it was deliciously stereotypical and very entertaining.
The next day it was disgusting--freezing cold and gray with super dark clouds, and it even changed from rain to snow for a few minutes, but nothing stuck. Kristin, Hannah and I stayed inside, made some pasta and planned our courses, then headed to the Andy Warhol museum at the Luxembourg to meet Jen. The exhibition was disappointingly small (mostly disappointing because it wasn't free, even with our art history cards) but it was alright.
Then I decided I would rather walk home in the pouring rain under the ominous looking sky than wait 25 minutes for the bus, so I did. It turned out not to be the best idea since the bottom half of my jeans was completely soaked by the time I got back. Oh well.
Today the computer man fixed my computer. To be fair, it wasn't actually broken, I'm just an idiot. But either way it works now, and he even told me how to make it connect to Valerie's internet, which is good. Or it will be if it works.
Ellen, Kristin and I metroed it over to the Champs Elysees to look at the Marche de Noel, which is pretty cool but not as Christmasy as I'd like. But there's a ferris wheel, which means I definitely have to come back, preferrably at night, to ride it like the nerd that I am.
Lastly, I have to read the rest of Therese Raquin for tomorrow, which makes my brain ache a little just thinking about it. I can't wait to be in better lit classes next semester. I also can't wait to do a workshop, possibly with Hannah so I don't have to be all alone in my geekery.
Alors, a plus tard mes chouchous.
Friday, November 21, 2008
oy
Okay so my computer won't connect to the internet. Or it will, but it won't open any websites. Which is cool. But it's getting fixed on Monday, or hopefully, so that should be good. I'm using the computers at Reid Hall right now. Which sucks because they are teeeny tiny.
Anyway, I had a rendez-vous with the doctor this morning because everyone who wants to be allowed to stay in France for longer thatn three months has to go and be checked for weird diseases etc. So I waited forever and ever with Jenny, the teaching assistant who went with me, and then they took an x-ray of my lungs. Which I now have in my bag. Because I'm going to hang it on the wall when I go home and scare the crap out of my French people.
Unfortunately I was late getting back to Reid Hall after my appointment so I missed going to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which (obviously) serves typical American breakfasts. Zut. But I have a meeting with Mwantuali this afternoon to discuss classes for next semester.
Also, Leah and I do not get to go to Christmas Land because apparently there is no Marche de Noel on mondays, which is when we bought the tickets for because we're smart like that. Oops. Oh well, we'll find the small outposts of Christmas Land in Paris.
And now I think I need to go buy a panini because I'm starving to death.
Anyway, I had a rendez-vous with the doctor this morning because everyone who wants to be allowed to stay in France for longer thatn three months has to go and be checked for weird diseases etc. So I waited forever and ever with Jenny, the teaching assistant who went with me, and then they took an x-ray of my lungs. Which I now have in my bag. Because I'm going to hang it on the wall when I go home and scare the crap out of my French people.
Unfortunately I was late getting back to Reid Hall after my appointment so I missed going to Breakfast in America, a diner on rue des Ecoles which (obviously) serves typical American breakfasts. Zut. But I have a meeting with Mwantuali this afternoon to discuss classes for next semester.
Also, Leah and I do not get to go to Christmas Land because apparently there is no Marche de Noel on mondays, which is when we bought the tickets for because we're smart like that. Oops. Oh well, we'll find the small outposts of Christmas Land in Paris.
And now I think I need to go buy a panini because I'm starving to death.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Fait comme tu es le panda, et il est le bambou!
This past weekend was our group's excursion to Provence. Provence is a region in the south known for its fields of lavendar and sunflowers (which we did not see because it's freaking November), its olive oil (which we tasted), its ferocious seasonal wind known as Le Mistral (which totally froze our butts off even though it was brilliantly sunny) and for all the songs written about Avignon, its largest city where we stayed the night.
Emily and I ventured to the Gare de Lyon by bus at early o'clock on Saturday morning and wandered around for awhile until we found some other people. We were a little bit freaked out because, even though we eventually found our director, Madame Stevens was nowhere in sight. And everyone knows that shit does not get done if Madame Stevens isn't around. But she showed up eventually and we boarded the train (well, everyone except Emerson who was late and missed it), and had a nice nearly-three-hour-long ride to sunny Avignon. When we got there we found our gigantic bus (as per usual) and headed to Saint-Remy-de-Provence, a tiny little village where we were set loose to find lunch on our own. Unfortunately, Hamilton has this obsession with giving us money, bringing us to really pretty places, telling us to go find food, and then secretly laughing at us when we realize that NOTHING IS OPEN. Our grammar teacher explained to us today that there are two different lifestyles in France--that of Paris, and that of the Provinces. Basically, Paris is the only place where you can eat lunch in a restaurant/cafe/boulangerie/whatever because everywhere else, everyone closes their business and goes home to eat. Which is all well and good, but you'd think that the program would know this by now. Personally I think they just enjoy watching us suffer.
We eventually found a really tiny pizzaria in a really tiny alley way. This was perfect since we were all in the mood for pizza. But, yet again, the provinces hit us with a curve ball--no pizza at lunch, only dinner! Wha...? I don't even know what their reasoning behind that was, but we at last ordered some pasta, wolfed it, and hurried back to the bus with a few minutes to spare (which we used to buy ice cream).
From there we went to Glanum, which is a site full of roman ruins. We saw the low stone walls that used to be houses, a scary well, something that might have been a pool, lots of things we weren't allowed to climb on, and a bunch of other things which I might have been able to identify had I actually been listening to what Laurent (our art history man who always comes with us everywhere) was saying instead of taking stupid pictures and jumping around like a fool. We also saw some neat roman monuments which were really pretty mostly because of the light, which is apparently better in Provence than anywhere else. Which is why all the most famous painters from the end of the 19th century went there to work. Or so says Laurent. I think.
After Glanum we headed over to an olive oil mill where there was a cute puppy, lots of soap and other trinkets, and probably more olives than I could count if I tried (or if I knew how to count past 20). We got to see all the machines, minus the squisher (possibly because it was too intense for our tiny minds to handle), and we got to taste the (semi) finished product. It tasted good but kind of burned in my throat, which was weird. I'm pretty sure that it hasn't been entirely purified yet, because we tasted some again in the shop (from a bottle) and it was different. It was good, but not particularly amazing.
After everyone and their mother bought olive oil, olive soap, olive tapenade, things made from olive wood etc., we got on the bus and drove to our hotel in Avignon. It was the weirdest hotel I have ever seen in my life, and if I ever find a twistier, turnier, more confusing and roundabout one, I will probably die of shock. It had a million staircases and a million little doors to go through which only ended up leading to more little doors and more turny staircases and after that, more doors, more little hallways that served no purpose, and then maybe if you were lucky you could find your room. Maybe.
Dinner at a restaurant not far from the hotel was pretty tasty. We had a huge long table all decked out in red, and there was something on the wall behind Leah, Kristin and myself that was either a rotisserie oven, a piece of modern art, or a torture device...or all three. Our entree was artichoke hearts in some kind of creamy, herby sauce (but I think they had first been cooked in some kind of vinagrette), then we had duck and rice, and afterwards we each got an assortment of three different little desserts. People who had had birthdays since our last excursion got theirs with a sparkler in their creme brulee, and we all sang for them (while the servers laughed at us because some of us kind of didn't know the words).
After we had finished eating we noticed some people at another table. We noticed them because they were all wearing cowboy hats, and also because they suddenly got up and started square dancing to the techno dance remix of Cotton-Eyed Joe, and similar tunes. It was absolutely hilarious in ways that I cannot even describe. You had to be there, in France in a restaurant that used to be an old factory with square-dancing cowboys eating creme brulee.
On Sunday (after something like 5 1/2 hours of sleep), we had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to the Palais des Papes, the residence of the popes which was built in Avingon back in the day (and by that I mean that I wasn't listening when Laurent told us what year it was). But basically it's a gigantic stone structure with almost no furnishings inside, but a lot of stone arches and statues of pope-like persons.
After the palais (for which we only had about a half an hour) we went to the tiny and adorable village of Uzes which was kind of disgustingly beautiful. The only downside was that, yet again, nothing was open. Only double-nothing because it was Sunday, and even Paris shuts down on Sundays. We managed to find a boulangerie, although it wasn't that great and also didn't let us use the bathroom even though we bought their food, those meanies. We had a lot of time to just wander around through the cobblestoney streets, see the pretty little church, oggle bonbons and take stupid photos and sing The Sound of Music. Because we are mature adults, obviously.
After lunch we headed to le Pont de Gard, a HUGE roman aquiduct that traverses the Rhone river. It's a series of gigantic arches with another series of gigantic arches on top of the first level, and then smaller ones accross the top, all made out of enormous blocks of stone. Apparently in the 50's there was a horrible raging flood on the Rhone which totally destroyed every modern bridge, but the Pont de Gard was completely fine afterwards. It was amazing.
Then we took the train home to Paris, where my theatre class and Prof. Mwantuali booked it through the metro from Gare de Lyon to Palais Royal and to la Comedie Francaise to see Le Mariage de Figaro. I'm upset that we had to sit down for a three hour play after a nearly three hour train ride and an exhausting weekend, and that I was a fidgety mess and could only see half of the stage (because la Comedie is one of those theatres that people went to so they could look at other people instead of the actual play), but despite all that the play was actually amazing. I thought the casting was perfect and I really loved it, I just wish we had all been more in the mood for it.
But it was a good weekend. And yesterday I basically did nothing but homework and a lot of useless lying around, and now I'm trying to plan a trip to the Christmas Market in Strasbourg because I FREAKING CANNOT WAIT FOR CHRISTMAS. I am so excited. So excited that I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for Valerie and now I think she might hate me, BUT I DON'T CARE.
PS - I ate a panini today which was supposed to be saucisse et griere (sausage and cheese), and which ended up literally being cheese with a hot dog (like really a hot dog, not actually kidding) grilled in a baguette. Weird.
Emily and I ventured to the Gare de Lyon by bus at early o'clock on Saturday morning and wandered around for awhile until we found some other people. We were a little bit freaked out because, even though we eventually found our director, Madame Stevens was nowhere in sight. And everyone knows that shit does not get done if Madame Stevens isn't around. But she showed up eventually and we boarded the train (well, everyone except Emerson who was late and missed it), and had a nice nearly-three-hour-long ride to sunny Avignon. When we got there we found our gigantic bus (as per usual) and headed to Saint-Remy-de-Provence, a tiny little village where we were set loose to find lunch on our own. Unfortunately, Hamilton has this obsession with giving us money, bringing us to really pretty places, telling us to go find food, and then secretly laughing at us when we realize that NOTHING IS OPEN. Our grammar teacher explained to us today that there are two different lifestyles in France--that of Paris, and that of the Provinces. Basically, Paris is the only place where you can eat lunch in a restaurant/cafe/boulangerie/whatever because everywhere else, everyone closes their business and goes home to eat. Which is all well and good, but you'd think that the program would know this by now. Personally I think they just enjoy watching us suffer.
We eventually found a really tiny pizzaria in a really tiny alley way. This was perfect since we were all in the mood for pizza. But, yet again, the provinces hit us with a curve ball--no pizza at lunch, only dinner! Wha...? I don't even know what their reasoning behind that was, but we at last ordered some pasta, wolfed it, and hurried back to the bus with a few minutes to spare (which we used to buy ice cream).
From there we went to Glanum, which is a site full of roman ruins. We saw the low stone walls that used to be houses, a scary well, something that might have been a pool, lots of things we weren't allowed to climb on, and a bunch of other things which I might have been able to identify had I actually been listening to what Laurent (our art history man who always comes with us everywhere) was saying instead of taking stupid pictures and jumping around like a fool. We also saw some neat roman monuments which were really pretty mostly because of the light, which is apparently better in Provence than anywhere else. Which is why all the most famous painters from the end of the 19th century went there to work. Or so says Laurent. I think.
After Glanum we headed over to an olive oil mill where there was a cute puppy, lots of soap and other trinkets, and probably more olives than I could count if I tried (or if I knew how to count past 20). We got to see all the machines, minus the squisher (possibly because it was too intense for our tiny minds to handle), and we got to taste the (semi) finished product. It tasted good but kind of burned in my throat, which was weird. I'm pretty sure that it hasn't been entirely purified yet, because we tasted some again in the shop (from a bottle) and it was different. It was good, but not particularly amazing.
After everyone and their mother bought olive oil, olive soap, olive tapenade, things made from olive wood etc., we got on the bus and drove to our hotel in Avignon. It was the weirdest hotel I have ever seen in my life, and if I ever find a twistier, turnier, more confusing and roundabout one, I will probably die of shock. It had a million staircases and a million little doors to go through which only ended up leading to more little doors and more turny staircases and after that, more doors, more little hallways that served no purpose, and then maybe if you were lucky you could find your room. Maybe.
Dinner at a restaurant not far from the hotel was pretty tasty. We had a huge long table all decked out in red, and there was something on the wall behind Leah, Kristin and myself that was either a rotisserie oven, a piece of modern art, or a torture device...or all three. Our entree was artichoke hearts in some kind of creamy, herby sauce (but I think they had first been cooked in some kind of vinagrette), then we had duck and rice, and afterwards we each got an assortment of three different little desserts. People who had had birthdays since our last excursion got theirs with a sparkler in their creme brulee, and we all sang for them (while the servers laughed at us because some of us kind of didn't know the words).
After we had finished eating we noticed some people at another table. We noticed them because they were all wearing cowboy hats, and also because they suddenly got up and started square dancing to the techno dance remix of Cotton-Eyed Joe, and similar tunes. It was absolutely hilarious in ways that I cannot even describe. You had to be there, in France in a restaurant that used to be an old factory with square-dancing cowboys eating creme brulee.
On Sunday (after something like 5 1/2 hours of sleep), we had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to the Palais des Papes, the residence of the popes which was built in Avingon back in the day (and by that I mean that I wasn't listening when Laurent told us what year it was). But basically it's a gigantic stone structure with almost no furnishings inside, but a lot of stone arches and statues of pope-like persons.
After the palais (for which we only had about a half an hour) we went to the tiny and adorable village of Uzes which was kind of disgustingly beautiful. The only downside was that, yet again, nothing was open. Only double-nothing because it was Sunday, and even Paris shuts down on Sundays. We managed to find a boulangerie, although it wasn't that great and also didn't let us use the bathroom even though we bought their food, those meanies. We had a lot of time to just wander around through the cobblestoney streets, see the pretty little church, oggle bonbons and take stupid photos and sing The Sound of Music. Because we are mature adults, obviously.
After lunch we headed to le Pont de Gard, a HUGE roman aquiduct that traverses the Rhone river. It's a series of gigantic arches with another series of gigantic arches on top of the first level, and then smaller ones accross the top, all made out of enormous blocks of stone. Apparently in the 50's there was a horrible raging flood on the Rhone which totally destroyed every modern bridge, but the Pont de Gard was completely fine afterwards. It was amazing.
Then we took the train home to Paris, where my theatre class and Prof. Mwantuali booked it through the metro from Gare de Lyon to Palais Royal and to la Comedie Francaise to see Le Mariage de Figaro. I'm upset that we had to sit down for a three hour play after a nearly three hour train ride and an exhausting weekend, and that I was a fidgety mess and could only see half of the stage (because la Comedie is one of those theatres that people went to so they could look at other people instead of the actual play), but despite all that the play was actually amazing. I thought the casting was perfect and I really loved it, I just wish we had all been more in the mood for it.
But it was a good weekend. And yesterday I basically did nothing but homework and a lot of useless lying around, and now I'm trying to plan a trip to the Christmas Market in Strasbourg because I FREAKING CANNOT WAIT FOR CHRISTMAS. I am so excited. So excited that I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for Valerie and now I think she might hate me, BUT I DON'T CARE.
PS - I ate a panini today which was supposed to be saucisse et griere (sausage and cheese), and which ended up literally being cheese with a hot dog (like really a hot dog, not actually kidding) grilled in a baguette. Weird.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
cinq mille choses
Okay, I realize that me not posting for over two weeks was a super fail, but I've been extremely busy.
My dad came to visit me! He arrived on Saturday the 1st and the first thing he did in the city of lights, the center of Europe, the most beautiful place in the world...was to fall asleep on my bed for a good two hours while I ate poulet roti in the other room. Yup. Once the jet-lag wore off (although I guess it probably didn't, because I think I might still have it and I've been here for a good two months) we walked around my neighborhood despite the fact that it was pouring. Sunday we spent the entire day walking around, to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint-Louis by way of the monument on the Ile de la Cite for the deportees of WWII, which is the creepiest thing I have ever seen (but rightfully so), and then back and over the Pont Neuf (which means 'NEW bridge' not 'bridge nine') along the right bank of the Seine, through the courtyard(s) of the Louvre, through the Tuileries, down the Champs Elysees where I picked up some (okay, lots of) macaroons at LaDuree, all the way to the Arc de Triomphe where I proceeded to get sand in BOTH my eyes because apparently I took my binoculars to the beach at some point and never cleaned them out afterwards. Either that or god hates me, whichever.
Monday we left at freaking-early o'clock for Strasbourg by way of the TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse, or high-speed trains). I had a few second-thoughts about going to Strasbourg beforehand--why Strasbourg, a town which I know relatively nothing about except for the fact that it's been part of Germany as much as it's been part of France over the past howevermany years? Why not another country? Was it going to be a waste of my time and my (well, dad's) money? And let me tell you, it was DEFINITELY worth it.
I always thought that everyone in Paris was beautiful, well-dressed, and nicely made-up with good hair and pretty babies. That is, until I got to Strasbourg. Everyone, and I mean everyone down to the homeless people, was dressed better than your average american. I hate to say it, but it's true. It's probably because Strasbourg is the seat of the Council of Europe, as well as the Court of the European Union, (that amongst other big, impressive, European things) or that it's just perfectly situated in the center of Europe, but for whatever reason, Strasbourg is full of rich people. Or at least, people who are really good at looking rich. Also, prettiest little kids I have ever seen. None of them were screaming or snotting on themselves (or anyone else, for that matter), and they all had clear skin, big eyes, and, of course, fabulous clothes. And not a single person was rude, except for the guy who told dad he wasn't allowed to take pictures of his table of socks at the market. But he's just the sock man, so he doesn't count.
Strasbourg is surrounded (several times, in fact) by a few different rivers which are incredibly picturesque, especially since they're full of swans. Swans who will chase you down if they think you have food. Which is not quite as picturesque, but whatever. We took a boat tour all around the city which was very well done, with headphones and different channels to choose from depending on what language you wanted to hear the tour in, etc. I thought it was better than the Bateaux Mouches in Paris simply because there was more information, plus you can see a lot more from the river there than you can from the Seine.
The oldest part of the city of Strasbourg, Petite France, is tiny and adorable with cobblestones, old bridges, buildings coming straight out of the river, and a lot of architecture reminiscent of Germany, Switzerland or Austria. It looked like that to me anyway, but I've never seen any of those places, so I could be wrong. At any rate, it looked to me like everyone there should've been wearing wooden clogs and herding ducks with a tree branch etc. There's also a very famous cathedral, which is apparently the highest medieval structure in all of Europe. There's also a really amazing gyro restaurant, but I don't think it dates back quite that far.
We stayed in Strasbourg until Thursday, when we headed back to Paris and had dinner with Valerie, Edouard and Maria (Valerie's best friend). Friday we spent walking around some more, around Saint Michel and Saint Germaine, and I bought some pretty shoes (which I thought were comfortable until I took them off today and realized I had a huge blister on the ball of my left foot. But I didn't actually notice the blister while I was walking, so I don't care). Friday night dad made burritos for Valerie, Sophie and Jean-Michel (Valerie's sister and brother-in-law). Doing the shopping for pork butt burritos in Paris was interesting, but they turned out really well. Saturday involved some more walking and a tour on the Bateaux Mouches which was good, but FREEZING COLD. That night we had dinner chez Maria with some other French people and the biggest cat I have ever seen in my life. His name was Patapouf, and he was a beast. Even beastlier than my old cat, Sylvester, which I didn't think was possible. Anyway, that was entertaining. Sunday we visited Reid Hall and, had good pizza, and walked around on rue de Rennes for a while, and later on had dinner in the Marais where we saw some guy dressed as a clown. Don't really know what that was about, but I had a delicious steak, so it was good.
Monday involved way too much walking--from the Galleries Lafayette (which has by far the weirdest window displays I have EVER seen--babies on mushrooms with an octopus, a ballerina, and mechanical bunnies in vests opening a door for no reason?), past the Moulin Rouge and up to Sacre Coeur (SANS funicular, I'll have you know) and around the little streets there. We took the metro back to rue de Rennes to go to FNAC and then had dinner at an Italian place near my house because we were so tired. We came home afterwards (at around 8:00) only to find Valerie, Maria, and Maria's friend Filippe preparing dinner for dad's last night here. So, even though we were already full, we hung out with them and managed not to explode from too much pasta. Alex, Valerie's american friend (who also speaks French, Italian and Spanish) was there too.
Dad left on Tuesday morning, and I proceeded to sleep a whole lot that day and night because I was so worn out from all the walking. My classes started again yesterday with theatre, which was horrendously boring. Today was more entertaining--aside from classes, we discovered the most delicous paninis ever, decided that we need to go to Strasbourg for the Marche de Noel (Christmas market, which is apparently very famous and amazing), and saw a huge manifestation with fire, smoke, a cannon and a whole lot of drunk people in broad daylight. Then Kristin and I went over to the rue Mouffetard so I could buy some gloves.
This weekend the group is going to Provence for Saturday and Sunday, coming back on Sunday evening. Specifically, Sunday evening at 8:15. Which is funny, because my theatre class (which comprises maybe 11 our of our group of 33 students) needs to be at the Comedie Francaise by 8:30 to see Le Mariage de Figaro. Which is a three hour play.
I might die from exhaustion, but at least I will die content.
My dad came to visit me! He arrived on Saturday the 1st and the first thing he did in the city of lights, the center of Europe, the most beautiful place in the world...was to fall asleep on my bed for a good two hours while I ate poulet roti in the other room. Yup. Once the jet-lag wore off (although I guess it probably didn't, because I think I might still have it and I've been here for a good two months) we walked around my neighborhood despite the fact that it was pouring. Sunday we spent the entire day walking around, to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint-Louis by way of the monument on the Ile de la Cite for the deportees of WWII, which is the creepiest thing I have ever seen (but rightfully so), and then back and over the Pont Neuf (which means 'NEW bridge' not 'bridge nine') along the right bank of the Seine, through the courtyard(s) of the Louvre, through the Tuileries, down the Champs Elysees where I picked up some (okay, lots of) macaroons at LaDuree, all the way to the Arc de Triomphe where I proceeded to get sand in BOTH my eyes because apparently I took my binoculars to the beach at some point and never cleaned them out afterwards. Either that or god hates me, whichever.
Monday we left at freaking-early o'clock for Strasbourg by way of the TGV (Train de Grande Vitesse, or high-speed trains). I had a few second-thoughts about going to Strasbourg beforehand--why Strasbourg, a town which I know relatively nothing about except for the fact that it's been part of Germany as much as it's been part of France over the past howevermany years? Why not another country? Was it going to be a waste of my time and my (well, dad's) money? And let me tell you, it was DEFINITELY worth it.
I always thought that everyone in Paris was beautiful, well-dressed, and nicely made-up with good hair and pretty babies. That is, until I got to Strasbourg. Everyone, and I mean everyone down to the homeless people, was dressed better than your average american. I hate to say it, but it's true. It's probably because Strasbourg is the seat of the Council of Europe, as well as the Court of the European Union, (that amongst other big, impressive, European things) or that it's just perfectly situated in the center of Europe, but for whatever reason, Strasbourg is full of rich people. Or at least, people who are really good at looking rich. Also, prettiest little kids I have ever seen. None of them were screaming or snotting on themselves (or anyone else, for that matter), and they all had clear skin, big eyes, and, of course, fabulous clothes. And not a single person was rude, except for the guy who told dad he wasn't allowed to take pictures of his table of socks at the market. But he's just the sock man, so he doesn't count.
Strasbourg is surrounded (several times, in fact) by a few different rivers which are incredibly picturesque, especially since they're full of swans. Swans who will chase you down if they think you have food. Which is not quite as picturesque, but whatever. We took a boat tour all around the city which was very well done, with headphones and different channels to choose from depending on what language you wanted to hear the tour in, etc. I thought it was better than the Bateaux Mouches in Paris simply because there was more information, plus you can see a lot more from the river there than you can from the Seine.
The oldest part of the city of Strasbourg, Petite France, is tiny and adorable with cobblestones, old bridges, buildings coming straight out of the river, and a lot of architecture reminiscent of Germany, Switzerland or Austria. It looked like that to me anyway, but I've never seen any of those places, so I could be wrong. At any rate, it looked to me like everyone there should've been wearing wooden clogs and herding ducks with a tree branch etc. There's also a very famous cathedral, which is apparently the highest medieval structure in all of Europe. There's also a really amazing gyro restaurant, but I don't think it dates back quite that far.
We stayed in Strasbourg until Thursday, when we headed back to Paris and had dinner with Valerie, Edouard and Maria (Valerie's best friend). Friday we spent walking around some more, around Saint Michel and Saint Germaine, and I bought some pretty shoes (which I thought were comfortable until I took them off today and realized I had a huge blister on the ball of my left foot. But I didn't actually notice the blister while I was walking, so I don't care). Friday night dad made burritos for Valerie, Sophie and Jean-Michel (Valerie's sister and brother-in-law). Doing the shopping for pork butt burritos in Paris was interesting, but they turned out really well. Saturday involved some more walking and a tour on the Bateaux Mouches which was good, but FREEZING COLD. That night we had dinner chez Maria with some other French people and the biggest cat I have ever seen in my life. His name was Patapouf, and he was a beast. Even beastlier than my old cat, Sylvester, which I didn't think was possible. Anyway, that was entertaining. Sunday we visited Reid Hall and, had good pizza, and walked around on rue de Rennes for a while, and later on had dinner in the Marais where we saw some guy dressed as a clown. Don't really know what that was about, but I had a delicious steak, so it was good.
Monday involved way too much walking--from the Galleries Lafayette (which has by far the weirdest window displays I have EVER seen--babies on mushrooms with an octopus, a ballerina, and mechanical bunnies in vests opening a door for no reason?), past the Moulin Rouge and up to Sacre Coeur (SANS funicular, I'll have you know) and around the little streets there. We took the metro back to rue de Rennes to go to FNAC and then had dinner at an Italian place near my house because we were so tired. We came home afterwards (at around 8:00) only to find Valerie, Maria, and Maria's friend Filippe preparing dinner for dad's last night here. So, even though we were already full, we hung out with them and managed not to explode from too much pasta. Alex, Valerie's american friend (who also speaks French, Italian and Spanish) was there too.
Dad left on Tuesday morning, and I proceeded to sleep a whole lot that day and night because I was so worn out from all the walking. My classes started again yesterday with theatre, which was horrendously boring. Today was more entertaining--aside from classes, we discovered the most delicous paninis ever, decided that we need to go to Strasbourg for the Marche de Noel (Christmas market, which is apparently very famous and amazing), and saw a huge manifestation with fire, smoke, a cannon and a whole lot of drunk people in broad daylight. Then Kristin and I went over to the rue Mouffetard so I could buy some gloves.
This weekend the group is going to Provence for Saturday and Sunday, coming back on Sunday evening. Specifically, Sunday evening at 8:15. Which is funny, because my theatre class (which comprises maybe 11 our of our group of 33 students) needs to be at the Comedie Francaise by 8:30 to see Le Mariage de Figaro. Which is a three hour play.
I might die from exhaustion, but at least I will die content.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
sick
I'm sick :( That's what I get for being lax in my germ-freakishness and not carrying hand sanitizer for when I take public transportation (which is every day). Oops.
What's happened since I updated last? Well, le cirque invisible, for one.
My theatre class went to see Le Cirque Invisible at Theatre du Ront Point on Sunday, but it wasn't really a circus, and it also was definitely not invisible. Basically it was a man and a woman who took turns doing weird things for two hours. They did magic tricks, rode bicycles, fit themselves into really small places, did duck calls, and had the fattest white rabbits I have ever seen in my life. I think really it was meant for younger kids, but there was surprisingly little information about it online, so my theatre teacher wasn't sure what to expect. After the circus Kara, Leah and I took the metro home. I'm normally fine with the metro as long as I'm with someone, but on Sunday I learned that you should NEVER attempt to metro it during rush hour (between 6-7 in the evening). If you do, you will be unpleasantly squished up against the unknown parts of unknown people, and you will not like it. Luckily I was crushed between Leah and Kara, so not as bad as it could've been, especially since we kept each other from falling over and into the laps of sketchy people.
On Monday Leah, Kristin, Hannah and Sky (actually a boy, in case you were wondering), came over to my apartment to make cookies. One thing the French just don't get is soft cookies. Here you can get bazillions of amazing pastries, but nothing remotely close to a gooey, chewy chocolate chip cookie. Sad. After assembling the ingredients Leah had bought, we decided that, even though the brown sugar was definitely not like brown sugar in the US, and even though the thing we were pretty sure was baking soda might not actually have been baking soda (we were going by the chemical makeup listed on the back, which doesn't really help when you're a bunch of French, Creative Writing, History, and Art History majors), we would wing it. Since chocolate ships don't exist in France we ended up buying chocolate bars and hacking them to bits (which is the reason that my kitchen was temporarily covered in a fine coating of chocolate dust). Also, the vanilla extract was more like some mysterious kind of vanilla syrup that wasn't nearly as strong. Which sucked, because it was really expensive and we had to use a ton.
But after all that the cookies turned out really well--different, but good. Hannah made a thing with zukini which was delicious, and we had a baguette, cheese, pate, saucisson and apple picnic in the dining room, which was delicious.
After Kristin and Hannah had to leave, we made hot chocolate and watched Happy Feet in French, which was ridiculous because all the songs were still in English, meaning that the movie made even less sense than it normally does.
That night our literature class was going to the La Comedie Francaise (the most famous theatre here) to see Fantasio, some weird play that our teacher told us we had to read. The only thing was that she told us this on Thursday, and gave us one book to share among ten people. Basically, no one read the play, but we did read an article saying that Christian Lacroix, a famous French fashion designer, had done all the costumes for the production. The theatre was gorgeous (once Kristin and I found it after getting soaked in the rain and slightly lost) and the play was alright. I was expecting insane costumes since I'd heard that Christian Lacroix was very couture-y, but they weren't too out-there. They were well made and there was a really beautiful wedding dress, but other than that nothing spectacular. I wasn't a fan of the actress in the lead female role, and the lead male role was actually also played by a woman, which was odd. They had a really cool set piece that turned, kind of like they do for Les Miserables, but smaller and weirder. It was interesting.
Yesterday I lived through Lit and Grammar before deciding that I was too sick to handle phonetique with Jean-Thierry and his crazy "gymnastics" which involve screaming and flailing. So I came home and went to sleep until my momma called to say that she was coming over. She brought me lots of things from home because I am a spoiled panda. But now I am a spoiled panda with my uggs and winter coat, and I'm also a nice-smelling panda because I have new deoderant. They don't have natural deoderant here, and since I don't want alzheimers I have to make mom bring me Tom's from home.
We had dinner with my Aunt Susan and Uncle John and their friends, which was fun. We saw the Eiffel Tower sparkling for approximately .3 seconds, and then I spent the night with mom in her hotel and came back on the bus this morning.
And now I'm in the process of deciding whether or not to go to theatre today. Do I really want to hack my brains out and snot all over the place for three hours while my teacher attempts to make us learn something from the invisible circus? I don't think I'm going to be worth anything in the improvising/acting game department, or even the note-taking department. Or, for that matter, the not-passing-out-while-the-teacher-is-talking department. BUT now I have medicine and Emergen-C and Echinacea, so I'm hoping that if I take enough of that I'll be a little better by tomorrow.
What's happened since I updated last? Well, le cirque invisible, for one.
My theatre class went to see Le Cirque Invisible at Theatre du Ront Point on Sunday, but it wasn't really a circus, and it also was definitely not invisible. Basically it was a man and a woman who took turns doing weird things for two hours. They did magic tricks, rode bicycles, fit themselves into really small places, did duck calls, and had the fattest white rabbits I have ever seen in my life. I think really it was meant for younger kids, but there was surprisingly little information about it online, so my theatre teacher wasn't sure what to expect. After the circus Kara, Leah and I took the metro home. I'm normally fine with the metro as long as I'm with someone, but on Sunday I learned that you should NEVER attempt to metro it during rush hour (between 6-7 in the evening). If you do, you will be unpleasantly squished up against the unknown parts of unknown people, and you will not like it. Luckily I was crushed between Leah and Kara, so not as bad as it could've been, especially since we kept each other from falling over and into the laps of sketchy people.
On Monday Leah, Kristin, Hannah and Sky (actually a boy, in case you were wondering), came over to my apartment to make cookies. One thing the French just don't get is soft cookies. Here you can get bazillions of amazing pastries, but nothing remotely close to a gooey, chewy chocolate chip cookie. Sad. After assembling the ingredients Leah had bought, we decided that, even though the brown sugar was definitely not like brown sugar in the US, and even though the thing we were pretty sure was baking soda might not actually have been baking soda (we were going by the chemical makeup listed on the back, which doesn't really help when you're a bunch of French, Creative Writing, History, and Art History majors), we would wing it. Since chocolate ships don't exist in France we ended up buying chocolate bars and hacking them to bits (which is the reason that my kitchen was temporarily covered in a fine coating of chocolate dust). Also, the vanilla extract was more like some mysterious kind of vanilla syrup that wasn't nearly as strong. Which sucked, because it was really expensive and we had to use a ton.
But after all that the cookies turned out really well--different, but good. Hannah made a thing with zukini which was delicious, and we had a baguette, cheese, pate, saucisson and apple picnic in the dining room, which was delicious.
After Kristin and Hannah had to leave, we made hot chocolate and watched Happy Feet in French, which was ridiculous because all the songs were still in English, meaning that the movie made even less sense than it normally does.
That night our literature class was going to the La Comedie Francaise (the most famous theatre here) to see Fantasio, some weird play that our teacher told us we had to read. The only thing was that she told us this on Thursday, and gave us one book to share among ten people. Basically, no one read the play, but we did read an article saying that Christian Lacroix, a famous French fashion designer, had done all the costumes for the production. The theatre was gorgeous (once Kristin and I found it after getting soaked in the rain and slightly lost) and the play was alright. I was expecting insane costumes since I'd heard that Christian Lacroix was very couture-y, but they weren't too out-there. They were well made and there was a really beautiful wedding dress, but other than that nothing spectacular. I wasn't a fan of the actress in the lead female role, and the lead male role was actually also played by a woman, which was odd. They had a really cool set piece that turned, kind of like they do for Les Miserables, but smaller and weirder. It was interesting.
Yesterday I lived through Lit and Grammar before deciding that I was too sick to handle phonetique with Jean-Thierry and his crazy "gymnastics" which involve screaming and flailing. So I came home and went to sleep until my momma called to say that she was coming over. She brought me lots of things from home because I am a spoiled panda. But now I am a spoiled panda with my uggs and winter coat, and I'm also a nice-smelling panda because I have new deoderant. They don't have natural deoderant here, and since I don't want alzheimers I have to make mom bring me Tom's from home.
We had dinner with my Aunt Susan and Uncle John and their friends, which was fun. We saw the Eiffel Tower sparkling for approximately .3 seconds, and then I spent the night with mom in her hotel and came back on the bus this morning.
And now I'm in the process of deciding whether or not to go to theatre today. Do I really want to hack my brains out and snot all over the place for three hours while my teacher attempts to make us learn something from the invisible circus? I don't think I'm going to be worth anything in the improvising/acting game department, or even the note-taking department. Or, for that matter, the not-passing-out-while-the-teacher-is-talking department. BUT now I have medicine and Emergen-C and Echinacea, so I'm hoping that if I take enough of that I'll be a little better by tomorrow.
Friday, October 24, 2008
I realize that my ass is like marble from climbing the tour Eiffel, but please refrain from touching it.
Yesterday after overdosing on "So pesto!" pasta from the pasta place on rue Vavin, and after then getting a horrendous headache during phonetique (not sure whether this was caused by the pasta or Jean-Thierry's style of teaching), I was surprised by a Norwegian who had found her way into my school and proceeded to slurk around waiting for me while the guard tried to talk to her in French. For anyone who doesn't know, said Norwegian is Marie, my friend from sophomore year of highschool who I haven't seen in four years. Her mom had a conference in Paris, so she decided to come down for a few days to hang out and visit.
We went out for coffee, crepes and the timeless art of coveting shit we cannot afford. We also tried to find headphones at Monoprix, and failed. Then I came home, where Valerie and Edouard were busy packing and cleaning to get ready to leave for vacation today. I'm pretty sure they didn't go to bed last night, but just stayed up until 5:20 this morning when Sophie came to pick them up to go to the train station. They took the cats with them (even though I offered to take care of them here) and they (the cats, not my family) were pissed off all night because they weren't allowed out of the house for fear that they wouldn't come home in time. This wouldn't be a problem with any normal cats, but Daphne and Bart Simpson have a habit of throwing themselves against the door when they want to go out. Which makes a lot of noise.
So anyway, today Marie came over and we decided to buy some pain au chocolats and head to the Eiffel Tower to be as touristy as possible. Thank god Marie is freakishly good at using the metro, or we totally would have died. We got to the Eiffel Tower and decided to pay the 3.50 euro to take the stairs so the 2nd observation deck, which is as far as you can go without having to pay 12 more euro to take the elevator to the top. Not having worked out properly since I've been here, the stairs were pretty painful. In fact, I am still in pain. But whatever, it was worth it.
After the tower we promptly got lost on our way to the Tour Eiffel metro, but we eventually found another metro, around which there was a market full of antiques, furniture, clothes, and other assorted junk. From there we took the metro to Sacre Coeur to meet Marie's mom (Ingrid! Ingrid who is married to Lars! Whose kids are named Thor and Helga Marie! So Scandanavian!). We then hiked up to the church, which was gorgeous and actually having a mass. We spent way too long staring at the six nuns who were singing, trying to figure out if there was also a hidden choir somewhere, or just a really great speaker system. I actually still have no idea, but either way, those nuns had some pretty nice voices. Made me want to be a nun for about .03 seconds. Not really.
Then somehow Ingrid decided we should walk from Sacre Coeur, through Montmartre past the Moulin Rouge all the way to the Galleries Lafayette (the real old one, not the one in Montparnasse). Don't get me wrong, I love walking--especially in Paris where everyone should and does walk all the time--but my feet are killing me. But it was a nice walk on which we saw Picasso's house (we think), and a store full of the craziest, most quirky jewelry I have ever seen. Too bad it cost more than my life.
Galleries Lafayette was just as ridiculous as I thought it would be--jam packed with people, lots of whom were carrying several shopping bags each, which was astonishing seeing as they were from brands like Dolce & Gabana, Ralph Lauren, Dior and whoever makes those 130 euro bras I want. We spent way too long there, wandering around in a daze looking at all the shiny.
From there we went to dinner, at a little place on the rue Mouffetard where we had racklette (I actually have no idea how to spell that). They give you a plate with pieces of cheese and meat, and a heater-ma-bob with little tiny pan things. You put a piece of cheese in your little pan and let it melt on the heater while you cut up a potatoe and some meat. When the cheese is nice and melty you pour it all over the potatoe and meat, then let another piece of cheese melt while you eat. It is freaking delicious, and everyone should go there and eat it. But don't order the blueberry tart, because it was icky.
After dinner Marie and her mama walked me home. During the walk Ingrid decided that she was obsessed with my neighborhood and should move there.
Now I'm home, and my legs hurt. But in a good way.
Oh, somewhere during the course of the past two days Marie decided that crepes, or pancakes as she calls them, are the new pizza. Because they are flat. And because you can eat whatever you want in them. And because every country makes them a little differently--for example, America's are the fattest. Just like with pizza. Pancake: the new pizza. Possibly the best thing Marie has ever said.
Lastly, we saw a woman carrying a cat in a box in the metro. Don't know what that was about. I love the French.
We went out for coffee, crepes and the timeless art of coveting shit we cannot afford. We also tried to find headphones at Monoprix, and failed. Then I came home, where Valerie and Edouard were busy packing and cleaning to get ready to leave for vacation today. I'm pretty sure they didn't go to bed last night, but just stayed up until 5:20 this morning when Sophie came to pick them up to go to the train station. They took the cats with them (even though I offered to take care of them here) and they (the cats, not my family) were pissed off all night because they weren't allowed out of the house for fear that they wouldn't come home in time. This wouldn't be a problem with any normal cats, but Daphne and Bart Simpson have a habit of throwing themselves against the door when they want to go out. Which makes a lot of noise.
So anyway, today Marie came over and we decided to buy some pain au chocolats and head to the Eiffel Tower to be as touristy as possible. Thank god Marie is freakishly good at using the metro, or we totally would have died. We got to the Eiffel Tower and decided to pay the 3.50 euro to take the stairs so the 2nd observation deck, which is as far as you can go without having to pay 12 more euro to take the elevator to the top. Not having worked out properly since I've been here, the stairs were pretty painful. In fact, I am still in pain. But whatever, it was worth it.
After the tower we promptly got lost on our way to the Tour Eiffel metro, but we eventually found another metro, around which there was a market full of antiques, furniture, clothes, and other assorted junk. From there we took the metro to Sacre Coeur to meet Marie's mom (Ingrid! Ingrid who is married to Lars! Whose kids are named Thor and Helga Marie! So Scandanavian!). We then hiked up to the church, which was gorgeous and actually having a mass. We spent way too long staring at the six nuns who were singing, trying to figure out if there was also a hidden choir somewhere, or just a really great speaker system. I actually still have no idea, but either way, those nuns had some pretty nice voices. Made me want to be a nun for about .03 seconds. Not really.
Then somehow Ingrid decided we should walk from Sacre Coeur, through Montmartre past the Moulin Rouge all the way to the Galleries Lafayette (the real old one, not the one in Montparnasse). Don't get me wrong, I love walking--especially in Paris where everyone should and does walk all the time--but my feet are killing me. But it was a nice walk on which we saw Picasso's house (we think), and a store full of the craziest, most quirky jewelry I have ever seen. Too bad it cost more than my life.
Galleries Lafayette was just as ridiculous as I thought it would be--jam packed with people, lots of whom were carrying several shopping bags each, which was astonishing seeing as they were from brands like Dolce & Gabana, Ralph Lauren, Dior and whoever makes those 130 euro bras I want. We spent way too long there, wandering around in a daze looking at all the shiny.
From there we went to dinner, at a little place on the rue Mouffetard where we had racklette (I actually have no idea how to spell that). They give you a plate with pieces of cheese and meat, and a heater-ma-bob with little tiny pan things. You put a piece of cheese in your little pan and let it melt on the heater while you cut up a potatoe and some meat. When the cheese is nice and melty you pour it all over the potatoe and meat, then let another piece of cheese melt while you eat. It is freaking delicious, and everyone should go there and eat it. But don't order the blueberry tart, because it was icky.
After dinner Marie and her mama walked me home. During the walk Ingrid decided that she was obsessed with my neighborhood and should move there.
Now I'm home, and my legs hurt. But in a good way.
Oh, somewhere during the course of the past two days Marie decided that crepes, or pancakes as she calls them, are the new pizza. Because they are flat. And because you can eat whatever you want in them. And because every country makes them a little differently--for example, America's are the fattest. Just like with pizza. Pancake: the new pizza. Possibly the best thing Marie has ever said.
Lastly, we saw a woman carrying a cat in a box in the metro. Don't know what that was about. I love the French.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
my umbrella is not adequately metrosexual for this country
Today while walking from the bus stop to my school, I saw a man whose umbrella was pinker than mine (and mine is vibrant magenta, on the off chance that you haven't seen it). As rabid with jealousy as I was, I have to admit that it kind of made my life. Europe is my favorite.
I also love living in a city where there is food all over the place. Oh, you want a box of curry noodles? Go to the box-of-curry-noodles stand right around the corner! On your way you can check out the nutella paninis (not to mention all the other kinds of paninis, which admittedly pale in comparison to the aforementioned nutella ones), the grocery store where everything is absurdly cheap (by European standards), the seven billion other chinese takeout places, the crepe stand, and about eighty four boulangeries. And the cafe with tiramisu ice cream. And the poulet roti. And the place where you can buy the bootleg version of Le Petit Ecolier cookies, which are exactly the same, but without the petit ecolier on the front. And let me just say that schoolboy or no, they are delicious.
Today after phonetique I went for chocolat chaud with Kit and Jess, but somehow the chocolat choad managed to turn itself into ice cream. No idea how that might have happened. We talked about our cats d'accueil, and mine still win. Daphne & Bart Simpson > Vanille & Pastelle. I also finally mailed my absentee ballot, with my witnesses signatures and addresses scrawled all over the back. Hopefully that's alright. On that note, why do the voting people bother to send a postage paid envelope that says "NO POSTAGE REQUIRED" if that only works inside the US, when they are (hopefully) aware that they are sending it to me in FRANCE? Which means I have to buy postage anyway, for 2 euro and change. Whatever, I finally voted and sent some letters and cartes postales which will probably take the next thirty seven years to get there, possibly more if there is another mail strike...or a "sort-of-mail-strike" like last time. No, I do not get what that means, but yes, it happens.
Now that I finally have my carte imagine-R I get to take the bus/metro/RER/train for free! Well, not actually free since it cost almost 300 euro, but it's for the whole year and I get to swipe it past little sensors that make fairy-dust noises afterwards. So basically I don't care what it does or how much it cost, because it makes me feel magical, damnit. Actually I feel slightly less magical when I forget that I have it (after spending a month without it), and have to go back to the sensor thingy to swipe it while the bus driver looks at me confusedly. Yes.
Tomorrow I am hopefully going to the massive marche biologique. I would like to say that I have a good reason to go there, like a need to eat delicious and natural food, but I really just want to chercher les potirons, comme l'habitude. C'est l'histoire de ma vie. Knowing France, all the markets will be full of pumpkins AFTER Halloween, and when I ask why, they'll say "Well of course we have pumpkins, it's pumpkin season!" Someone needs to teach these people that pumpkins is not for to eat, please.
I have way too much reading for Thursday. I should probably go do that. On second thought, I should probably go to bed so I can wake up early tomorrow and go pumpkin hunting before theatre class, where we will be discussing probably the most un-entertaining play I have ever seen. But on a much more better-er side note, Hannah and I are trying to decide whether we'd rather see Othello or A Midsummer Night's Dream at l'Odeon. In French. AHAHA. Oh god.
I also love living in a city where there is food all over the place. Oh, you want a box of curry noodles? Go to the box-of-curry-noodles stand right around the corner! On your way you can check out the nutella paninis (not to mention all the other kinds of paninis, which admittedly pale in comparison to the aforementioned nutella ones), the grocery store where everything is absurdly cheap (by European standards), the seven billion other chinese takeout places, the crepe stand, and about eighty four boulangeries. And the cafe with tiramisu ice cream. And the poulet roti. And the place where you can buy the bootleg version of Le Petit Ecolier cookies, which are exactly the same, but without the petit ecolier on the front. And let me just say that schoolboy or no, they are delicious.
Today after phonetique I went for chocolat chaud with Kit and Jess, but somehow the chocolat choad managed to turn itself into ice cream. No idea how that might have happened. We talked about our cats d'accueil, and mine still win. Daphne & Bart Simpson > Vanille & Pastelle. I also finally mailed my absentee ballot, with my witnesses signatures and addresses scrawled all over the back. Hopefully that's alright. On that note, why do the voting people bother to send a postage paid envelope that says "NO POSTAGE REQUIRED" if that only works inside the US, when they are (hopefully) aware that they are sending it to me in FRANCE? Which means I have to buy postage anyway, for 2 euro and change. Whatever, I finally voted and sent some letters and cartes postales which will probably take the next thirty seven years to get there, possibly more if there is another mail strike...or a "sort-of-mail-strike" like last time. No, I do not get what that means, but yes, it happens.
Now that I finally have my carte imagine-R I get to take the bus/metro/RER/train for free! Well, not actually free since it cost almost 300 euro, but it's for the whole year and I get to swipe it past little sensors that make fairy-dust noises afterwards. So basically I don't care what it does or how much it cost, because it makes me feel magical, damnit. Actually I feel slightly less magical when I forget that I have it (after spending a month without it), and have to go back to the sensor thingy to swipe it while the bus driver looks at me confusedly. Yes.
Tomorrow I am hopefully going to the massive marche biologique. I would like to say that I have a good reason to go there, like a need to eat delicious and natural food, but I really just want to chercher les potirons, comme l'habitude. C'est l'histoire de ma vie. Knowing France, all the markets will be full of pumpkins AFTER Halloween, and when I ask why, they'll say "Well of course we have pumpkins, it's pumpkin season!" Someone needs to teach these people that pumpkins is not for to eat, please.
I have way too much reading for Thursday. I should probably go do that. On second thought, I should probably go to bed so I can wake up early tomorrow and go pumpkin hunting before theatre class, where we will be discussing probably the most un-entertaining play I have ever seen. But on a much more better-er side note, Hannah and I are trying to decide whether we'd rather see Othello or A Midsummer Night's Dream at l'Odeon. In French. AHAHA. Oh god.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
le robe de drager
So after monday's goings-on, Valerie and her friend Maria (or, as she now says, her "BFF") have an obsession with my purple dress. They call it "le robe de drager," ie "the dress in which one gets continually picked-up by weird men." So tonight, this happened:
Maria: (walks in the door) Oh hi, nice outfit, but you should go change into le robe de drager, I want to see it!
Me: Why?
Maria: So I can buy one just like it, obviously!
Valerie: Yeah, go get it!
So I went and got the dress and showed it to them (on the hanger).
Maria: Ohhh, that's nice. But I think you should wear it for dinner!
Me: Why?
Valerie: Yes, do it!
Me: But it's cold!
Maria: Valerie, shut the window!
Valerie: (shuts the window) Now it's not cold!
Maria: Go put it on!
Me: But--
Valerie: GO!
So now I'm wearing le robe de drager, which is slightly pointless because I'm going to be with a bunch of people who are A) too old and B) not single.
I live
with
CRAZY PEOPLE.
And that is okay.
Maria: (walks in the door) Oh hi, nice outfit, but you should go change into le robe de drager, I want to see it!
Me: Why?
Maria: So I can buy one just like it, obviously!
Valerie: Yeah, go get it!
So I went and got the dress and showed it to them (on the hanger).
Maria: Ohhh, that's nice. But I think you should wear it for dinner!
Me: Why?
Valerie: Yes, do it!
Me: But it's cold!
Maria: Valerie, shut the window!
Valerie: (shuts the window) Now it's not cold!
Maria: Go put it on!
Me: But--
Valerie: GO!
So now I'm wearing le robe de drager, which is slightly pointless because I'm going to be with a bunch of people who are A) too old and B) not single.
I live
with
CRAZY PEOPLE.
And that is okay.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Fort bien.
Whoever reads this totally sucks at leaving comments (unless your name is Emma Grace, Hilary Raye, Lauren Michelle or Maggie Whose Middle Name I Do Not State For Fear of Getting Cut.) Yeah, so if those aren't your names, I'm mad at you.
I did my Baudelaire expose today, and as frustrating as that was, I am unbelievably glad that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the semester like everyone (minus Kara, who also did hers today). It was an oral presentation in which I had to analyze one of Baudelaire's prose poems for ten minutes in front of the class. Good times. I think I pretty much said the same thing repeatedly, but the professor (who is a meanie, in case I haven't mentoined that) said she was glad we had both focused on details. She seemed happy, or as happy as she gets...well, maybe not as happy as when she laughs at us because we don't understand what she means when she says "Do you think Baudelaire is a mystique?" But still, happy. So I'm hoping I didn't fail that horribly, but you never know.
The phonetique professor gets on my nerves more and more each class. He's entertaining for sure, but it's a little too much to handle twice a week. Also, there's a girl in our class who, for whatever reason, doesn't pronounce things perfectly (even when she speaks English, it's not a linguistic thing), and he appears to not get that asking her to repeat herself over and over agian is NOT going to help. I kind of want to slap a hoe...him being the hoe, obviously.
All of grammar today was spent asking linguistic/cultural questions, which is basically why I love that class and that professor. I love how during almost every class either Brittany or Nina will ask a question to the effect of "Our host family does blankity blank blank, do all French people do that?" Because the answer is always "Uh...no. Your family's just weird." But weird as they may be, they DO have a chateau...
Also, my carte imagine-R arrived today! The card lets you travel for free on the Paris buses, metro, RER, and trains anywhere within Ile de France (basically 100km around Paris). Souped. Especially since now I don't have to count out bazillions of coins every time I get on the bus.
I got my absentee ballot, filled it out, and will mail it tomorrow. Even more souped. Valerie also decided that we are going to stay up all night to watch the elections with lots of food, which sounds fabulous. But I just realized that I'll be in Strasbourg with dad on the 4th. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to sleep, so I'm hoping that our hotel gets a channel that will be showing them...although that seems unlikely. Maybe I'll just make dad find an american bar so we can stay up all night THERE.
And now it is definitely time to go to bed, because I am exhausted.
I did my Baudelaire expose today, and as frustrating as that was, I am unbelievably glad that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the semester like everyone (minus Kara, who also did hers today). It was an oral presentation in which I had to analyze one of Baudelaire's prose poems for ten minutes in front of the class. Good times. I think I pretty much said the same thing repeatedly, but the professor (who is a meanie, in case I haven't mentoined that) said she was glad we had both focused on details. She seemed happy, or as happy as she gets...well, maybe not as happy as when she laughs at us because we don't understand what she means when she says "Do you think Baudelaire is a mystique?" But still, happy. So I'm hoping I didn't fail that horribly, but you never know.
The phonetique professor gets on my nerves more and more each class. He's entertaining for sure, but it's a little too much to handle twice a week. Also, there's a girl in our class who, for whatever reason, doesn't pronounce things perfectly (even when she speaks English, it's not a linguistic thing), and he appears to not get that asking her to repeat herself over and over agian is NOT going to help. I kind of want to slap a hoe...him being the hoe, obviously.
All of grammar today was spent asking linguistic/cultural questions, which is basically why I love that class and that professor. I love how during almost every class either Brittany or Nina will ask a question to the effect of "Our host family does blankity blank blank, do all French people do that?" Because the answer is always "Uh...no. Your family's just weird." But weird as they may be, they DO have a chateau...
Also, my carte imagine-R arrived today! The card lets you travel for free on the Paris buses, metro, RER, and trains anywhere within Ile de France (basically 100km around Paris). Souped. Especially since now I don't have to count out bazillions of coins every time I get on the bus.
I got my absentee ballot, filled it out, and will mail it tomorrow. Even more souped. Valerie also decided that we are going to stay up all night to watch the elections with lots of food, which sounds fabulous. But I just realized that I'll be in Strasbourg with dad on the 4th. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to sleep, so I'm hoping that our hotel gets a channel that will be showing them...although that seems unlikely. Maybe I'll just make dad find an american bar so we can stay up all night THERE.
And now it is definitely time to go to bed, because I am exhausted.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Okay, it's time for the story of how everyone in France (not really) tried to seduce me yesterday.
So I'm walking to Reid Hall, minding my own business with my sunglasses and my purple polka dot dress (which is little, but so am I, so I'm not blaming this on that), when a man stops me. This all happened in French, but I'm going to translate the ridiculousness so that everyone can appreciate it.
Man: You have a beautiful dress, c'est magnifique!
Me: (in my head: you're obviously gay, that's cool) Thanks!
Man: Where are you from? What origin?
Me: Well, I'm American, but my mother is Philippino and my dad is German.
Man: Aha! And that is why you have that beautiful face?
Me: (nervous laugh--I know you all know which laugh I mean...the one that lasts way too long and is really awkward)
Man: And what is your astrological sign? Scorpio?
Me: (more awkward laughter because I couldn't really grasp the fact that someone had actually just asked what my sign was) Uh, I'm a Leo
Man: AHA! LIKE ME! So can I have your phone number?
Me: Uh, sorry, I don't have a phone! (totally true)
Man: No problem, I can give you my phone number!
Me: Sorry, I don't have a piece of paper or anything...
Man: That's okay, I have one!
Me: Oh, well I don't have a pen...
Man: I can ask in the store! (then he RUNS into the store across the street and asks if he can borrow a pen.) So, when are you going to call me?
Me: Uhhh I don't know
Man: Tonight?
Me: Uhhh
Man: 7? 8? When?
Me: Uhh, I really don't know if I can tonight...
Man: Well, until very soon, I hope.
Me: Uh, bye!
And then I ran away to Reid Hall. But it gets so much more hilarious, because when I was walking BACK from school, the same thing happened AGAIN. Here are the most entertaining parts:
Me: (walking down the street, once again minding my own business)
Man: Excuse me, excuse me!
Me: Yes?
Man: Can I have an autograph?
Me: (genuinely not understanding the French) A what?
Man: An autograph.
Me: (nervous laugh)
Man: I'm a fan of you.
Me: (hoping he stupidly thinks I'm someone famous and it isn't just a horrendous pickup line) Of who?
Man: Of you!
Me: Aaahaha...haha...ha...but I'm not famous?
Man: But you are very beautiful.
Me: uhhh thanks...(nervous laughter because, yet again, I cannot handle that I've heard two of the worst pickup lines in existence in the space of 2 hours)
Man: Want to have a drink with me?
Me: uhhh
Man: Now?
Me: Uh no, I can't right now (totally a lie)
Man: Okay, when?
Me: Uh, I don't know...(he continues to stare at me, so I continue to laugh nervously)
Man: You are very charming.
Me: (almost exploding from holding in my laughter)
Man: Very charming. (He was completely serious. I could not handle it.) Just sit down with me for a few minutes, okay?
Me: Uhhh okay (so we sat down on a step, awk)
Man: So, you are of what origin?
Me: My mom is Philippino and my dad is German, but I'm American.
Man: Ahh, it's a very good mix! And why are you here?
Me: I'm in a program to become fluent in French...
Man: And you have a boyfriend in the United States?
Me: Uh, no (because I am an idiot and didn't think to say yes and leave)
Man: And here?
Me: Nope
Man: Ah, perfect!
Me: (awkward)
Man: Well, I broke up with my girlfriend 5 months ago because she liked to party too much, like every day, and I'm not like that. (That sounded like a blatant and ridiculous lie even in French.)
Me: Oh...okay...
Man: So how old are you?
Me: I'm twenty.
Man: Aha, I'm twenty nine. That's okay though!
Me: ...uh.
Man: So, when do you want to see me again?
Me: Uh...I...don't know?
Man: I would like to have a drink and get to know you. When?
Me: I have classes
Man: When do you not have classes?
Me: Um...Friday...?
Man: Okay, we'll meet here on Friday at 1:00.
Me: Uhhh
Man: (in English) Very beautiful! Very beautiful!
Me: Ummm, thanks...BYE.
Uh, yeah. Not actually kidding. AT ALL. That is all word-for-word (in translation, obviously) minus the more boring parts which were mostly made up of me not understanding what they were saying. Possibly that is a good thing. Also, French people cannot grasp my name, because it is about as un-French as they come. But anyways.
Totally avoiding that sketchball on Friday. (Although in reality neither of them looked or dressed like a sketchball...I'm just not sure how sketchy it is (in France) to be so insistent when picking up girls on the street. Either way, definitely weird.
In other news I found CHOCOLATE PUMPKINS today in a chocolate shop right by my house. I also bought a pretty purple scarf, ate some yummy chocolat-pistache thingum, wandered around with Kristin and had hot chocolate with Kristin, Emily and Emily's friend whose name I cannot remember. Then we had an adventure buying stamps, but I finally have some, so that's good.
In other other news, the prof de litterature is a big bad meanie, but nobody likes her anyway so that's okay. I don't get why she continues to ask questions to which we clearly do not know the answers. "Do you think Baudelaire is a mystique?" No, because I don't know what the hell a 'mystique' is because, hello, the reason I'm here is because I'm trying to learn French, which would imply that I DON'T KNOW IT YET. The problem is that she KEEPS asking questions like that and acting surprised or frustrated when we don't get it. I don't get how she hasn't yet formed at least a general idea of our level. Bah.
I have to go eat some avocados now. Pray that weird men stop talking to me.
So I'm walking to Reid Hall, minding my own business with my sunglasses and my purple polka dot dress (which is little, but so am I, so I'm not blaming this on that), when a man stops me. This all happened in French, but I'm going to translate the ridiculousness so that everyone can appreciate it.
Man: You have a beautiful dress, c'est magnifique!
Me: (in my head: you're obviously gay, that's cool) Thanks!
Man: Where are you from? What origin?
Me: Well, I'm American, but my mother is Philippino and my dad is German.
Man: Aha! And that is why you have that beautiful face?
Me: (nervous laugh--I know you all know which laugh I mean...the one that lasts way too long and is really awkward)
Man: And what is your astrological sign? Scorpio?
Me: (more awkward laughter because I couldn't really grasp the fact that someone had actually just asked what my sign was) Uh, I'm a Leo
Man: AHA! LIKE ME! So can I have your phone number?
Me: Uh, sorry, I don't have a phone! (totally true)
Man: No problem, I can give you my phone number!
Me: Sorry, I don't have a piece of paper or anything...
Man: That's okay, I have one!
Me: Oh, well I don't have a pen...
Man: I can ask in the store! (then he RUNS into the store across the street and asks if he can borrow a pen.) So, when are you going to call me?
Me: Uhhh I don't know
Man: Tonight?
Me: Uhhh
Man: 7? 8? When?
Me: Uhh, I really don't know if I can tonight...
Man: Well, until very soon, I hope.
Me: Uh, bye!
And then I ran away to Reid Hall. But it gets so much more hilarious, because when I was walking BACK from school, the same thing happened AGAIN. Here are the most entertaining parts:
Me: (walking down the street, once again minding my own business)
Man: Excuse me, excuse me!
Me: Yes?
Man: Can I have an autograph?
Me: (genuinely not understanding the French) A what?
Man: An autograph.
Me: (nervous laugh)
Man: I'm a fan of you.
Me: (hoping he stupidly thinks I'm someone famous and it isn't just a horrendous pickup line) Of who?
Man: Of you!
Me: Aaahaha...haha...ha...but I'm not famous?
Man: But you are very beautiful.
Me: uhhh thanks...(nervous laughter because, yet again, I cannot handle that I've heard two of the worst pickup lines in existence in the space of 2 hours)
Man: Want to have a drink with me?
Me: uhhh
Man: Now?
Me: Uh no, I can't right now (totally a lie)
Man: Okay, when?
Me: Uh, I don't know...(he continues to stare at me, so I continue to laugh nervously)
Man: You are very charming.
Me: (almost exploding from holding in my laughter)
Man: Very charming. (He was completely serious. I could not handle it.) Just sit down with me for a few minutes, okay?
Me: Uhhh okay (so we sat down on a step, awk)
Man: So, you are of what origin?
Me: My mom is Philippino and my dad is German, but I'm American.
Man: Ahh, it's a very good mix! And why are you here?
Me: I'm in a program to become fluent in French...
Man: And you have a boyfriend in the United States?
Me: Uh, no (because I am an idiot and didn't think to say yes and leave)
Man: And here?
Me: Nope
Man: Ah, perfect!
Me: (awkward)
Man: Well, I broke up with my girlfriend 5 months ago because she liked to party too much, like every day, and I'm not like that. (That sounded like a blatant and ridiculous lie even in French.)
Me: Oh...okay...
Man: So how old are you?
Me: I'm twenty.
Man: Aha, I'm twenty nine. That's okay though!
Me: ...uh.
Man: So, when do you want to see me again?
Me: Uh...I...don't know?
Man: I would like to have a drink and get to know you. When?
Me: I have classes
Man: When do you not have classes?
Me: Um...Friday...?
Man: Okay, we'll meet here on Friday at 1:00.
Me: Uhhh
Man: (in English) Very beautiful! Very beautiful!
Me: Ummm, thanks...BYE.
Uh, yeah. Not actually kidding. AT ALL. That is all word-for-word (in translation, obviously) minus the more boring parts which were mostly made up of me not understanding what they were saying. Possibly that is a good thing. Also, French people cannot grasp my name, because it is about as un-French as they come. But anyways.
Totally avoiding that sketchball on Friday. (Although in reality neither of them looked or dressed like a sketchball...I'm just not sure how sketchy it is (in France) to be so insistent when picking up girls on the street. Either way, definitely weird.
In other news I found CHOCOLATE PUMPKINS today in a chocolate shop right by my house. I also bought a pretty purple scarf, ate some yummy chocolat-pistache thingum, wandered around with Kristin and had hot chocolate with Kristin, Emily and Emily's friend whose name I cannot remember. Then we had an adventure buying stamps, but I finally have some, so that's good.
In other other news, the prof de litterature is a big bad meanie, but nobody likes her anyway so that's okay. I don't get why she continues to ask questions to which we clearly do not know the answers. "Do you think Baudelaire is a mystique?" No, because I don't know what the hell a 'mystique' is because, hello, the reason I'm here is because I'm trying to learn French, which would imply that I DON'T KNOW IT YET. The problem is that she KEEPS asking questions like that and acting surprised or frustrated when we don't get it. I don't get how she hasn't yet formed at least a general idea of our level. Bah.
I have to go eat some avocados now. Pray that weird men stop talking to me.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Taisez-vous, je suis en train de frapper quelqu'un avec un squash !
HOKAY SO.
This weekend was our group excursion to the Loire Valley, and it was pretty great.
Getting up at 6h00 (just as Valerie was going to bed) on Saturday morning wasn't that fun, but that's exactly what I did so that I could meet Emily outside (in the pitch freaking dark) to venture to the bus stop. We caught the bus 91 to the gare Montparnasse where we found some other people from our group wandering around, wondering how to get inside. We figured it out eventually (even though I think we actually entered by way of the exit, but it was too early for rational thought processes) and found Mme. Stevens and a huge bag of croissants. Have I mentioned that I ADORE Mme. Stevens? Because I know I've mentioned that I adore croissants. Everyone (except Yana, who met up with us later) got on the train and proceeded to do that thing where you fall asleep for long enough for your head to start drooping, then jolt awake voilently and freak out a little. Then you do it again. Good times.
It was ridiculously foggy during the ride and when we got to the Loire (like, the kind of fog that looks like it might eat you if you get lost in it). The first chateau we visited was in an itty bitty town that was basically smooshed into the side of a hill and made of white stone, with teeny yellowy-beige-ish cobble stones that made up the streets and the sidewalks. It looked like a tiny, adorable, quiet version of Disneyland. The chateau was big and gloomy and fairly unremarkable aside from the weirdly colored floors in every room. It also had ramparts with a bell which I stupidly assumed would not ring if I happened to throw myself against it. I was wrong. Oops. Also, there was probably the most amazing treehouse I have ever seen in the garden. It was in an enormous tree, and it was not like any treehouse you can possibly imagine. I'm guessing it wasn't original to the middle ages, but it was still my favorite part, especially since it was the perfect size for short people like me, Jennifer and Jessica.
After that we visited a "cave" which I stupidly assumed (for the second time) was actually a cave. Like with stalactites and bears. But it was actually a wine cellar--which is not to say, a cellar with some wine in it. It was HUGE and DARK and SCARY. And full of wine bottles, some of which were all fuzzy with mold because they were so old. We tasted a bunch, and while I didn't really like the wine, I was a huge fan of the nut bread and goat cheese they gave us.
After the wine tasting we went back to the town of the first chateau for lunch. It took us (Liz, Linnaea and I) way too long to find a restaurant we wanted to eat at, but when we finally did it ended up being crepes. It also ended up being twenty minutes before we had to be back at the bus, so, being responsible students, we asked to have our dessert crepes to go and proceeded to eat our savory crepes (mine was with goat cheese) faster than I thought was humanly possible. Once we paid and got our nutella creps to go we RAN to the bus (which sucked because both Linnaea and Liz are at least 5 inches taller than me) only to discover that some other kids were going to be late because they were busy eating ice cream. Not cute.
Once we finally got everyone on the bus we set out for the "country house" of Brittany and Nina's host family who had invited the group over for coffee. After we drove down a private, tree'lined road for at least fifteen minutes, we got off the bus, crossed a MOAT (like honestly, a moat, with a swan swimming around in it) and ended up in front of, not a country house, but a freaking CHATEAU. Literally--the proper word for it is actually chateau. The ceilings on the first floor were probably 15 feet high, and there were two other floors with 7 and 12 bedrooms respectively. And a library, and a bunch of other rooms. Then Nina and Brittany's family proceeded to show us various things, like a portrait of their ancestor who was saved from the Terror during the French Revolution by being hidden in a laundry basket when she was a baby. Then we had coffee on the lawn and learned about why a hunting horn is like a cell phone. Which is a long and ridiculous story.
We left for Villandry, another chateau, to see the gardens which turned out to be spectacular. Not only were there four different gardens of love (each one being a different kind of love, although we couldn't quite figure out which was which), but there was also a garden where everything was edible. Unfortunately I'm pretty sure the people at the chateau didn't mean for us to take that as an invitation to actually EAT everything in the garden...but we kind of did anyway. Hopefully all those grapes (and the pear that Leah and Emily stole even though it involved leaping over a fence) weren't covered in products. There was a labyrinth too, but it was slightly disappointing because even I could see over the hedges. Lame.
We finally ended up in Tours for the night, where our hotel was little and cute, and surprisingly well equipped to deal with us. Most of the rooms just had one bed, which wasn't a big deal for the girls (and our group of 33 only has 7 boys), but was pretty hilarious for Sky and Kit, both of whom are very tall (and boys, if the names fooled you). We ate a bizarre dinner at a restaurant across town...and by bizarre I mean that the appetizer was a piece of cold stingray topped with something that we think was jello (but not sweet, thankfully) and peas. The main course was turkey in a sauce that was too sweet for me, but the dessert was pretty yummy, even though I'm still not sure what it was. After dinner the whole group walked back to the hotel through the town, which was fun (on the way to dinner we took the bus). Linnaea and I went right to sleep because we were exhausted and had to wake up early the next morning (today).
The hotel gave us a really, really delicous breakfast (with chocolat chaud!) and tons of food, and then we headed to a chateau whose name I cannot remember where I think Leonardo DaVinci lived...although I wasn't really listening because whenever Laurent the art history prof starts talking about symbolism and architecture, I kind of fall asleep with my eyes open. There were tons of replicas of his inventions in the garden...along with a replica of his canoe, which confused me because it looked exactly like every other canoe in the world. But whatever.
After chateau DaVinci we took a walk to look at another huge chateau which we couldn't visit for some reason. But the town we walked through was even more adorable than the one from the day before, and there was a gigantic candy store which made my life.
Finally we headed to Chenonceau where we first ate lunch at the restaurant inside the grounds, then were lead through the woods by Laurent, then listened to him blather for a good half an hour. That chateau was by far my favorite--it's on a bridge which traverses the Loire, all made out of white stone. I think it's mainly for the bridge thing that I can't get over how cool it is. It is so gorgeous, I think everyone needs to google a picture of it. When Laurent was done rambling we were set free to explore the chateau and the gardens. The kitchens in the chateau were amazing, because there were tons of replicas of old appliances etc. There were also a lot of squashes and gourds lying around for no apparent reason. There was one long room that took up a good deal of the lower level of the chateau, with black and white checkered floor and huge arched windows on both sides looking out on the river in both directions. There were also some weird shrubs between each window, but I'm not exactly sure why. I wish we had had more time to visit the entire chateau, but we ended up leaving in order to check out the gardens for a little while. We unfortunately didn't find the labyrinth in time to play in it, but we did walk around in the other parts of the garden (after we bought some cartes postales!) and we certainly took some idiotic photos.
When we were done at Chenonceau we went back to the train station and caught the train back to Paris. We got in at 6h30ish, I ate dinner with Valerie, and now I'm here, about to fall asleep at the computer.
And lastly, I found pumpkins at Villandry! And I touched them even though I'm pretty sure I was not supposed to. The end.
This weekend was our group excursion to the Loire Valley, and it was pretty great.
Getting up at 6h00 (just as Valerie was going to bed) on Saturday morning wasn't that fun, but that's exactly what I did so that I could meet Emily outside (in the pitch freaking dark) to venture to the bus stop. We caught the bus 91 to the gare Montparnasse where we found some other people from our group wandering around, wondering how to get inside. We figured it out eventually (even though I think we actually entered by way of the exit, but it was too early for rational thought processes) and found Mme. Stevens and a huge bag of croissants. Have I mentioned that I ADORE Mme. Stevens? Because I know I've mentioned that I adore croissants. Everyone (except Yana, who met up with us later) got on the train and proceeded to do that thing where you fall asleep for long enough for your head to start drooping, then jolt awake voilently and freak out a little. Then you do it again. Good times.
It was ridiculously foggy during the ride and when we got to the Loire (like, the kind of fog that looks like it might eat you if you get lost in it). The first chateau we visited was in an itty bitty town that was basically smooshed into the side of a hill and made of white stone, with teeny yellowy-beige-ish cobble stones that made up the streets and the sidewalks. It looked like a tiny, adorable, quiet version of Disneyland. The chateau was big and gloomy and fairly unremarkable aside from the weirdly colored floors in every room. It also had ramparts with a bell which I stupidly assumed would not ring if I happened to throw myself against it. I was wrong. Oops. Also, there was probably the most amazing treehouse I have ever seen in the garden. It was in an enormous tree, and it was not like any treehouse you can possibly imagine. I'm guessing it wasn't original to the middle ages, but it was still my favorite part, especially since it was the perfect size for short people like me, Jennifer and Jessica.
After that we visited a "cave" which I stupidly assumed (for the second time) was actually a cave. Like with stalactites and bears. But it was actually a wine cellar--which is not to say, a cellar with some wine in it. It was HUGE and DARK and SCARY. And full of wine bottles, some of which were all fuzzy with mold because they were so old. We tasted a bunch, and while I didn't really like the wine, I was a huge fan of the nut bread and goat cheese they gave us.
After the wine tasting we went back to the town of the first chateau for lunch. It took us (Liz, Linnaea and I) way too long to find a restaurant we wanted to eat at, but when we finally did it ended up being crepes. It also ended up being twenty minutes before we had to be back at the bus, so, being responsible students, we asked to have our dessert crepes to go and proceeded to eat our savory crepes (mine was with goat cheese) faster than I thought was humanly possible. Once we paid and got our nutella creps to go we RAN to the bus (which sucked because both Linnaea and Liz are at least 5 inches taller than me) only to discover that some other kids were going to be late because they were busy eating ice cream. Not cute.
Once we finally got everyone on the bus we set out for the "country house" of Brittany and Nina's host family who had invited the group over for coffee. After we drove down a private, tree'lined road for at least fifteen minutes, we got off the bus, crossed a MOAT (like honestly, a moat, with a swan swimming around in it) and ended up in front of, not a country house, but a freaking CHATEAU. Literally--the proper word for it is actually chateau. The ceilings on the first floor were probably 15 feet high, and there were two other floors with 7 and 12 bedrooms respectively. And a library, and a bunch of other rooms. Then Nina and Brittany's family proceeded to show us various things, like a portrait of their ancestor who was saved from the Terror during the French Revolution by being hidden in a laundry basket when she was a baby. Then we had coffee on the lawn and learned about why a hunting horn is like a cell phone. Which is a long and ridiculous story.
We left for Villandry, another chateau, to see the gardens which turned out to be spectacular. Not only were there four different gardens of love (each one being a different kind of love, although we couldn't quite figure out which was which), but there was also a garden where everything was edible. Unfortunately I'm pretty sure the people at the chateau didn't mean for us to take that as an invitation to actually EAT everything in the garden...but we kind of did anyway. Hopefully all those grapes (and the pear that Leah and Emily stole even though it involved leaping over a fence) weren't covered in products. There was a labyrinth too, but it was slightly disappointing because even I could see over the hedges. Lame.
We finally ended up in Tours for the night, where our hotel was little and cute, and surprisingly well equipped to deal with us. Most of the rooms just had one bed, which wasn't a big deal for the girls (and our group of 33 only has 7 boys), but was pretty hilarious for Sky and Kit, both of whom are very tall (and boys, if the names fooled you). We ate a bizarre dinner at a restaurant across town...and by bizarre I mean that the appetizer was a piece of cold stingray topped with something that we think was jello (but not sweet, thankfully) and peas. The main course was turkey in a sauce that was too sweet for me, but the dessert was pretty yummy, even though I'm still not sure what it was. After dinner the whole group walked back to the hotel through the town, which was fun (on the way to dinner we took the bus). Linnaea and I went right to sleep because we were exhausted and had to wake up early the next morning (today).
The hotel gave us a really, really delicous breakfast (with chocolat chaud!) and tons of food, and then we headed to a chateau whose name I cannot remember where I think Leonardo DaVinci lived...although I wasn't really listening because whenever Laurent the art history prof starts talking about symbolism and architecture, I kind of fall asleep with my eyes open. There were tons of replicas of his inventions in the garden...along with a replica of his canoe, which confused me because it looked exactly like every other canoe in the world. But whatever.
After chateau DaVinci we took a walk to look at another huge chateau which we couldn't visit for some reason. But the town we walked through was even more adorable than the one from the day before, and there was a gigantic candy store which made my life.
Finally we headed to Chenonceau where we first ate lunch at the restaurant inside the grounds, then were lead through the woods by Laurent, then listened to him blather for a good half an hour. That chateau was by far my favorite--it's on a bridge which traverses the Loire, all made out of white stone. I think it's mainly for the bridge thing that I can't get over how cool it is. It is so gorgeous, I think everyone needs to google a picture of it. When Laurent was done rambling we were set free to explore the chateau and the gardens. The kitchens in the chateau were amazing, because there were tons of replicas of old appliances etc. There were also a lot of squashes and gourds lying around for no apparent reason. There was one long room that took up a good deal of the lower level of the chateau, with black and white checkered floor and huge arched windows on both sides looking out on the river in both directions. There were also some weird shrubs between each window, but I'm not exactly sure why. I wish we had had more time to visit the entire chateau, but we ended up leaving in order to check out the gardens for a little while. We unfortunately didn't find the labyrinth in time to play in it, but we did walk around in the other parts of the garden (after we bought some cartes postales!) and we certainly took some idiotic photos.
When we were done at Chenonceau we went back to the train station and caught the train back to Paris. We got in at 6h30ish, I ate dinner with Valerie, and now I'm here, about to fall asleep at the computer.
And lastly, I found pumpkins at Villandry! And I touched them even though I'm pretty sure I was not supposed to. The end.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Do you know how much it costs to send a freaking letter to the United States urgently?! FIFTY EURO. Umm, here's a letter:
Dear France,
ARE YOU SHITTING ME?
Love,
Molly
Luckily, my fax worked and they received my voter registration and absentee ballot request already. Which is good because when the post office lady told me it would be 50eur to send it quickly, I said "Uhh, NON MERCI" and instead paid 80 cents to send it regular. I know my vote counts, but not for that much money.
ANYWAY, apparently all this time I've been talking about buying a pumpkin, Valerie has been thinking that I want to COOK the pumpkin. Today I finally explained to her that no, I do not want to cook it, I want to cut a hole in it, scoop out its insides, and carve a face on it. Which sounds even dumber in French than it does in English. Now she thinks that I am insane for sure. But as long as she keeps buying me pate and avocados, I'm fine with that.
Tonight we're having chicken curry and noodles which I am SO EXCITED ABOUT. I might die of food related happiness. And then tomorrow the group leaves (WAY too early) for the Loire valley. We're all going to die of chateau overload, but that's okay. I'm rooming with Linnaea, which is fun because we'll probably spend a huge amount of time looking for trees to hug and grass to lay in since there's not enough of that kind of thing in Paris.
I wish the woman from the blind peoples club would get back to me so I could possibly start a pottery class. She is taking freaking forever to figure it out, and honestly, I just want to MAKE SOME FREAKING POTS. Also, I want to teach some blind kids English (because I have no patience for brats who can see), but I have to wait to talk to Valerie's friend who apparently knows all about blind things in Paris.
I also need some new shoes. And a scarf. And that hair thing I saw the other day. I think tuesday is going to be shopping day, because I won't have phonetics and I can convince some kiddos to come with me. Hmm.
Lastly, I need to visit Broceliande and the village of Paimpont in Bretagne, because there are waterfalls and rock formations (like Stonehenge!) and you can ride horses through the woods and there are obviously fairies and talking animals and MAGICAL THINGS. And they make lace, and have a crazy language, and it is eighty seven different kinds of fabulous. I wonder if I'll get an Emerson Grant next summer if I put that in my proposal about why I want to go there and write some crazy stories. PROBABLY NOT. But whatevs.
I get to see my Norwegian later this month, and then Allie Gardiner who is apparently in Denmark, and then possibly Sarah Hirsch. And everyone else should come visit me too. Get a pass from my mom, hop a plane, and come sleep on my floor. That is a serious invitation, actually. You know you want to.
Dear France,
ARE YOU SHITTING ME?
Love,
Molly
Luckily, my fax worked and they received my voter registration and absentee ballot request already. Which is good because when the post office lady told me it would be 50eur to send it quickly, I said "Uhh, NON MERCI" and instead paid 80 cents to send it regular. I know my vote counts, but not for that much money.
ANYWAY, apparently all this time I've been talking about buying a pumpkin, Valerie has been thinking that I want to COOK the pumpkin. Today I finally explained to her that no, I do not want to cook it, I want to cut a hole in it, scoop out its insides, and carve a face on it. Which sounds even dumber in French than it does in English. Now she thinks that I am insane for sure. But as long as she keeps buying me pate and avocados, I'm fine with that.
Tonight we're having chicken curry and noodles which I am SO EXCITED ABOUT. I might die of food related happiness. And then tomorrow the group leaves (WAY too early) for the Loire valley. We're all going to die of chateau overload, but that's okay. I'm rooming with Linnaea, which is fun because we'll probably spend a huge amount of time looking for trees to hug and grass to lay in since there's not enough of that kind of thing in Paris.
I wish the woman from the blind peoples club would get back to me so I could possibly start a pottery class. She is taking freaking forever to figure it out, and honestly, I just want to MAKE SOME FREAKING POTS. Also, I want to teach some blind kids English (because I have no patience for brats who can see), but I have to wait to talk to Valerie's friend who apparently knows all about blind things in Paris.
I also need some new shoes. And a scarf. And that hair thing I saw the other day. I think tuesday is going to be shopping day, because I won't have phonetics and I can convince some kiddos to come with me. Hmm.
Lastly, I need to visit Broceliande and the village of Paimpont in Bretagne, because there are waterfalls and rock formations (like Stonehenge!) and you can ride horses through the woods and there are obviously fairies and talking animals and MAGICAL THINGS. And they make lace, and have a crazy language, and it is eighty seven different kinds of fabulous. I wonder if I'll get an Emerson Grant next summer if I put that in my proposal about why I want to go there and write some crazy stories. PROBABLY NOT. But whatevs.
I get to see my Norwegian later this month, and then Allie Gardiner who is apparently in Denmark, and then possibly Sarah Hirsch. And everyone else should come visit me too. Get a pass from my mom, hop a plane, and come sleep on my floor. That is a serious invitation, actually. You know you want to.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Okay, so in French the word for the hair on your legs is not the same as the word for the hair on your head--instead, it's the same word you use to describe an animal's fur. Yes. Just thought I would share that little linguistic gem with you all.
Also, my host brother is hilariously weird. He wants to be a gangster, and his new favorite game is Make Molly Listen to Hardcore American Gangster Rap and Ask Her to Translate It. Tonight he has asked me such things as "'Gangster bitch,' c'est quoi?" and "Qu'est-ce que ca veut dire, 'walk it out'?" So I just had to say, "Edouard, je ne sais pas, parce que je parle Anglais, mais je ne parle pas Gangster." ("I don't know, because I speak English but I don't speak Gangster") Then Valerie banished him to his room ("l'espace du Gangster") because he was playing the music too loud. THEN he was singing High School Musical (in mumbly English), which I thought was the funniest thing ever. I thought that making fun of him would get him to stop, but instead he made me get out my ipod and let him listen to the soundtrack, which he felt it appropriate to sing along to. And French people singing English songs when they can't speak English is eighty seven different kinds of hilarious.
On a bad note, Baudelaire is making me want to stab myself with my barrette.
Also, my host brother is hilariously weird. He wants to be a gangster, and his new favorite game is Make Molly Listen to Hardcore American Gangster Rap and Ask Her to Translate It. Tonight he has asked me such things as "'Gangster bitch,' c'est quoi?" and "Qu'est-ce que ca veut dire, 'walk it out'?" So I just had to say, "Edouard, je ne sais pas, parce que je parle Anglais, mais je ne parle pas Gangster." ("I don't know, because I speak English but I don't speak Gangster") Then Valerie banished him to his room ("l'espace du Gangster") because he was playing the music too loud. THEN he was singing High School Musical (in mumbly English), which I thought was the funniest thing ever. I thought that making fun of him would get him to stop, but instead he made me get out my ipod and let him listen to the soundtrack, which he felt it appropriate to sing along to. And French people singing English songs when they can't speak English is eighty seven different kinds of hilarious.
On a bad note, Baudelaire is making me want to stab myself with my barrette.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
So I ate ANOTHER baguette sandwich today, even though I KNEW it would tear up the roof of my mouth, like it does every time. And now, once again, I am in pain. But damn, that was a good sandwich.
Daphne the cat is doing this thing where the jumps up and throws herself into my knees. I can't imagine that feels very good, but apparently it does because she does it all the time. That along with her attempts to sleep on my pillow whenever I'm not looking.
I faxed my voter registration/absentee ballot form in today, but I also need to mail it...as soon as I can get to the post office to figure out how to do that. Hmm.
I don't have anything very interesting to update about. We had lunch on the grass in the Jardin du Luxembourg today, which is why my butt was wet for phonetics. But it was nice nonetheless, especially with our gigantic grille au pomme, which is a kind of apple tart that is, in so many words, freaking amazing. And then our phonetics professor decided that we are all his chouchous (little cabbages), and made us yell and throw things into the trashcan.
I really need to get Valerie to show me the pool nearby, since I have a FREAKING PUMPKIN FULL OF CANDY that is going to make me fat. That and the grilles au pomme.
Asian soup here is DISGUSTINGLY expensive--like 3.50 euro per bowl (I'm talking about the just-add-hot-water kind which is like 89c at home). Wtf, mate? I want me some spicy soup, because all the food I've eaten so far which was supposed to be spicy was definitely nowhere near my definition of the word. Which isn't even that intense. I think I need to go to China town and cherche la soupe epicee. And singapore noodles.
And now I have to go figure out if I have any theatre homework for tomorrow.
Daphne the cat is doing this thing where the jumps up and throws herself into my knees. I can't imagine that feels very good, but apparently it does because she does it all the time. That along with her attempts to sleep on my pillow whenever I'm not looking.
I faxed my voter registration/absentee ballot form in today, but I also need to mail it...as soon as I can get to the post office to figure out how to do that. Hmm.
I don't have anything very interesting to update about. We had lunch on the grass in the Jardin du Luxembourg today, which is why my butt was wet for phonetics. But it was nice nonetheless, especially with our gigantic grille au pomme, which is a kind of apple tart that is, in so many words, freaking amazing. And then our phonetics professor decided that we are all his chouchous (little cabbages), and made us yell and throw things into the trashcan.
I really need to get Valerie to show me the pool nearby, since I have a FREAKING PUMPKIN FULL OF CANDY that is going to make me fat. That and the grilles au pomme.
Asian soup here is DISGUSTINGLY expensive--like 3.50 euro per bowl (I'm talking about the just-add-hot-water kind which is like 89c at home). Wtf, mate? I want me some spicy soup, because all the food I've eaten so far which was supposed to be spicy was definitely nowhere near my definition of the word. Which isn't even that intense. I think I need to go to China town and cherche la soupe epicee. And singapore noodles.
And now I have to go figure out if I have any theatre homework for tomorrow.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Yesterday the group had an excursion to Versailles in which we
- were freezing
- plotted to steal a royal sheep
- did not break anything in the restaurant even though a bunch of other people did
- experienced the weirdest bathroom ever
- saw Michael Jackson inside the palace*
- tried to find the baroque orchestra which did not actually exist
- learned about LA SYMBOLISME.
We were set to meet the group at the Versailles RER at 11:30, but Emily and I were ridiculously early (despite being held up by a crazy accordion man on our train). So we huddled in the Starbucks accross the road from the trian station with a bunch of other really early people until the rest of the group got there. Mwantuali was there with his wife, and his kids who kept tattling on us for doing "studenty things!" like sitting on the garden walls and touching the hedges. We couldn't help it, they were so spiraly. If you had seen them, you would understand. Madame Stevens was there with some guy who we initially decided was her illicit lover, but who turned out to be the art history professor who was giving us the tour.
After walking in a huge circle around the gardens (which are pretty much the size of Rhode Island in themselves), and after passing a bunch of sheep which Ellen was tempted to steal, we got to the restaurant. It was goodish, but the bathroom was the best part--it was not only tiny, like all bathrooms in France, but you had to step on this thing on the floor in order to make the sink turn on. And if you didn't apply just the right amount of pressure with your foot, you either got everyone in the vicinity (which was everyone, because the bathroom was so tiny) soaking wet, or didn't get any water at all. Good times.
Then we milled about in the garden and looked at the clouds for awhile before being let into the real inner garden, which is all swirly and ornate and full of the tallest hedges EVER. There was also a statue that looked a lot like Frankenstein's head, but I don't think that's what it was supposed to be. Unfortunately the fountains weren't running when we were outside looking at them, and, doubly unfortunately, they started going as soon as we went into the palace. I would've been happy to stay in the garden because it's so huge that you could probably stay there for a week looking at stuff.
Inside the palace, along with the weird modern art, there were big ridiculous gold ceilings, huge windows, the most absurd chandeliers ever, and monstrously big paintings. It really is pretty, but I can't grasp the concept of waking up every day in a room with a 25 foot high, solid gold ceiling with leopards carved on it. We didn't see too much of the palace--just the first few rooms (including the Hall of Mirrors), and then we were allowed to leave. I was exhausted by that point--I hate standing in one place for long periods of time, which is exactly what we were doing while the art history guy talked about la symbolisme of l'architecture.
So I took the train home with Mme. Stevens because she lives right next to mom's hotel, and met up with mom for dinner and a crepe. Last night was La Nuit Blanche, which is where they have lots of exhibitions and concerts, and museums and a lot of other public spaces are open all night for free. There were also giant neon rabbits performing a rock opera, but I wasn't sure where or if I had the energy to wrap my brain around such a concept, so I decided we shouldn't go. Then mom brought me back to Valerie's this morning in the FREEZING COLD, and I was a good little monkey and did my grammar homework. Then I tried to read Baudelaire, but I kind of failed as per usual, because he is a nutball.
I'm really not inclined to go outside today as it is still freezing and drizzly, but tomorrow I'm going to buy used books for class and to search for a pumpkin at the market with Valerie, because she thinks my jack-o-lantern plan is the funniest thing she's ever heard. She has noooo idea.
* In fact it was just a statue of Michael Jackson, but it looked a whole lot like him. It was creepy. There was an exhibition of modern art in the palace--I can't remember the guy's name, but he makes huge metal statues of balloon animals, among other things.
- were freezing
- plotted to steal a royal sheep
- did not break anything in the restaurant even though a bunch of other people did
- experienced the weirdest bathroom ever
- saw Michael Jackson inside the palace*
- tried to find the baroque orchestra which did not actually exist
- learned about LA SYMBOLISME.
We were set to meet the group at the Versailles RER at 11:30, but Emily and I were ridiculously early (despite being held up by a crazy accordion man on our train). So we huddled in the Starbucks accross the road from the trian station with a bunch of other really early people until the rest of the group got there. Mwantuali was there with his wife, and his kids who kept tattling on us for doing "studenty things!" like sitting on the garden walls and touching the hedges. We couldn't help it, they were so spiraly. If you had seen them, you would understand. Madame Stevens was there with some guy who we initially decided was her illicit lover, but who turned out to be the art history professor who was giving us the tour.
After walking in a huge circle around the gardens (which are pretty much the size of Rhode Island in themselves), and after passing a bunch of sheep which Ellen was tempted to steal, we got to the restaurant. It was goodish, but the bathroom was the best part--it was not only tiny, like all bathrooms in France, but you had to step on this thing on the floor in order to make the sink turn on. And if you didn't apply just the right amount of pressure with your foot, you either got everyone in the vicinity (which was everyone, because the bathroom was so tiny) soaking wet, or didn't get any water at all. Good times.
Then we milled about in the garden and looked at the clouds for awhile before being let into the real inner garden, which is all swirly and ornate and full of the tallest hedges EVER. There was also a statue that looked a lot like Frankenstein's head, but I don't think that's what it was supposed to be. Unfortunately the fountains weren't running when we were outside looking at them, and, doubly unfortunately, they started going as soon as we went into the palace. I would've been happy to stay in the garden because it's so huge that you could probably stay there for a week looking at stuff.
Inside the palace, along with the weird modern art, there were big ridiculous gold ceilings, huge windows, the most absurd chandeliers ever, and monstrously big paintings. It really is pretty, but I can't grasp the concept of waking up every day in a room with a 25 foot high, solid gold ceiling with leopards carved on it. We didn't see too much of the palace--just the first few rooms (including the Hall of Mirrors), and then we were allowed to leave. I was exhausted by that point--I hate standing in one place for long periods of time, which is exactly what we were doing while the art history guy talked about la symbolisme of l'architecture.
So I took the train home with Mme. Stevens because she lives right next to mom's hotel, and met up with mom for dinner and a crepe. Last night was La Nuit Blanche, which is where they have lots of exhibitions and concerts, and museums and a lot of other public spaces are open all night for free. There were also giant neon rabbits performing a rock opera, but I wasn't sure where or if I had the energy to wrap my brain around such a concept, so I decided we shouldn't go. Then mom brought me back to Valerie's this morning in the FREEZING COLD, and I was a good little monkey and did my grammar homework. Then I tried to read Baudelaire, but I kind of failed as per usual, because he is a nutball.
I'm really not inclined to go outside today as it is still freezing and drizzly, but tomorrow I'm going to buy used books for class and to search for a pumpkin at the market with Valerie, because she thinks my jack-o-lantern plan is the funniest thing she's ever heard. She has noooo idea.
* In fact it was just a statue of Michael Jackson, but it looked a whole lot like him. It was creepy. There was an exhibition of modern art in the palace--I can't remember the guy's name, but he makes huge metal statues of balloon animals, among other things.
Friday, October 3, 2008
les pandas
Me: Valerie, est-ce qu'il y a les pandas en France?
Valerie: Les quoi?
Me: Les pandas!
Valerie: ...les QUOI?
Me: Tu ne connais pas cette petit ours qui est blanc et noir?
Valerie: ...
Me: avec les petits oreilles noirs et la visage blanc?
Valerie: ...
Me: et les yeux noirs?
Valerie: ...
Me: ils sont chinoises?
Valerie: Ooooh les pandas!
Me: Oui! Oui oui oui! Est-ce qu'il y a les pandas en France?
Valerie: Uh...non.
SUPER FAIL, FRANCE.
Valerie: Les quoi?
Me: Les pandas!
Valerie: ...les QUOI?
Me: Tu ne connais pas cette petit ours qui est blanc et noir?
Valerie: ...
Me: avec les petits oreilles noirs et la visage blanc?
Valerie: ...
Me: et les yeux noirs?
Valerie: ...
Me: ils sont chinoises?
Valerie: Ooooh les pandas!
Me: Oui! Oui oui oui! Est-ce qu'il y a les pandas en France?
Valerie: Uh...non.
SUPER FAIL, FRANCE.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
One other bad thing about French food...
Me: Mmmm tuna sandwich!
Brandon: Is that an egg in your tuna sandwich?
Everyone: ...EW.
Et donc, j'ai jettee ce morceau du merde dans la pubelle. Then I ate a pain au chocolat and had a chocolat chaud which costs 40 cents out of the machine and is actually delicious. So all in all, still a good food day. Especially since my breakfast consisted of me stuffing an entire pain au lait (with chocolate chips!) into my mouth while I waited for the bus. Then after school I came home and ate some pig fat...or at least, some kind of pate with a whole lot of pig fat in it. Whatevs, it was delicious, and no I don't care that they did horrible things to the pig in order to get it that way. I'm a bad person, and maybe I will be reincarnated as a pig who is destined to be consumed by the barbaric two-legged beasts, but for the moment that doesn't bother me.
I would like to start writing some French lais, but I need to get some revisions of other things done, and I really hate revising sometimes. Also got an email from Hamilton saying that because I am a creative writing prize winner I have to read at family weekend, but luckily Europe is a pretty good excuse not to. Sucka. I hate reading aloud.
I need a lilac colored scarf ASAP, so I can match it with my shoelaces (in my green shoes) and look like a freak. Perhaps I'll buy one for dirt cheap (at least by French standards; but keep in mind that in France, even the dirt costs money) on the rue Mouffetard, or as we like to call it, the rue Mouff.
I wish my damned phone would get here soon o'clock so I could do some wandering without fear of death-by-starvation-because-of-my-inability-to-find-my-way-home, and also so I could actually communicate with les etudiantes by way of a more stable method than facebook.
J'ai faim, I'm going to go eat some saucisson.
Brandon: Is that an egg in your tuna sandwich?
Everyone: ...EW.
Et donc, j'ai jettee ce morceau du merde dans la pubelle. Then I ate a pain au chocolat and had a chocolat chaud which costs 40 cents out of the machine and is actually delicious. So all in all, still a good food day. Especially since my breakfast consisted of me stuffing an entire pain au lait (with chocolate chips!) into my mouth while I waited for the bus. Then after school I came home and ate some pig fat...or at least, some kind of pate with a whole lot of pig fat in it. Whatevs, it was delicious, and no I don't care that they did horrible things to the pig in order to get it that way. I'm a bad person, and maybe I will be reincarnated as a pig who is destined to be consumed by the barbaric two-legged beasts, but for the moment that doesn't bother me.
I would like to start writing some French lais, but I need to get some revisions of other things done, and I really hate revising sometimes. Also got an email from Hamilton saying that because I am a creative writing prize winner I have to read at family weekend, but luckily Europe is a pretty good excuse not to. Sucka. I hate reading aloud.
I need a lilac colored scarf ASAP, so I can match it with my shoelaces (in my green shoes) and look like a freak. Perhaps I'll buy one for dirt cheap (at least by French standards; but keep in mind that in France, even the dirt costs money) on the rue Mouffetard, or as we like to call it, the rue Mouff.
I wish my damned phone would get here soon o'clock so I could do some wandering without fear of death-by-starvation-because-of-my-inability-to-find-my-way-home, and also so I could actually communicate with les etudiantes by way of a more stable method than facebook.
J'ai faim, I'm going to go eat some saucisson.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I'll just start by saying that three hours is WAY TOO FREAKING LONG FOR A CLASS. I know my classes at Skidmore were 3 hours long (and 3 times a week), but those were workshops. Thus, they were interesting. I do not want to discuss the conventions of theatre for three hours, especially when those conventions consist of "YOU SIT IN CHAIR," "YOU WATCH PLAY," "ACTORS ARE IN THE PLAY," "THERE IS A CURTAIN" etc. etc. Je veux mourrir.
Anyways.
Yesterday was my first day of classes, and it went as follows:
Litterature Francaise - unremarkable. The professor is apparently insane because she made us write a few paragraphs on a Saint Exupery quote on the first day, when she must know very well that we are A) idiots and B) not prepared to write paragraphs without a dictionary. Nutjob. But other than that she seemed nice, and we're starting with Baudelaire which should be fun. Especially since Valerie bought me the book (Le Spleen de Paris) as a present.
Also, the prof handed out these little info sheets (name, address, have you ever been to Paris before, etc.) and since I couldn't read it she made me just tell her the answers so she could write them down. The only problem being that the next few questions were "Name some great French literary works" which wasn't hard, and "And the century in which they were written" which was way harder than it should have been. Also, it wasn't fair because then the rest of the class just copied what I said (I know this because they told me, not because I am jumping to conclusions).
Grammaire - is going to be my favorite class, despite my hatred for and suckage at said subject. The woman is hilarious and really friendly, and she'll go on tangents whenever she gets the chance to explain the correct pronunciation or etymology of, or "the Parisian way to do" something.
Phonetique - is ridiculous. Right now we're learning the international phonetic alphabet (with all its incomprehensible symbols). While I can see where that is useful, I still can't really be interested in it. However, the prof is completely crazy--we played a game that involved yelling everyone's name and waving our arms as if we were throwing things into the trashcan in order to demonstrate how the emphasis is always on the last syllable of a name in French. Yes.
Paris Theatre - better get more interesting. The prof seems nice (she also seems to be younger than me, but I'm hoping that's just an illusion). The short version of what I think of this class is that I'm not switching out because I want to go to the Comedie Francaise for free. And that's all I need to say.
This morning I went to the library to see if they had Le Spleen de Paris so I wouldn't have to buy it, but after pretending like I knew what the librarian was saying for like 10 minutes I eventually realized that it was checked out and I would have to wait until Oct. 16th, which is our last class dedicated to the book. Boo. But then, since the library is on rue Mouffetard, I went and bought a petit baguette and a pain au chocolat (for 1.35...AHAHA I love my life). Then I came home and made myself a sandwich with said baguette and some boursin cheese and saucisson. And then I ate the pain au chocolat because I LOVE FOOD.
And, since Emma pointed out that this blog is 1/3 food related, I'm just going to go ahead and up that shit to 2/3 BECAUSE I CAN. And because I want to talk about the only negative thing about French food--the part where the roof of my mouth just behind my front teeth wants to die every time I eat a baguette sandwich...which is like every other day. Damnit. I hope it will toughen up and act like a man soon, because I don't think even a bleeding mouth will keep me from eating the aforementioned baguettes. They are too delicious. Also, I desperately want to go to Angelina's for chocolat africainne and a mont blanc, because I had some only-mildly-delicious chocolat chaud yesterday when I went to lunch with some kids, and it made me crave the melted-block-of-pure-chocolate that is Angelina's chocolat chaud. Plus, I can always go for a ball of chantilly whipped cream the size of my head. Actually, I think I can eat it only once every 5 years or something, but whatevs. On another food related note, I desperately want to try a cuisse (even though I don't know what cuisse means) of the rottisserie chickens on rue Mouffetard. They look so delicious and full of tasty drippings. Which sounds so incredibly nasty, but isn't, I swear.
Lastly, where can I get a pumpkin in France? Because I am hell-bent on buying one and making a jack-o-lantern for Valerie. Even though she won't know what it is. And even though she will probably think I have created an altar to satan and placed it upon her windowsill. I DON'T CARE. Maybe I'll get a beret for it and she'll like it better. And carve a curly moustache on it. Bahaha.
Anyways.
Yesterday was my first day of classes, and it went as follows:
Litterature Francaise - unremarkable. The professor is apparently insane because she made us write a few paragraphs on a Saint Exupery quote on the first day, when she must know very well that we are A) idiots and B) not prepared to write paragraphs without a dictionary. Nutjob. But other than that she seemed nice, and we're starting with Baudelaire which should be fun. Especially since Valerie bought me the book (Le Spleen de Paris) as a present.
Also, the prof handed out these little info sheets (name, address, have you ever been to Paris before, etc.) and since I couldn't read it she made me just tell her the answers so she could write them down. The only problem being that the next few questions were "Name some great French literary works" which wasn't hard, and "And the century in which they were written" which was way harder than it should have been. Also, it wasn't fair because then the rest of the class just copied what I said (I know this because they told me, not because I am jumping to conclusions).
Grammaire - is going to be my favorite class, despite my hatred for and suckage at said subject. The woman is hilarious and really friendly, and she'll go on tangents whenever she gets the chance to explain the correct pronunciation or etymology of, or "the Parisian way to do" something.
Phonetique - is ridiculous. Right now we're learning the international phonetic alphabet (with all its incomprehensible symbols). While I can see where that is useful, I still can't really be interested in it. However, the prof is completely crazy--we played a game that involved yelling everyone's name and waving our arms as if we were throwing things into the trashcan in order to demonstrate how the emphasis is always on the last syllable of a name in French. Yes.
Paris Theatre - better get more interesting. The prof seems nice (she also seems to be younger than me, but I'm hoping that's just an illusion). The short version of what I think of this class is that I'm not switching out because I want to go to the Comedie Francaise for free. And that's all I need to say.
This morning I went to the library to see if they had Le Spleen de Paris so I wouldn't have to buy it, but after pretending like I knew what the librarian was saying for like 10 minutes I eventually realized that it was checked out and I would have to wait until Oct. 16th, which is our last class dedicated to the book. Boo. But then, since the library is on rue Mouffetard, I went and bought a petit baguette and a pain au chocolat (for 1.35...AHAHA I love my life). Then I came home and made myself a sandwich with said baguette and some boursin cheese and saucisson. And then I ate the pain au chocolat because I LOVE FOOD.
And, since Emma pointed out that this blog is 1/3 food related, I'm just going to go ahead and up that shit to 2/3 BECAUSE I CAN. And because I want to talk about the only negative thing about French food--the part where the roof of my mouth just behind my front teeth wants to die every time I eat a baguette sandwich...which is like every other day. Damnit. I hope it will toughen up and act like a man soon, because I don't think even a bleeding mouth will keep me from eating the aforementioned baguettes. They are too delicious. Also, I desperately want to go to Angelina's for chocolat africainne and a mont blanc, because I had some only-mildly-delicious chocolat chaud yesterday when I went to lunch with some kids, and it made me crave the melted-block-of-pure-chocolate that is Angelina's chocolat chaud. Plus, I can always go for a ball of chantilly whipped cream the size of my head. Actually, I think I can eat it only once every 5 years or something, but whatevs. On another food related note, I desperately want to try a cuisse (even though I don't know what cuisse means) of the rottisserie chickens on rue Mouffetard. They look so delicious and full of tasty drippings. Which sounds so incredibly nasty, but isn't, I swear.
Lastly, where can I get a pumpkin in France? Because I am hell-bent on buying one and making a jack-o-lantern for Valerie. Even though she won't know what it is. And even though she will probably think I have created an altar to satan and placed it upon her windowsill. I DON'T CARE. Maybe I'll get a beret for it and she'll like it better. And carve a curly moustache on it. Bahaha.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Dinner chez Sophie was fine, her daughters were not scary, and Jean-Michel made everyone listen to Duffy, which was odd. Sunday was uneventful save for the pains au chocolat (and pain au nutella!) we had for breakfast. I'm so happy that Valerie is my host mother and that she's actually interested in my existence, unlike a lot of host mommies who leave their students alone (mostly because the students are equally happy to leave them alone).
Today we went to Shakespeare & Company which is less indie and more touristy than I had thought, but still cute. I've decided that if I do a workshop there it's going to be the free one (as opposed to the 70 euros for 7 weeks thing). But I'm not sure how well that'll work out since I think in general people just bring work the day of and everyone reads it on the spot...which obviously doesn't work for me unless everyone wants to bring me large print copies. Which is doubtful.
On the bright side (not that there's really a dark side), the blind peoples club finally emailed me back and I'm signing up for poterie (pottery, duh) and modelage (which apparently is pottery without the baking part...which might just be playing with play dough. But I don't actually have a problem with that.) There are also "sorties culturelles" and "decouverte de la nature," which I don't actually understand but am going to participate in anyway, so hopefully they'll be fun. They have yoga also, but it's unfortunately already full, as well as dance, which I can't do because it coincides with my classes at Reid Hall. Sad.
And, best of all, today I met a woman whose honest-to-god given name is Marie-Antoinette. No lie, she is in the other room eating cheese as I type this. Everyone calls her Mia, which kind of makes me sad, but still. She is the petite copine de Stefan, who is the brother of Valerie. Bea(trice) is also in the other room being French etc. Eduarde and I had pizza (with GOAT CHEESE, holy crap I love my life) earlier because we actually have to wake up in the morning, unlike these crazy adults.
And now I need to go to bed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (but mercifully not bushy-haired) for my first day of classes. A bientot, mes petits choux-fleurs.
Today we went to Shakespeare & Company which is less indie and more touristy than I had thought, but still cute. I've decided that if I do a workshop there it's going to be the free one (as opposed to the 70 euros for 7 weeks thing). But I'm not sure how well that'll work out since I think in general people just bring work the day of and everyone reads it on the spot...which obviously doesn't work for me unless everyone wants to bring me large print copies. Which is doubtful.
On the bright side (not that there's really a dark side), the blind peoples club finally emailed me back and I'm signing up for poterie (pottery, duh) and modelage (which apparently is pottery without the baking part...which might just be playing with play dough. But I don't actually have a problem with that.) There are also "sorties culturelles" and "decouverte de la nature," which I don't actually understand but am going to participate in anyway, so hopefully they'll be fun. They have yoga also, but it's unfortunately already full, as well as dance, which I can't do because it coincides with my classes at Reid Hall. Sad.
And, best of all, today I met a woman whose honest-to-god given name is Marie-Antoinette. No lie, she is in the other room eating cheese as I type this. Everyone calls her Mia, which kind of makes me sad, but still. She is the petite copine de Stefan, who is the brother of Valerie. Bea(trice) is also in the other room being French etc. Eduarde and I had pizza (with GOAT CHEESE, holy crap I love my life) earlier because we actually have to wake up in the morning, unlike these crazy adults.
And now I need to go to bed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (but mercifully not bushy-haired) for my first day of classes. A bientot, mes petits choux-fleurs.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The internet has decided it wants to work again, for whatever reason.
I am such a good little French person, if I do say so myself.
Today I went for a walk on the rue Mouffetard (pedestrian walking area near ma maison) to look at the really expensive postcards/clothing/everything else. The postcards there are seriously over-priced, especially since we found a stand by the river selling them for 11 for 2 euros. I found the library again, just to make sure I actually knew where it was, then I ventured to the Franprix (the grocery store) to buy something for lunch. Then I pretended to be French with my little environmentally-friendly grocery bag. I came back here with my saucisson and cheese and ate it with the rest of last night's baguette, and it was deeelicious.
Tonight Valerie and I are eating at her sister Sophie's house. Which is scary because she has two daughters I haven't met yet and French girls are obviously terrifying, especially with their absurd teenage backward-talking slang which I do not understand.
Also, I'm trying to join the French blind people club so I can take blind yoga and blind dance classes etc., but they won't email me back. I think I might have to actually call them on Monday, which is scary because I cannot understand French people on the phone, pas du tout.
I'm going to read Harry Potter a l'Ecole des Sorcieres now, thankyouverymuch.
I am such a good little French person, if I do say so myself.
Today I went for a walk on the rue Mouffetard (pedestrian walking area near ma maison) to look at the really expensive postcards/clothing/everything else. The postcards there are seriously over-priced, especially since we found a stand by the river selling them for 11 for 2 euros. I found the library again, just to make sure I actually knew where it was, then I ventured to the Franprix (the grocery store) to buy something for lunch. Then I pretended to be French with my little environmentally-friendly grocery bag. I came back here with my saucisson and cheese and ate it with the rest of last night's baguette, and it was deeelicious.
Tonight Valerie and I are eating at her sister Sophie's house. Which is scary because she has two daughters I haven't met yet and French girls are obviously terrifying, especially with their absurd teenage backward-talking slang which I do not understand.
Also, I'm trying to join the French blind people club so I can take blind yoga and blind dance classes etc., but they won't email me back. I think I might have to actually call them on Monday, which is scary because I cannot understand French people on the phone, pas du tout.
I'm going to read Harry Potter a l'Ecole des Sorcieres now, thankyouverymuch.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Internet = still bad.
Today I ate a sandwich with saucisson and butter, a huge raspberry macaroon, a pain au lait with chocolate inside, more chocolate, chicken and rice and baguette, and some kind of applesaucey French thing. I love food, and I love France for having so much good food.
Valerie gave me three coats that apparently don't fit her anymore. Eee ee ee, one of them is white ad furry on the inside like a polar bear!
I am so tired, and I don't know why, but I can't wait for classes to start on Tuesday so that I actually have a set schedule.
I'm reading the first Harry Potter book in French, and it's pretty great (not to mention a lot easier than The Golden Compass). My Skype works most of the time even when internet explorer doesn't, so check to see if I'm on and call me! Kthanksbye.
Today I ate a sandwich with saucisson and butter, a huge raspberry macaroon, a pain au lait with chocolate inside, more chocolate, chicken and rice and baguette, and some kind of applesaucey French thing. I love food, and I love France for having so much good food.
Valerie gave me three coats that apparently don't fit her anymore. Eee ee ee, one of them is white ad furry on the inside like a polar bear!
I am so tired, and I don't know why, but I can't wait for classes to start on Tuesday so that I actually have a set schedule.
I'm reading the first Harry Potter book in French, and it's pretty great (not to mention a lot easier than The Golden Compass). My Skype works most of the time even when internet explorer doesn't, so check to see if I'm on and call me! Kthanksbye.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
OKAY SO the internet here is crapping out on me, so if this doesn't post (or if it happens to post like 4 hunred times) you can talk to ALICED4SB2 about it, because it's her internet (which I've been stealing) that's shitting the bed. ANYWAY.
Today I went with Emily, Kristin and Leah (they're from Bowdoin, although they're obviously in the Hamilton program) to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint Louis. We walked around the bottom floor of Notre Dame (because that's the free part, and thus the only part which interests us) and confused all the other tourists by speaking good French with horrendous american accents. Then we got les sandwiches from un boulangerie on the Ile Saint Louis and went down to sit by the Seine for a picnic. After that we went to Bertillion, the famous ice cream place on the Ile, where we had probably the best and most rich ice cream ever. I had pain d'epice (gingerbread), which was kind of amazing. Then we had something like two and a half hours before we had to meet the rest of the group for our ride on the bateaux mouche (the boats that go up and down the Seine and tell you about stuff). So we spent it wandering along the river observing all the weird things people will try to sell you, all the while parler-ing Francais. It's amazing how serious most people are about the speaking-French-all-the-time rule. Which is a good thing, obviously, it just surprises me because we're a bunch of unsupervised kids running around Paris with ice cream cones, but we're still making a huge effort with the language. Which isn't to say that it always turns out well, but you know, at least we try.
Anyway, then we had an adventure on the RER to get to the Pont de L'Alma where we met the group (sans Mwantuali, because he's a nut, but that's another story). The bateaux mouche was nice, not least because we finally got to sit down. Going under the arched bridges is kind of like being on a ride at Disneyland, but then you remember that it's real and tout le monde is speaking francais because, holy crap, it's France.
After the bateaux mouche we had another adventure on the RER while some French people made out in the corner and we pretended like that was normal and we didn't care. And then Emily and I managed to find our way home (Emily lives really, really close to me) without getting hit by a car--always a concern here.
All in all it was a very good day, if exhausting. And to top that all off Valerie came home with her brother Stefan, his girlfriend who looks like Brigitte Bordeaux, and their kids who are now doing something very shrieky with Eduarde.
And now I have to go to bed, or I might die of sleepiness. Good night, and if I don't talk to you all soon it's because the internet isn't working...again.
I almost forgot--last night I had a bad dream that the bad baldy monsters from I Am Legend were attacking the island and my dad was outside in the parking lot of the Newport Athletic Club, and mom and I were on our way to save him because he didn't know about the monsters. But when we got there he wasn't there and everything was dark, and scary noises were coming from the entrance to the club. So, being an intelligent human being, I got out of the car and ran to find dad, which only resulted in me not finding dad and not being able to find mom, and thinking that the baldies had eaten mom and stolen the car. It pretty much sucked a lot, but then I woke up and had a nice day with gingerbread ice cream and a picnic, so it was fine. But anyway, the moral is that you shouldn't see I Am Legend because it will give you nightmares. The end.
Today I went with Emily, Kristin and Leah (they're from Bowdoin, although they're obviously in the Hamilton program) to Notre Dame and the Ile Saint Louis. We walked around the bottom floor of Notre Dame (because that's the free part, and thus the only part which interests us) and confused all the other tourists by speaking good French with horrendous american accents. Then we got les sandwiches from un boulangerie on the Ile Saint Louis and went down to sit by the Seine for a picnic. After that we went to Bertillion, the famous ice cream place on the Ile, where we had probably the best and most rich ice cream ever. I had pain d'epice (gingerbread), which was kind of amazing. Then we had something like two and a half hours before we had to meet the rest of the group for our ride on the bateaux mouche (the boats that go up and down the Seine and tell you about stuff). So we spent it wandering along the river observing all the weird things people will try to sell you, all the while parler-ing Francais. It's amazing how serious most people are about the speaking-French-all-the-time rule. Which is a good thing, obviously, it just surprises me because we're a bunch of unsupervised kids running around Paris with ice cream cones, but we're still making a huge effort with the language. Which isn't to say that it always turns out well, but you know, at least we try.
Anyway, then we had an adventure on the RER to get to the Pont de L'Alma where we met the group (sans Mwantuali, because he's a nut, but that's another story). The bateaux mouche was nice, not least because we finally got to sit down. Going under the arched bridges is kind of like being on a ride at Disneyland, but then you remember that it's real and tout le monde is speaking francais because, holy crap, it's France.
After the bateaux mouche we had another adventure on the RER while some French people made out in the corner and we pretended like that was normal and we didn't care. And then Emily and I managed to find our way home (Emily lives really, really close to me) without getting hit by a car--always a concern here.
All in all it was a very good day, if exhausting. And to top that all off Valerie came home with her brother Stefan, his girlfriend who looks like Brigitte Bordeaux, and their kids who are now doing something very shrieky with Eduarde.
And now I have to go to bed, or I might die of sleepiness. Good night, and if I don't talk to you all soon it's because the internet isn't working...again.
I almost forgot--last night I had a bad dream that the bad baldy monsters from I Am Legend were attacking the island and my dad was outside in the parking lot of the Newport Athletic Club, and mom and I were on our way to save him because he didn't know about the monsters. But when we got there he wasn't there and everything was dark, and scary noises were coming from the entrance to the club. So, being an intelligent human being, I got out of the car and ran to find dad, which only resulted in me not finding dad and not being able to find mom, and thinking that the baldies had eaten mom and stolen the car. It pretty much sucked a lot, but then I woke up and had a nice day with gingerbread ice cream and a picnic, so it was fine. But anyway, the moral is that you shouldn't see I Am Legend because it will give you nightmares. The end.
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