So, funny story. There's this water problem in my building, where some of the pipes on my side drip within the walls, causing the paint to peel and chip. It's kind of gross, but I've lived in worse conditions, and honestly, if that's the worst thing about my apartment, I consider myself lucky. Anyways, they've been doing work on the building all week, and my landlord said he would come by this morning at 9, or just after they cut off the water, to fix everything. Naturally, I expected him at 9:15 or 9:30. Hence my surprise when he showed up at 8:35 ready to start working. It figures, the one day I actually need every minute of my morning, my landlord decides to be uncharacteristically French and be early, which is actually considered rude here. But that's not even the rude part.
I came back tonight and found the corner of my toilet wall missing, exposing the big pipe that runs through the building (they can't fix it and close it back up the same day - maybe if they didn't take two-hour lunches...), and the pipe that was dripping in the first place, that is STILL DRIPPING onto my toilet which has now lost its seat and cover. Oh yes, and the outlet that was supposed to be fixed is in pieces (i.e. not fixed) and the guys used up a roll of paper towels and toilet paper.
Oh, and the best part about this debacle? There wasn't even a note to explain any of it. After calling my landlord, I found out that the drip will be taken care of tomorrow, although I don't know how, since I'm leaving early; the toilet seat had to be replaced (I assume they broke it, because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place); they were missing a piece for the outlet; and the wall will be put back up next week, as planned.
Now, how hard would it have been to just write that all out? NOT VERY.
In other news.... I've now had all of my classes, and I can say right now that this is not going to be an easy year. Whatever fantasy I had of coming back and redoing my relatively care-free year in Paris has swiftly been kicked to the curb by the mounds of reading, papers, presentations, and other nonsense I have to do for my masters. It'll be nice to be a student again, though, even if it IS all in French and will take twice as long to do.
We went to a "soutenance de thèse" (thesis defense) today that lasted three hours. It was the most boring thing I've ever had to sit through in my entire life, except maybe that one production of Hamlet I saw two years ago, but even there I had something to look at and laugh at. I guess it didn't help that we hadn't read the 700 page dissertation (and nor would I like to) and didn't understand any of what they were saying because of the technical vocabulary, but it was still kind of interesting - in the beginning, before we all started nodding off - to see how they do it, and if anything, it was a good observation opportunity. So much of what was said was formulaic and ritual. "I thank you, sir, for giving me the floor." "No, it is I who thank you." No, I'm not kidding. Directly translated from French, that's what it comes out to. Antiquated, superficial ceremonies that have to be conducted because society deems that they should.
I started thinking about that, how everything here is so superficial or artificial - everything is a ritual or tradition, done out of habit or "politesse" (politeness), but most of it has no relevance to today's culture. Everything from not cutting your salad, never switching the fork and knife when eating meat, to having to fill out mountains of forms just to get a library card - you ask French people why they do it that way, why it's not simpler, and most of them will tell you, "it's just the way things are done." There's no effort for efficacy (or you could say there's too much), just show and tell. Haussmann. It's the same thing. Make all the streets look pretty in order to hide the poor panhandlers and gypsies in the crappy parts of town. Now it's, chop up the buildings inside to make a profit, but don't touch the outside, don't let anyone know you've ruined a 250-year-old edifice. Scarves, shoes, bags - well, anything having to do with commericial culture, obviously. Hosing down the streets every week. Celebrating obsolete holidays. Avoiding very much-needed updates. Saying "bonjour, monsieur," or "au revoir, messieurs-dames." All politeness and pretense.
Ok, so I'm not saying you should be rude. The French aren't rude, actually, when you really look at it. If there's any culture that looks down on impoliteness, it's the French. I actually like it when I'm greeted every time I walk into a store, or when guys hold the door for me or give up their seat on the metro, just out of habit and kindness. Ok, so more out of habit. Sometimes they're nice, though. Sometimes.
I'm thinking about doing my thesis on this. Maybe more on a linguistic level, but I'm more interested in the cultural aspect of it, and how all of these traditions and ceremonies have absolutely no real function today. Or maybe I'll just stick to anglophone theater in Paris. I like that one. Anyways, I could go on for hours. I have thousands of ideas about my thesis, but not just a couple that I could really narrow it down to. I'll figure it out, I guess.
Tomorrow we're going out to Vaux-le-Vicomte, the chateau that apparently inspired Versailles. I've been there, but it'll be cool to go with someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Plus, we get a free meal. I'm all about free French cuisine. As should you be.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
La première soirée
Paris is perhaps the most difficult city to do Yom Kippur in, especially on a Friday/Saturday. But before even having to deal with that, I had a mini crisis of faith. You see, after making my ham and cheese omelette as my last meal before the fast, I had to ask myself, "what's the point?" Not only did my meal mix milk and meat, but it wasn't even kosher meat - it wasn't even a kosher animal. It was the one animal we're specifically NOT allowed to eat. And yet, I still decided to fast. I don't know why - I'm not religious, I never go to services (I should be there right now, and if I can't even make it to temple on the holiest of days...), but for some reason, fasting on Yom Kippur makes me feel like Jew, the same way eating latkes or matzah does. Sidenote: I think it's funny that the only way I feel part of the Jewish community is through food or lack thereof. Anyways, I decided to brave the cafes, the bars, the creperies, etc., and go out with friends.
We headed to the Marais. Let it be said right now that if I could choose any one quartier to live in, it would be the Marais. Or maybe Saint Germain. Or maybe where I live now. Ok, so I don't know. I just really like the Marais. It's so overflowing with marginalized populations, it warms my heart every time I walk the rue des Rosiers. We met at the metro, walked around, and finally decided on a restaurant that had to be good because it was packed on a Friday night at 8:30. The waitress started speaking in English to us, which never fails to piss me off. Just because we hesitate when you ask us a question does not mean we do not speak French! But I digress... Everyone's food looked so good, and I was dying there, not even able to pay attention to all the stories people were telling because I was so entranced by the food. And I don't necessarily understand why, because I'd eaten a couple of hours before. I think it's just the idea, the fact that I wasn't allowed to eat that made me want that chevre salad so bad. Oh, so bad. We sat around talking until well after 11, then found a cafe. And here, my friends, is where I turned over my nonsensical decision to fast on Yom Kippur after having a ham and cheese omelette.
Now, I didn't go crazy. Actually, all I had was water. And I feel bad about it. Very, very bad. It may not seem a big deal, but if I can't even go five hours without water, what hope is there? I'm still fasting (even though it really doesn't matter now because I broke the fast), and it shouldn't be too big of a problem since I'm going to Versailles all day. But I'm allowing myself water because it's going to be hot, and I already had some anyways. I know, I'm a horrible Jew.
Oh, but my story's not over. We called it a night around 12:30, and I decided to cab it home because I was too tired to deal with the metro. I had to walk all the way to Chatelet through crowds of drunken Frenchmen and Irishmen left over from the big screen they put up at the hotel de ville, and when I got to the taxi line, it was about an hour long, so I opted for the metro, which definitely should have worked. I got there well before the last train. But apparently, there was no train. I don't know what happened to it, but after twenty minutes of waiting, I emerged once again, at 1:30, to wait for a taxi. I talked to some people in line, and ultimately shared a cab with a forty-something year old man and what I really do believe was a prostitute, finally getting home around 2:45.
I realized that story was probably not worth telling. Thanks for reading.
We headed to the Marais. Let it be said right now that if I could choose any one quartier to live in, it would be the Marais. Or maybe Saint Germain. Or maybe where I live now. Ok, so I don't know. I just really like the Marais. It's so overflowing with marginalized populations, it warms my heart every time I walk the rue des Rosiers. We met at the metro, walked around, and finally decided on a restaurant that had to be good because it was packed on a Friday night at 8:30. The waitress started speaking in English to us, which never fails to piss me off. Just because we hesitate when you ask us a question does not mean we do not speak French! But I digress... Everyone's food looked so good, and I was dying there, not even able to pay attention to all the stories people were telling because I was so entranced by the food. And I don't necessarily understand why, because I'd eaten a couple of hours before. I think it's just the idea, the fact that I wasn't allowed to eat that made me want that chevre salad so bad. Oh, so bad. We sat around talking until well after 11, then found a cafe. And here, my friends, is where I turned over my nonsensical decision to fast on Yom Kippur after having a ham and cheese omelette.
Now, I didn't go crazy. Actually, all I had was water. And I feel bad about it. Very, very bad. It may not seem a big deal, but if I can't even go five hours without water, what hope is there? I'm still fasting (even though it really doesn't matter now because I broke the fast), and it shouldn't be too big of a problem since I'm going to Versailles all day. But I'm allowing myself water because it's going to be hot, and I already had some anyways. I know, I'm a horrible Jew.
Oh, but my story's not over. We called it a night around 12:30, and I decided to cab it home because I was too tired to deal with the metro. I had to walk all the way to Chatelet through crowds of drunken Frenchmen and Irishmen left over from the big screen they put up at the hotel de ville, and when I got to the taxi line, it was about an hour long, so I opted for the metro, which definitely should have worked. I got there well before the last train. But apparently, there was no train. I don't know what happened to it, but after twenty minutes of waiting, I emerged once again, at 1:30, to wait for a taxi. I talked to some people in line, and ultimately shared a cab with a forty-something year old man and what I really do believe was a prostitute, finally getting home around 2:45.
I realized that story was probably not worth telling. Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
À la française
The honeymoon is over, my friends. I have officially been engulfed in French culture and, subsequently, bureaucracy. Here is a list of my grievances so far:
-In order to get a cell phone (contracted), you have to have an ID, RIB (relève d'identité bancaire), and a verified check.
-To fully open a bank account - and therefore receive your bank card and checks, you must have your carte de séjour (visa), which, in my case, I will not have for at least two or three weeks from now.
-In order to get ANYTHING in this country, you need an RIB, which proves you have a bank account. This includes, but is not limited to: cell phones (contracted) and cartes imaginaires (metro pass for students under 26).
-Because my bank account isn't verified yet and I don't have a card, I can only take money out if I go to the actual teller, from TUESDAY TO FRIDAY, during normal business hours. When my cards and checks arrive, which I was just told would actually be next week, I have to go to a different branch to pick them up because that's where my account originally was.
-The people working in my building, including the landlord, keep forgetting to turn things back on. Nothing totally necessary to every day life or anything, just things like my water and the hall electricity. (So now when I come home at whenever o'clock, it will be pitch black. And I'll probably trip and break my nose or something, and then when I try to sue the landlord, he'll be all "stupid American, trying to sue me for her own clumsiness." Thanks, landlord. Who, by the way, NEVER introduced himself to me, even though I've seen him in passing multiple times and had a semi conversation with him! And has yet to fix the broken electrical socket! Ugh!)
Also, I blocked the phone that the girl who lived in my apartment last year left me by accident, and it will cost 25 euros to unblock it. But if I wait until I have a phone contract of my own, they'll do it for free. What good is the unblocked phone to me if I already have one, frenchies? Come on!
-In order to get a cell phone (contracted), you have to have an ID, RIB (relève d'identité bancaire), and a verified check.
-To fully open a bank account - and therefore receive your bank card and checks, you must have your carte de séjour (visa), which, in my case, I will not have for at least two or three weeks from now.
-In order to get ANYTHING in this country, you need an RIB, which proves you have a bank account. This includes, but is not limited to: cell phones (contracted) and cartes imaginaires (metro pass for students under 26).
-Because my bank account isn't verified yet and I don't have a card, I can only take money out if I go to the actual teller, from TUESDAY TO FRIDAY, during normal business hours. When my cards and checks arrive, which I was just told would actually be next week, I have to go to a different branch to pick them up because that's where my account originally was.
-The people working in my building, including the landlord, keep forgetting to turn things back on. Nothing totally necessary to every day life or anything, just things like my water and the hall electricity. (So now when I come home at whenever o'clock, it will be pitch black. And I'll probably trip and break my nose or something, and then when I try to sue the landlord, he'll be all "stupid American, trying to sue me for her own clumsiness." Thanks, landlord. Who, by the way, NEVER introduced himself to me, even though I've seen him in passing multiple times and had a semi conversation with him! And has yet to fix the broken electrical socket! Ugh!)
Also, I blocked the phone that the girl who lived in my apartment last year left me by accident, and it will cost 25 euros to unblock it. But if I wait until I have a phone contract of my own, they'll do it for free. What good is the unblocked phone to me if I already have one, frenchies? Come on!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Ça commence
This weekend we went to Giverny for our little orientation/get to know each other thing. It was a weekend filled with food, Impressionism, boring lectures, long bike rides, gigantic arachnids, adorable houses, beautiful French countryside, and wine - many, many bottles of wine. It was good to get out of Paris for a little while, which I think may be a bad sign if I'm saying it this early in the game. Things are just different everywhere else. Americans (and a lot of other people, for that matter) tend to think that Paris is all there is to France, but the truth is that things are only "French" in the Parisian sense inside the environs of Paris. In the country, things move a little slower, people are a little more jovial, they speak a little less English, portions are a bit bigger and nature actually exists! And staying in a room as big as my apartment in a huge country house just made all of us depressed to come back to the city and our humble - really humble - abodes.
During the weekend, we had little conferences on the programs that we're in (there are three master's programs) and the classes we have available to us, which was good because no one in the program knew what we were doing. It turns out this isn't as much of a bullshit program as I thought it was, or at least it doesn't seem that way right now. I'm going to have a lot of work to do, but the other students are relatively cool, and the professors and directors seem relatively personable, so hopefully there won't be any crying or any problems a quick verre de vin rouge can't fix. So far, I'm taking all of my classes with the program, but I might take a film class at Paris 7 (a university here) on French cinema between 1945 and 1960 and its relation to the United States, because it kind of seems like it's exactly the kind of thing I want to study, and maybe something I want to write my thesis about. The thing is, it's at 9am on Fridays, and as of right now, I don't have any Friday classes, and I'd really like to keep it that way so I could maybe take a weekend or two to travel this semester because once I start writing my thesis, I won't have time to breathe, let alone jaunt around Europe like I did last time I was here.
I really don't know what I want to do with my life, and that's starting to become a problem. It's not just the actual tangible issue of not having any plans, which worries some people (ahem, parents), but it's a major difficulty when talking to people here. I was talking with one of the professors who was supposed to assess our language level and make sure we were taking all the right classes for what we wanted to do, and I had no idea what I wanted to do, so she had no idea if the classes I was planning on taking were going to help. We kept going 'round and 'round in circles, "Well, this is something I'd really like to study more," "Oh, well that's good! You can definitely write a thesis on that." (five minutes later) "Well, I'd really like to study that too," "well, that's a good way to go too." When I tried to explain to her that I study for love rather than obligation, she just came out with the French philosophy of it all: "You have to figure out what you're going to do before you can pick what you're going to study." And, yes, this does make sense from a logical, efficient point of view. But for someone as indecisive, ambitious, and interested-in-everything as I am, being forced to pick your career at age 12 like they are here is extremely problematic. Yeah, I know how much everyone hates that word, but it really works in this situation, so deal with it.
Last night was the first meeting for the theater company. I thought there were going to be 15 of us, but there were only five, which I think actually worked out better for the director. He wants to kind of streamline the company into a core group of people that actually care, and make it into a more professional group than it has been in the past. The whole time I was sitting there listening, thinking, "ok, well I'm just a temporary member, I'll help with what I can, blah blah blah," and then towards the end he said, "well, we're five for the moment," including me as one of the main people. It made me all warm and fuzzy inside, even though I know I won't be doing as much work as everyone else. He finally revealed his big project which is, in a word, monumental. If we pull this off, it will be the single most important production for the company and for anyone that works on it, and if it's a success - which I think is inevitable, it'll catapult the company to actual company status, I think. I really want to talk about it, but because nothing is final and I don't want to get into legality issues - and really, this is HUGE, I won't. I'll just say that I'm really excited to work on it, and hopefully I'll be able to make it into some part or the whole of my thesis, because it's kind of perfect.
Classes start at Paris 7 this week, NYU next week, and everywhere else either that week or the week after. Sometime this week I'm touring the big academic library, taking a boat ride, and seeing the gardens of Versailles with all of the fountains on and music playing. Other than that, I have some free time, so I'll do some more exploring, I think. I have some bureaucratic stuff to take care of, like my metro pass and museum cards, but for the most part, I have nothing to do. I'd go to Germany or something if it weren't for the fact that I can't leave the country until I get my residence card (silly rules). I think today I'll head up to Notre Dame and maybe over to the Marais. It's nice out, so maybe I'll be French - excuse me, Parisian - and bring a book to sit on the bench and read, after stuffing my face with the best felafel in the world.
I have a very good feeling about today.
During the weekend, we had little conferences on the programs that we're in (there are three master's programs) and the classes we have available to us, which was good because no one in the program knew what we were doing. It turns out this isn't as much of a bullshit program as I thought it was, or at least it doesn't seem that way right now. I'm going to have a lot of work to do, but the other students are relatively cool, and the professors and directors seem relatively personable, so hopefully there won't be any crying or any problems a quick verre de vin rouge can't fix. So far, I'm taking all of my classes with the program, but I might take a film class at Paris 7 (a university here) on French cinema between 1945 and 1960 and its relation to the United States, because it kind of seems like it's exactly the kind of thing I want to study, and maybe something I want to write my thesis about. The thing is, it's at 9am on Fridays, and as of right now, I don't have any Friday classes, and I'd really like to keep it that way so I could maybe take a weekend or two to travel this semester because once I start writing my thesis, I won't have time to breathe, let alone jaunt around Europe like I did last time I was here.
I really don't know what I want to do with my life, and that's starting to become a problem. It's not just the actual tangible issue of not having any plans, which worries some people (ahem, parents), but it's a major difficulty when talking to people here. I was talking with one of the professors who was supposed to assess our language level and make sure we were taking all the right classes for what we wanted to do, and I had no idea what I wanted to do, so she had no idea if the classes I was planning on taking were going to help. We kept going 'round and 'round in circles, "Well, this is something I'd really like to study more," "Oh, well that's good! You can definitely write a thesis on that." (five minutes later) "Well, I'd really like to study that too," "well, that's a good way to go too." When I tried to explain to her that I study for love rather than obligation, she just came out with the French philosophy of it all: "You have to figure out what you're going to do before you can pick what you're going to study." And, yes, this does make sense from a logical, efficient point of view. But for someone as indecisive, ambitious, and interested-in-everything as I am, being forced to pick your career at age 12 like they are here is extremely problematic. Yeah, I know how much everyone hates that word, but it really works in this situation, so deal with it.
Last night was the first meeting for the theater company. I thought there were going to be 15 of us, but there were only five, which I think actually worked out better for the director. He wants to kind of streamline the company into a core group of people that actually care, and make it into a more professional group than it has been in the past. The whole time I was sitting there listening, thinking, "ok, well I'm just a temporary member, I'll help with what I can, blah blah blah," and then towards the end he said, "well, we're five for the moment," including me as one of the main people. It made me all warm and fuzzy inside, even though I know I won't be doing as much work as everyone else. He finally revealed his big project which is, in a word, monumental. If we pull this off, it will be the single most important production for the company and for anyone that works on it, and if it's a success - which I think is inevitable, it'll catapult the company to actual company status, I think. I really want to talk about it, but because nothing is final and I don't want to get into legality issues - and really, this is HUGE, I won't. I'll just say that I'm really excited to work on it, and hopefully I'll be able to make it into some part or the whole of my thesis, because it's kind of perfect.
Classes start at Paris 7 this week, NYU next week, and everywhere else either that week or the week after. Sometime this week I'm touring the big academic library, taking a boat ride, and seeing the gardens of Versailles with all of the fountains on and music playing. Other than that, I have some free time, so I'll do some more exploring, I think. I have some bureaucratic stuff to take care of, like my metro pass and museum cards, but for the most part, I have nothing to do. I'd go to Germany or something if it weren't for the fact that I can't leave the country until I get my residence card (silly rules). I think today I'll head up to Notre Dame and maybe over to the Marais. It's nice out, so maybe I'll be French - excuse me, Parisian - and bring a book to sit on the bench and read, after stuffing my face with the best felafel in the world.
I have a very good feeling about today.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Le Retour
I think part of the reason I was so nervous about coming back was that I'm not being spoonfed everything by NYU like I was by Smith. I hardly heard from anyone from the program, so it was kind of like going in blind, and when relocating to another country, let alone one run by French bureaucracy, you really should have one of those stick things to hold out in front of you so you at least know when you're going to run into trouble like, oh, I don't know, finding an apartment. Anyways, I digress.
The problem is that I didn't really prepare myself for this big move, and, needless to say, that was not a good thing. It's not only a big deal because I'm moving to Paris, but it's the first time I've ever lived on my own, without friends down the hall to procrastinate with, without rules to live by, without everything all planned out for me. And that scares the crap out of me, as it damn well should. So before I got on the plane, when I was talking to my brother, I was saying "I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know what I'm doing," because, really, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to live on my own, cook for myself, clean for myself (obviously), make sure everything gets done, etc. I know, I know, you're probably going, "just suck it up and deal with it like everyone else," but everyone else doesn't have to learn how to be independent while all of their family and friends are 6,000 miles away. And the fact that this just all kind of feels like I did it on a whim, like I woke up one day and went, "I think I'll move to Paris, rent a fifth-floor walk-up, and try to be an adult" (sidenote: carrying two fifty-pound bags and one 25-pound bag up five flights of stairs takes about fifteen minutes, just in case you were wondering). I know it has to happen at some point, and Paris is probably one of the best 'jump in at the deep end' places to do it (really, if you can navigate French formalities, you can do just about anything), but I'm tired and I'm hungry, and I don't want to make the bed or cook anything.
Oh, in case anyone wants to know, the flight was relatively smooth and painless. I did think we were going to die for about two minutes, but that's par for the course, and actually a really small amount of time in relation to ten and a half hour flight. The couple next to me was a very stuffy French couple who brought inflatable pillows and wipeys (not inflatable, though that might be cool), and the woman behind me kept tugging on my chair every time she got up, down, or did anything, making it very hard to sleep. Once I got all my bags and realized someone else's something peach-scented blew up all over my carryon, I grabbed a taxi driven by who was probably the nicest cabbie I've ever met. We talked the whole way into Paris about the French (he's Portuguese) and how expensive it is to live here, and then he told me I was cute, which was where it turned a teensy bit creepy, then I picked up my keys, and he dropped me off and "faired la bise" (that french cheek-kiss thing), which is where it got more than a teensy bit creepy.
After visiting with my old French advisor who's now the director of the Smith JYA program, and after taking care of a few housing formalities, I walked around St. Germain and back into my apartment - oh mon dieu, I forgot about the apartment!! It is absolutely perfect. It's just enough room for me, it's bright and gets a cross-breeze, has all the necessary amenities, and - the best part - I have a clear view of the south side of Notre Dame from my bedroom. Yes, I get to wake up to that every morning, and yes, I know how lucky I am.
I'm writing way too much, but I haven't written anything in a while, so I just can't help myself. Anyways, it's weird being back here. It's strange to come back to a city like Paris and just feel like you're coming home. It makes me a little sad, actually, to think that somewhere between being a tourist and mastering the metro, I got used to this city. I stopped seeing the beauty and started picking out the blaring sirens, the smell of urine on the streets, the squished neon dog crap on the sidewalks, the guys with little man purses and a sense of entitlement. Maybe it's just because I've been up for over a day and I'm cranky and jaded and have no more of that wide-eyed, anything's possible, today's a new day attitude left.
Oh, and in case you were keeping bets, on the way home I bought a bottle of Bordeaux, a mini camembert, and a demi-baguette, all for consumption tonight while I unpack and relax a bit. Oh, Paris, how I've missed you.
The problem is that I didn't really prepare myself for this big move, and, needless to say, that was not a good thing. It's not only a big deal because I'm moving to Paris, but it's the first time I've ever lived on my own, without friends down the hall to procrastinate with, without rules to live by, without everything all planned out for me. And that scares the crap out of me, as it damn well should. So before I got on the plane, when I was talking to my brother, I was saying "I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know what I'm doing," because, really, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to live on my own, cook for myself, clean for myself (obviously), make sure everything gets done, etc. I know, I know, you're probably going, "just suck it up and deal with it like everyone else," but everyone else doesn't have to learn how to be independent while all of their family and friends are 6,000 miles away. And the fact that this just all kind of feels like I did it on a whim, like I woke up one day and went, "I think I'll move to Paris, rent a fifth-floor walk-up, and try to be an adult" (sidenote: carrying two fifty-pound bags and one 25-pound bag up five flights of stairs takes about fifteen minutes, just in case you were wondering). I know it has to happen at some point, and Paris is probably one of the best 'jump in at the deep end' places to do it (really, if you can navigate French formalities, you can do just about anything), but I'm tired and I'm hungry, and I don't want to make the bed or cook anything.
Oh, in case anyone wants to know, the flight was relatively smooth and painless. I did think we were going to die for about two minutes, but that's par for the course, and actually a really small amount of time in relation to ten and a half hour flight. The couple next to me was a very stuffy French couple who brought inflatable pillows and wipeys (not inflatable, though that might be cool), and the woman behind me kept tugging on my chair every time she got up, down, or did anything, making it very hard to sleep. Once I got all my bags and realized someone else's something peach-scented blew up all over my carryon, I grabbed a taxi driven by who was probably the nicest cabbie I've ever met. We talked the whole way into Paris about the French (he's Portuguese) and how expensive it is to live here, and then he told me I was cute, which was where it turned a teensy bit creepy, then I picked up my keys, and he dropped me off and "faired la bise" (that french cheek-kiss thing), which is where it got more than a teensy bit creepy.
After visiting with my old French advisor who's now the director of the Smith JYA program, and after taking care of a few housing formalities, I walked around St. Germain and back into my apartment - oh mon dieu, I forgot about the apartment!! It is absolutely perfect. It's just enough room for me, it's bright and gets a cross-breeze, has all the necessary amenities, and - the best part - I have a clear view of the south side of Notre Dame from my bedroom. Yes, I get to wake up to that every morning, and yes, I know how lucky I am.
I'm writing way too much, but I haven't written anything in a while, so I just can't help myself. Anyways, it's weird being back here. It's strange to come back to a city like Paris and just feel like you're coming home. It makes me a little sad, actually, to think that somewhere between being a tourist and mastering the metro, I got used to this city. I stopped seeing the beauty and started picking out the blaring sirens, the smell of urine on the streets, the squished neon dog crap on the sidewalks, the guys with little man purses and a sense of entitlement. Maybe it's just because I've been up for over a day and I'm cranky and jaded and have no more of that wide-eyed, anything's possible, today's a new day attitude left.
Oh, and in case you were keeping bets, on the way home I bought a bottle of Bordeaux, a mini camembert, and a demi-baguette, all for consumption tonight while I unpack and relax a bit. Oh, Paris, how I've missed you.
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