My new turquoise purse that I brought with me broke tonight. The strap snapped. It was only ten dollars at Wal-Mart, but I had a hard time finding a purse before I left that wasn't ugly. (I have high standards.) But Dad forced me to let him buy me a new purse tonight so that my wallet wouldn't go flying. None of the bags we looked at really caught me eye. So I told Dad I wouldn't get one. He said, and I quote, "If you don't buy a purse, I'll buy a purse (for you). Now I'm going to go look at the make-up."
(He claims he was looking for hand sanitizer.)
Dad and I had a jolly old time together in Paris! We did lots of walking. Here's the reader's digest version of what we did:
Yesterday, we saw Sainte-Chapelle. The stained glass is gorgeous.
One of the things we did was go inside Notre Dame, which was just stunning. Then we ate crepes. Dad got ham and cheese, and I got Nutella and banana. (We got pictures of that for Amy! Soon to come.)
Pretty soon, we're going to London, we're staying in such-and-such hotel, and it's gonna be great!
(Cue creepy "Oh, yes, it WILL be great!" Although, come to think of it, it's not as funny since the stalker.)
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
I went running this morning
in the Tuileries. It was excellent. A half hour metro ride there, one hour run, half hour back, quick shower, half hour to class. So maybe not so practical, but at least I've done it once.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Queen Caitlin
On Friday, Dani, Emma, and I went to Versailles! Dani and I live almost to the end of our metro line. So to get to Versailles, we take the metro to the end, then take the bus for about 40 minutes. And walla! (That was for you, Mom!) I mean, voilà. We got off the bus and our jaws dropped.
Just a side note: You know all those African men with touristy key chains and scarves who say, “One euro for five key chains! Why not? It’s just one euro! You can bring these back for all your friends! One euro!” Well, we were walking up to the chateau when we heard all this jingling. The vendors were running—and looking quite silly, I might add—because two policemen on motorcycles were driving up! Most of them ran through the big gates, but two of them starting running away toward the parking lot. It was quite the chase. And apparently, those vendors are illegal. Good to know.
The gardens at Versailles, which are conveniently free, are so beautiful! We rented bikes and rode all the way around the pools with spurting fountains! It was amazing! I went where Marie Antoinette used to go, and I rode the same bike she used to ride!
We decided to come back another day to go inside, since Dani and I live so close, the entrance fees are a bit pricey, and we had already been there for several hours. The biking was definitely worth it—I highly recommend it.
After Versailles, we went to the Shakespeare & Co. bookstore. It wasn’t everything it’s hyped up to be. It’s teeny weeny, overpriced, and crowded. But I did hear a lot of English speakers, which was nice.
Just a side note: You know all those African men with touristy key chains and scarves who say, “One euro for five key chains! Why not? It’s just one euro! You can bring these back for all your friends! One euro!” Well, we were walking up to the chateau when we heard all this jingling. The vendors were running—and looking quite silly, I might add—because two policemen on motorcycles were driving up! Most of them ran through the big gates, but two of them starting running away toward the parking lot. It was quite the chase. And apparently, those vendors are illegal. Good to know.
The gardens at Versailles, which are conveniently free, are so beautiful! We rented bikes and rode all the way around the pools with spurting fountains! It was amazing! I went where Marie Antoinette used to go, and I rode the same bike she used to ride!
We decided to come back another day to go inside, since Dani and I live so close, the entrance fees are a bit pricey, and we had already been there for several hours. The biking was definitely worth it—I highly recommend it.
After Versailles, we went to the Shakespeare & Co. bookstore. It wasn’t everything it’s hyped up to be. It’s teeny weeny, overpriced, and crowded. But I did hear a lot of English speakers, which was nice.
I went to a free choir concert at the Madeleine, which is just beautiful. I really enjoyed the concert. A men’s choir was singing, and it wasn’t until a couple songs in that I noticed that they were all old men. But they made up for age in robustness and heartiness—lots of moving on their heels and head-bobbing.
Our family was talking about all the languages they know (“When you live in Europe, you have to know them all”). They asked us if we knew any other languages. I felt kinda lame with just two, so I said three! And I spoke some latin de porc (pig latin—yes, I made that up). Then they spoke some of their French versions of pig latin for us. One that’s really popular here with young people is moving the first sound to the end of the word. They said lots of people say C’est ouf instead of C’est fou (means “It’s crazy).
One of the classes I’m taking is called Paris Walks. I get three credits for walking around Paris. I did one of the walks in the Marais area. It was great. It included the Carnavalet museum, Victor Hugo’s home, the St. Paul cathedral, and a bunch of other cool, old things (don’t I sound cultured?). I really enjoyed the Carnavalet. It’s pretty much a bunch of rooms that cover French history. I loved the French Revolution rooms. It’s also fun for me to read the French captions. Listen to what I learned about Bastille Day, although I learned it from my trusty friend, Rick Steve, who supplemented my museum visit: After the angry mob stormed Invalides to get weapons and the Bastille to get gun powder, they went to Hôtel de Ville (town hall). They literally ripped the mayor of Paris apart with their bare hands! Then they put his head on a stick. Now aren’t you glad to know that?
The walk took my down a road with a high school on both sides. The students were on break when I got there, so I had to get through all of them. It seemed a lot like American high schools—lots of groups and cliques, people trying to impress everyone else, and it was very loud.
I also liked Victor Hugo’s home. There are a bunch of paintings, sculptures, photographs, and trinkets that belonged to Hugo, show him/his family, and depict scenes from his stories. Apparently, I need to brush up on the Hunchback story, because the pictures of Quasimodo and Esmeralda were not G-rated or Disney-approved.
The other walk I did this week for my walks class was the “Get Lost Walk: the Anti-Walk Walk.” You’re supposed to go wherever the wind takes you and be a flâneuse (feminine form because there are only two boys out of the thirty of us in the program). To be a flâneuse, you walk like you have a tortoise on a leash and have no particular destination in mind. So, I got off the metro at Concorde, pretty close to the obelisk. I wandered in one direction and ended up at Invalides. I actually didn’t know what building I was at until I read the signs and saw the armed guards. Then I found a cute little park/garden nearby and did some people-watching. I especially liked watching a couple different games of soccer on some patches of grass with signs that read, “Ball games strictly forbidden.” After a few minutes on the park bench, I got up and wandered in a different direction. I passed a lot more people—mostly tourists. I’m starting to feel more like I belong in Paris and less like I’m just here on vacation.
Also, I had a hard time actually getting lost, because I could see the Eiffel Tower almost the whole time. Maybe that would have been different if I had been in a different area of the city?
The most interesting thing I got from this walk was something I learned (or just remembered) about myself: I am not a very good flâneuse. It’s fun to walk around aimlessly for a little while, but I prefer having a set schedule. I strive on structure. Even when I go and relax somewhere like the Tuileries Gardens, I like to know how long I want to stay and what time I’m going to start my next activity.
Our family was talking about all the languages they know (“When you live in Europe, you have to know them all”). They asked us if we knew any other languages. I felt kinda lame with just two, so I said three! And I spoke some latin de porc (pig latin—yes, I made that up). Then they spoke some of their French versions of pig latin for us. One that’s really popular here with young people is moving the first sound to the end of the word. They said lots of people say C’est ouf instead of C’est fou (means “It’s crazy).
One of the classes I’m taking is called Paris Walks. I get three credits for walking around Paris. I did one of the walks in the Marais area. It was great. It included the Carnavalet museum, Victor Hugo’s home, the St. Paul cathedral, and a bunch of other cool, old things (don’t I sound cultured?). I really enjoyed the Carnavalet. It’s pretty much a bunch of rooms that cover French history. I loved the French Revolution rooms. It’s also fun for me to read the French captions. Listen to what I learned about Bastille Day, although I learned it from my trusty friend, Rick Steve, who supplemented my museum visit: After the angry mob stormed Invalides to get weapons and the Bastille to get gun powder, they went to Hôtel de Ville (town hall). They literally ripped the mayor of Paris apart with their bare hands! Then they put his head on a stick. Now aren’t you glad to know that?
The walk took my down a road with a high school on both sides. The students were on break when I got there, so I had to get through all of them. It seemed a lot like American high schools—lots of groups and cliques, people trying to impress everyone else, and it was very loud.
I also liked Victor Hugo’s home. There are a bunch of paintings, sculptures, photographs, and trinkets that belonged to Hugo, show him/his family, and depict scenes from his stories. Apparently, I need to brush up on the Hunchback story, because the pictures of Quasimodo and Esmeralda were not G-rated or Disney-approved.
The other walk I did this week for my walks class was the “Get Lost Walk: the Anti-Walk Walk.” You’re supposed to go wherever the wind takes you and be a flâneuse (feminine form because there are only two boys out of the thirty of us in the program). To be a flâneuse, you walk like you have a tortoise on a leash and have no particular destination in mind. So, I got off the metro at Concorde, pretty close to the obelisk. I wandered in one direction and ended up at Invalides. I actually didn’t know what building I was at until I read the signs and saw the armed guards. Then I found a cute little park/garden nearby and did some people-watching. I especially liked watching a couple different games of soccer on some patches of grass with signs that read, “Ball games strictly forbidden.” After a few minutes on the park bench, I got up and wandered in a different direction. I passed a lot more people—mostly tourists. I’m starting to feel more like I belong in Paris and less like I’m just here on vacation.
Also, I had a hard time actually getting lost, because I could see the Eiffel Tower almost the whole time. Maybe that would have been different if I had been in a different area of the city?
The most interesting thing I got from this walk was something I learned (or just remembered) about myself: I am not a very good flâneuse. It’s fun to walk around aimlessly for a little while, but I prefer having a set schedule. I strive on structure. Even when I go and relax somewhere like the Tuileries Gardens, I like to know how long I want to stay and what time I’m going to start my next activity.
A few other differences between France and the U.S.
•Faucet on the left is hot, not cold. I found that out early on.
•The room with the sink and shower is not in the same room as the room with the toilet.
•Dinner doesn’t even start until 8 or 8:30 at night.
•The room with the sink and shower is not in the same room as the room with the toilet.
•Dinner doesn’t even start until 8 or 8:30 at night.
Speaking of smells, that reminds me of cheese. So now I will give you my opinion on the food here:
Love:
•Pain au chocolat—I have had roughly ten thousand of these already.
•A religieuse from La Durée, a famous pastry shop—It was very hard to eat the whole thing since it was so rich, but I’m a trooper.
•Some flaky pie thingy we had for dinner, made by our host mother—It had ham and some sort of cream cheese-y filling.
•What we have for breakfast—pain grillé (toasted baguette) with either honey or jam. The honey is made from our family’s own bees. The jam, which is divine, is made from their own prunes (italicized because it’s a French word—that’ll be important in a second). They have a country home (they call it their maison) not too far away. It used to be in the family, but hasn’t been for the past several years. It was just sold back to Monsieur D, but he said it’s now so rundown that it needs 10-20 years of renovations. So, he said, the first thing he did after buying it back a few years ago was build a swimming pool to attract young people to come work there. And, he said, it worked. Anyway, there’s another story to this delicious jam. When they said the jam was made from prunes, I was thinking, “Hmm, how odd.” And I was a little reluctant. But it turned out to be delicious, so I just kind of resigned myself to it. Then a few nights later, we had these cute little plums for dessert (most of the time we have yogurt). Then a light bulb went off in my head. I asked if these prunes were the same fruit as the fruit that’s in the jam. Yes. Then Dani started saying that prunes (prune in English=pruneau in French) are for old people in the U.S. Luckily, I thought, they didn’t quite understand what she was saying, so I whacked her under the table. But she persisted and they figured it out. One of the sons said that that use of prunes must be international. Also, note to self: préservatifs ≠ preservatives. Dani was saying that French yogurt is better than our yogurt, probably because theirs has fewer preservatives. But no. Look it up in a French-English dictionary. But we all had a good laugh about that.
•Crèpes with Nutella—for obvious reasons
•Chocolate flan from the Gay Bakery—I must tell you a bit about the gay bakery. This is the bakery that our program director was talking about when he said, “Oh, school days will be great. You’ll have class in the morning [note: I don’t! I already took the French class they’re offering in the morning], then you’ll have a break for lunch. So you’ll run across the street to the Gay Bakery, then come back for class in the afternoon.” Yes, the food is pretty good and decently priced. And yes, the bakers and cashiers are quite gay.
Don’t Really Love:
•The cheese. Specifically, camembert. It smells like the metro, if you catch my drift (if you smell what I’m steppin’ in). When our host family offers us cheese at the end of dinner, I usually take goat cheese, because it’s the least offensive to my nose and stomach. Our host father said something really funny the other night. He was showing us how to cut the cheese (whoops, I didn’t mean to word it quite like that). He was saying that you have to cut circular cheese like it’s pie, and it tastes different if you do it wrong and cut the “nose” (the tip) of the cheese off.
•Crèpes with cheese—The ones with ham and cheese, which run about five euros, are amazing (I’ve just had bites of other people’s). The one I had with just plain old cheese wasn’t a dream come true. Not bad, just not great. On the bright side, it was less expensive.
•A pizza I had from the Gay Bakery—I got Three Cheese, which I thought was a pretty safe option. I guess when I read the word “pizza” I just forgot about the cheese issues here. There was quite a bit of stinky cheese on the pizza.
•The milk! I am suffering serious withdrawals since I’m not able to drink my usual seventeen thousand glasses of skim milk a day. The milk here is pasteurized, so you don’t always have to refrigerate it. Unfortunately, this makes the milk smell like the cheese. And the milk that’s labeled écremé (skim) is not really skim. Quel dommage.
Love:
•Pain au chocolat—I have had roughly ten thousand of these already.
•A religieuse from La Durée, a famous pastry shop—It was very hard to eat the whole thing since it was so rich, but I’m a trooper.
•Some flaky pie thingy we had for dinner, made by our host mother—It had ham and some sort of cream cheese-y filling.
•What we have for breakfast—pain grillé (toasted baguette) with either honey or jam. The honey is made from our family’s own bees. The jam, which is divine, is made from their own prunes (italicized because it’s a French word—that’ll be important in a second). They have a country home (they call it their maison) not too far away. It used to be in the family, but hasn’t been for the past several years. It was just sold back to Monsieur D, but he said it’s now so rundown that it needs 10-20 years of renovations. So, he said, the first thing he did after buying it back a few years ago was build a swimming pool to attract young people to come work there. And, he said, it worked. Anyway, there’s another story to this delicious jam. When they said the jam was made from prunes, I was thinking, “Hmm, how odd.” And I was a little reluctant. But it turned out to be delicious, so I just kind of resigned myself to it. Then a few nights later, we had these cute little plums for dessert (most of the time we have yogurt). Then a light bulb went off in my head. I asked if these prunes were the same fruit as the fruit that’s in the jam. Yes. Then Dani started saying that prunes (prune in English=pruneau in French) are for old people in the U.S. Luckily, I thought, they didn’t quite understand what she was saying, so I whacked her under the table. But she persisted and they figured it out. One of the sons said that that use of prunes must be international. Also, note to self: préservatifs ≠ preservatives. Dani was saying that French yogurt is better than our yogurt, probably because theirs has fewer preservatives. But no. Look it up in a French-English dictionary. But we all had a good laugh about that.
•Crèpes with Nutella—for obvious reasons
•Chocolate flan from the Gay Bakery—I must tell you a bit about the gay bakery. This is the bakery that our program director was talking about when he said, “Oh, school days will be great. You’ll have class in the morning [note: I don’t! I already took the French class they’re offering in the morning], then you’ll have a break for lunch. So you’ll run across the street to the Gay Bakery, then come back for class in the afternoon.” Yes, the food is pretty good and decently priced. And yes, the bakers and cashiers are quite gay.
Don’t Really Love:
•The cheese. Specifically, camembert. It smells like the metro, if you catch my drift (if you smell what I’m steppin’ in). When our host family offers us cheese at the end of dinner, I usually take goat cheese, because it’s the least offensive to my nose and stomach. Our host father said something really funny the other night. He was showing us how to cut the cheese (whoops, I didn’t mean to word it quite like that). He was saying that you have to cut circular cheese like it’s pie, and it tastes different if you do it wrong and cut the “nose” (the tip) of the cheese off.
•Crèpes with cheese—The ones with ham and cheese, which run about five euros, are amazing (I’ve just had bites of other people’s). The one I had with just plain old cheese wasn’t a dream come true. Not bad, just not great. On the bright side, it was less expensive.
•A pizza I had from the Gay Bakery—I got Three Cheese, which I thought was a pretty safe option. I guess when I read the word “pizza” I just forgot about the cheese issues here. There was quite a bit of stinky cheese on the pizza.
•The milk! I am suffering serious withdrawals since I’m not able to drink my usual seventeen thousand glasses of skim milk a day. The milk here is pasteurized, so you don’t always have to refrigerate it. Unfortunately, this makes the milk smell like the cheese. And the milk that’s labeled écremé (skim) is not really skim. Quel dommage.
The metro
I am a fan of the subway system. Very convenient. And I’ve gotten addicted to Sudokus, because we have 19 stops, including one transfer, to get to class. All the musicians who I’ve heard playing in the metro have been really top quality, although some of them are kind of creepy. When an accordion player saw us watching him as we walked by, he wiggled his eyebrows at us and walked a couple steps with us. And another guy who played some flute-y whistle thing like Peter Pan does, only way bigger, wolf-whistled at us with his instrument. Very creepy. But of course, all of the violinists have been normal.
Saturday night—early evening, too—there were a bunch of drunk soccer fans on the metro. I could tell they were soccer fans because they were singing (poorly) some chant and were playing soccer with a water bottle. And it was pretty easy to tell that they were drunk. Very entertaining.
The most serious drawback to the metro is the smell of urine. In fact, I saw a little girl going to the bathroom ON THE PLATFORM. Going to the bathroom without a bathroom! And her mom was right there! But at least that explains the smell.
Saturday night—early evening, too—there were a bunch of drunk soccer fans on the metro. I could tell they were soccer fans because they were singing (poorly) some chant and were playing soccer with a water bottle. And it was pretty easy to tell that they were drunk. Very entertaining.
The most serious drawback to the metro is the smell of urine. In fact, I saw a little girl going to the bathroom ON THE PLATFORM. Going to the bathroom without a bathroom! And her mom was right there! But at least that explains the smell.
...
On Saturday (after I slept like a rock on Friday night), we took taxis to our host families. My family lives out in a suburb. Dani and I each have our own cute little bedrooms. Mine is pink, and hers is blue. We’re on the second floor. Every morning when I wake up, I say to myself, “Oh, I love mornings!” Then I open up my window and stick my head out. Okay, okay. I wake up and grumble to myself a bit, but I do stick my head out the window!
Our host family had a party on Saturday night to celebrate the engagement of one of their five children (all are grown—the youngest is my age). Our host father said it would have been a good joke to tell us the party was for us. The party was a fancy cocktail/hors d’oeuvres party. We talked to some of the guests, including a girl who is dating one of the sons in our host family. She said that she’s so excited for the happy couple but that it’s such a quick engagement and they’re so young. We asked a few more questions and found out that they’re 28 and 26 and have been dating for a year and a half. And the wedding’s not till next summer. I just had to chuckle at her shock.
Church on Sunday was great. You know how they always say that the Church is the same everywhere? Case in point:
•The Relief Society teacher really had to fish for participation.
•The Relief Society president asked sisters to please, please try hard to be on time.
•The first words out of the Sunday school teacher’s mouth were something to the effect of, “Okay, everyone. We’ve got lots to cover today, so let’s get going.”
•The Relief Society teacher asked us all to move to the front, and she was asked to speak louder.
•The bishop announced that there were seats up in the front for the latecomers.
•Some of the children in sacrament meeting had quite the lungs.
After church, we went and sat on the grass by the Eiffel Tower.
I’ve seen most of the major sites in Paris. I love the Tuileries Gardens (my spell check thinks I misspelled that and suggests Toiletries instead). It’s so great to walk around or to just go sit there to think or write.
Our host family had a party on Saturday night to celebrate the engagement of one of their five children (all are grown—the youngest is my age). Our host father said it would have been a good joke to tell us the party was for us. The party was a fancy cocktail/hors d’oeuvres party. We talked to some of the guests, including a girl who is dating one of the sons in our host family. She said that she’s so excited for the happy couple but that it’s such a quick engagement and they’re so young. We asked a few more questions and found out that they’re 28 and 26 and have been dating for a year and a half. And the wedding’s not till next summer. I just had to chuckle at her shock.
Church on Sunday was great. You know how they always say that the Church is the same everywhere? Case in point:
•The Relief Society teacher really had to fish for participation.
•The Relief Society president asked sisters to please, please try hard to be on time.
•The first words out of the Sunday school teacher’s mouth were something to the effect of, “Okay, everyone. We’ve got lots to cover today, so let’s get going.”
•The Relief Society teacher asked us all to move to the front, and she was asked to speak louder.
•The bishop announced that there were seats up in the front for the latecomers.
•Some of the children in sacrament meeting had quite the lungs.
After church, we went and sat on the grass by the Eiffel Tower.
I’ve seen most of the major sites in Paris. I love the Tuileries Gardens (my spell check thinks I misspelled that and suggests Toiletries instead). It’s so great to walk around or to just go sit there to think or write.
What you've all been waiting for!
Hi, everyone! I am alive! And here's what I've been up to since I’ve been in Paris. Actually, I think I’ll break all of this up into a bunch of smaller posts so that you get the illusion that you’re behind in following my blog rather than me being behind in updating you.
The adventure of arriving at CDG:
•My flight was early
•I didn't have to do customs again in Paris after doing them in Amsterdam, but I didn’t know that, so I was slightly worried that I was slipping into the country illegally….
•I was two and a half hours early for my shuttle
•The shuttle company's English speakers who are on hand to help don't really speak English
•I found the pick-up point but then was shooed away by men in camo with big guns.
•My shuttle was half an hour late.
Our director had told us the best way to overcome jet lag is to not sleep, so the rest of the day is kind of a blur. I made it to the hotel and met up with everyone. We went on a boat tour on the Seine. It was great, except I fell asleep at least five times.
The adventure of arriving at CDG:
•My flight was early
•I didn't have to do customs again in Paris after doing them in Amsterdam, but I didn’t know that, so I was slightly worried that I was slipping into the country illegally….
•I was two and a half hours early for my shuttle
•The shuttle company's English speakers who are on hand to help don't really speak English
•I found the pick-up point but then was shooed away by men in camo with big guns.
•My shuttle was half an hour late.
Our director had told us the best way to overcome jet lag is to not sleep, so the rest of the day is kind of a blur. I made it to the hotel and met up with everyone. We went on a boat tour on the Seine. It was great, except I fell asleep at least five times.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)