I wish I'd written earlier, because there were so many things I wanted to write about, but school's been consuming my life of late, and I just haven't had the time to clog the internet with my ridiculous ramblings. Until now. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?
Last Friday, I had to get up at an ungodly hour to get to the Gare Montparnasse for an early train to La Rochelle with the NYU kids. And yes, I say kids. I say kids because they are undergrads. My four years of college and dedication to the Master's program has earned me that right. Also, because most of them complained the whole time about how the cities we saw weren't "cool enough". Cool enough, my ass, undergrads! At Saintes, we saw a Roman arena, a 12th century abbey, a 1st century Roman arch, and took a cruise down the Charentes; at Rochefort, we had an amazing dinner (including wine on NYU's dime) and saw a replica-in-the-making of an 18th century ship; in La Rochelle, we got sunlight over a beautiful marina on the Atlantic ocean, we got a tour of an old eco-friendly city in a horse-drawn carriage, we got to listen to jazz by the old port, we got to explore! And most importantly, we got out of Paris! Now, I love Paris - don't get me wrong, but occasionally, it's really nice to get out of the metropolitan cage and into the open country, because, you know, there is more to France than just Paris. People here tend to forget that. I know I do. But apparently all that wasn't enough for the undergrads. At the hotel in Rochefort, from across the courtyard, we saw a group of them get dressed up in sheets and have a toga party. Oh yes, a toga party à la Animal House, complete with "toga! toga! toga!" chanting. Ah, kids.
On the train back, a friend and I applied our French facepaint in anticipation of the semifinal rugby match between France and England. As soon as the train stopped, we RAN to the metro to get to a friend's place as fast as we could. We'd already missed the first half of the game, and apparently England was winning. We finally got there, munched on some pizza, and watched in extreme stress and trepidation that France would be defeated.... and they were. It was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. Rugby players - the manliest men you could possibly find in France - six foot monoliths that reach the weight capacity of a Paris elevator all on their own - CHABAL, for fuck's sake, the missing link, the Caveman, Attila, the Anaesthetist - all walking off the field in such disappointment. Dropping to their knees and sobbing. And Chabal was the worst. I wanted to hug him, if it weren't for my fear that he'd snap me in two or eat my head. (Because he eats babies, don't you know.) So tomorrow, they face Argentina, the team that beat them in the beginning (quel honte!), for third place. My opinion is that France is either not going to care because there's no way they'll win the cup, and they'll just end up giving it to Argentina, or that they'll be so bitter and angry about last week and losing to Argentina in the first place that they'll pummel the other team, and that someone will either be paralyzed or die. Or both. I don't know. All I'm saying is that I wouldn't be surprised if Chabal ran into someone and ripped off the top half of his body. Or bit off his nose. I mean, I'm just sayin'....
Nothing else of import happened this week, except that I got sick, I'm way behind in reading, and, oh yeah, all public transportation went on strike today. France, seriously. What the fuck is up with these damn grèves? It's like a national past time. Listen, if you're going to strike, strike. I appreciate the warning and all, but really, if you're going to go on strike, go on strike full stop. Don't say you're going to go on strike and then leave half of the trains running in the morning, and then trickle them down to none except line 14 - which is completely and totally useless to 90% of the Paris population, by the way - hence screwing over the rest of the city and suburbs. I waited 40 minutes for my metro today, after walking for 20, mostly uphill. Then I found out at the end of the day that that line wasn't working anymore, so I took a vélib home. [Basically you can rent a bike for super cheap if you're only using it for less than an hour.] Actually, that was a pretty great experience. So thank you, SNCF, for starting this stupid grève. You forced me to experience the pleasure of the vélib and riding around Paris at rush hour. No, really, I mean it. I'm not being sarcastic. It was pretty amazing, that ride home. It took a while - about 45 minutes, plus walking time, but it was a nice ride. Mostly downhill or flat, which was a plus. Except all of the bikes were taken because of the strike, so I had to wait with my friend for a while. I made her ride with me because, let's face it, riding a bike in Paris without a helmet is kind of a death wish. Or so you'd think. People were actually very considerate, except the taxis, which don't count anyways because they're always assholes. I only almost got hit once, and narrowly avoided a ten-bike catastrophe in front of the Place de la Concorde.
Sometimes I forget how beautiful this city is, walking around with my blinders on, so focused on getting wherever it is that I'm going. In the metro you don't get to see it. Even on the bus, there's something off about it. Yes, the bus is infinitely better than the metro, any day, but there's still something between you and the city. There's something keeping you from experiencing the city at its best. On a bike, on the quai, riding past the Louvre at sunset, you get it all. The rosy sky, the buildings reflecting the tangerine setting sun, the breeze blowing through the leaves, giving those ones that are hanging on just by one little thread of stem that extra push to fall ever so gracefully onto the street... Well, then they get run over by a scooter, it's true, but for that moment, while it's gently floating down to its inevitable demise, while you're coasting along by hundreds of years of history and culture, zoning out the honking of the taxis, taking in everything around you, you realize how lucky you are to be living here, to have the experience you're having. Not just in general - the whole year, the Parisian life, and all that - but that one moment when you stop worrying about being hit by an asshole in a Peugot and start appreciating where you are.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Nuit Blanche
I'd been looking forward to last night for, oh, I don't know, let's say two years. Nuit Blanche was the single coolest experience of my year abroad at Smith, and I couldn't wait to come back and do it again, only not be lame this time and not spend the better part of two hours watching fire jugglers in front of Notre-Dame, as entertaining as that was. I got even more excited when France beat whoever they played last week and made it to the quarter finals of the rugby world cup, which, in case you didn't know (and you probably didn't because you probably live in the US, where rugby is a strange, violent sport which no one understands and everyone is reluctant to play - as they should be, because it's a strange, violent, ridiculous sport) is being held in France this year. Every week since I've been here, the city's been flooded with a different group of tourists visiting in support of their team - first it was the Scottish, then the Irish, then the English... I know there've been other countries - I noticed Spain a couple of times - but I only really paid attention to the UK and Ireland because they were so damn drunk and loud all the time. There were probably some Argentinians here, since they played at Saint-Denis, but they're much better behaved, I think. And some Bulgarians, too. But I digress.
Last night, in addition to the awesomeness that is Nuit Blanche, the quarter final was on at 9, and like every other game in the cup, it was broadcast on a huge screen in front of the Hotel de Ville. Some friends and I decided to do a pregame picnic and stay for the game - ok, so it was my idea, and I got really into it and bought facepaint and organized the whole thing - ALLEZ LES BLEUS! Anyways, the place was a fucking mob scene. Thousands of people trying to make their way to watch the game, most of them having to down beers and wine before crossing the barriers because they didn't allow glass containers. After much confusion, we finally all met up, took a squat somewhere pretty far away, scarfed down our food, and tried to watch the game. Ok, so five of us tried to watch the game, but the other three were content just sitting on the ground drinking wine and some beers some guy unloaded on us because he was going out - don't worry, they were closed, so they were not roofied. Yes, that sentence was actually uttered last night.
We couldn't see anything because of the huge crowd (see below), so we headed back to a Frenchie's place and all sat around watching the game, drinking whatever and all of what was on the table, including the bottle of absinthe from Prague. The match was SO tense! One thing I don't understand is how all the French people I talked to kept saying, "Oh, France is going to lose. No, seriously, they're going to get massacred," and yet they all - ALL - showed up at Hotel de Ville with flags and face paint! Anyways, in what was apparently a miraculous turn of events, France eventually came back from a 10-0 shamefest to a 20-18 win! Over the best team in the world!! ALLEZ LES BLEUS!!! (Sidenote: I think it's funny that their little slogan is basically the same as the Dodgers' "Go Blue".) There was a huge uproar in the surrounding buildings, kind of like when the Red Sox won the world series, only there were no cars set on fire and no one got tear gassed.
After celebrating and taking some very scandalous pirate/inflatable doll pictures, we finally set back out for the Marais and whatever was left of Nuit Blanche. I was kind of pissed that we didn't get to be there for the win and experience the absolute craziness that I'm sure ensued, but we're planning on going for the semi-final - England/France (holy crap that is going to be one awesome game/crowd, I cannot WAIT!) so that should make up for it. And I still have my face paint! But anyways... we wandered around for a while, coming across some very strange exhibits (see below), and eventually decided we needed food, so we went in search of crepes. A word of advice, my friends: when in desperate need of a crepe at 2:30 in the morning in Paris on Nuit Blanche, do not settle for the bonbons guy reheating them on the Petit Pont. Wait to get to Saint Michel where they're actually making the crepes fresh and they don't taste like cardboard.
People kind of dropped off one by one, and a friend and I walked back to my place, eventually getting to bed at around 4. So, not the literal Nuit Blanche (all-nighter) experience I was hoping for, but it was a good time nonetheless.
And then this morning I met a friend at the market down the street. People, I have never been so excited for food purchases in my life. Figs? Check. Peaches? Check. Fresh, amazing-smelling basil? Check. Garlic? Green beans? Dried fruit? CHOUCROUTE THAT I CAN JUST HEAT UP TONIGHT FOR DINNER? CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK!! Granted, it's a little more expensive than the supermarket, but once in a while, why not? When in Rome... I mean, Paris....
Pictures:
The crowd (sorry it's blurry):
I can't even explain what this was. It's in a church, obviously, and it was really weird/trippy/creepy:
Just what I've always wanted! A giant, glowing, papier-mâché jack!
Last night, in addition to the awesomeness that is Nuit Blanche, the quarter final was on at 9, and like every other game in the cup, it was broadcast on a huge screen in front of the Hotel de Ville. Some friends and I decided to do a pregame picnic and stay for the game - ok, so it was my idea, and I got really into it and bought facepaint and organized the whole thing - ALLEZ LES BLEUS! Anyways, the place was a fucking mob scene. Thousands of people trying to make their way to watch the game, most of them having to down beers and wine before crossing the barriers because they didn't allow glass containers. After much confusion, we finally all met up, took a squat somewhere pretty far away, scarfed down our food, and tried to watch the game. Ok, so five of us tried to watch the game, but the other three were content just sitting on the ground drinking wine and some beers some guy unloaded on us because he was going out - don't worry, they were closed, so they were not roofied. Yes, that sentence was actually uttered last night.
We couldn't see anything because of the huge crowd (see below), so we headed back to a Frenchie's place and all sat around watching the game, drinking whatever and all of what was on the table, including the bottle of absinthe from Prague. The match was SO tense! One thing I don't understand is how all the French people I talked to kept saying, "Oh, France is going to lose. No, seriously, they're going to get massacred," and yet they all - ALL - showed up at Hotel de Ville with flags and face paint! Anyways, in what was apparently a miraculous turn of events, France eventually came back from a 10-0 shamefest to a 20-18 win! Over the best team in the world!! ALLEZ LES BLEUS!!! (Sidenote: I think it's funny that their little slogan is basically the same as the Dodgers' "Go Blue".) There was a huge uproar in the surrounding buildings, kind of like when the Red Sox won the world series, only there were no cars set on fire and no one got tear gassed.
After celebrating and taking some very scandalous pirate/inflatable doll pictures, we finally set back out for the Marais and whatever was left of Nuit Blanche. I was kind of pissed that we didn't get to be there for the win and experience the absolute craziness that I'm sure ensued, but we're planning on going for the semi-final - England/France (holy crap that is going to be one awesome game/crowd, I cannot WAIT!) so that should make up for it. And I still have my face paint! But anyways... we wandered around for a while, coming across some very strange exhibits (see below), and eventually decided we needed food, so we went in search of crepes. A word of advice, my friends: when in desperate need of a crepe at 2:30 in the morning in Paris on Nuit Blanche, do not settle for the bonbons guy reheating them on the Petit Pont. Wait to get to Saint Michel where they're actually making the crepes fresh and they don't taste like cardboard.
People kind of dropped off one by one, and a friend and I walked back to my place, eventually getting to bed at around 4. So, not the literal Nuit Blanche (all-nighter) experience I was hoping for, but it was a good time nonetheless.
And then this morning I met a friend at the market down the street. People, I have never been so excited for food purchases in my life. Figs? Check. Peaches? Check. Fresh, amazing-smelling basil? Check. Garlic? Green beans? Dried fruit? CHOUCROUTE THAT I CAN JUST HEAT UP TONIGHT FOR DINNER? CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK!! Granted, it's a little more expensive than the supermarket, but once in a while, why not? When in Rome... I mean, Paris....
Pictures:
The crowd (sorry it's blurry):
I can't even explain what this was. It's in a church, obviously, and it was really weird/trippy/creepy:
Just what I've always wanted! A giant, glowing, papier-mâché jack!
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Maladroit
Last night I went to a friend's boyfriend's place for what the French call a "party," celebrating the addition of one of the roommate's girlfriend to the apartment. I think it was actually the first time I hung out with a group of French people my age - no, wait, second time. I almost didn't go because I was tired, but mainly because I didn't want to have to walk home by myself at who knows what hour, even though I know my neighborhood is fine. I think it might have had more to do with changing metros at Place d'Italie, which I avoided anyways because I didn't want to have to go through winding tunnels and staircases by myself. I left with a friend, anyways, and the only trouble we had was a pair of guys outside the stop at Nation who kept saying "excusez moi, les filles, excusez moi, les filles... oh, elles ne speak pas French." I think I'm almost over the metro trepidation, especially since I'm not on line 13 anymore (i.e. sketchiest line ever).
The party was...awkward. It was Me, two other American girls, a Columbian girl, and a whole bunch of French people, one of which reminded me immediately of Napoleon. Everyone was really nice, it's just that it's hard to strike up conversation with people you don't know in a language you don't really know how to express yourself in. [Sidenote: in our Advanced Workshop in Contemporary French last week, the professor (teacher?) started arguing with us about how we're all francophones, and my main argument for why we were reluctant to think so was that we're not the same people in French as we are in English because we can't express ourselves the same way.] People asked the same general questions, about our previous experience in France, what we're going to do when we're done, etc. etc. We talked a little bit about Rugby - apparently France is going to lose on Saturday, but we're going to make a big deal about the game anyways. We didn't talk at all about politics - well, a teensy bit about communism, but I think after Sarkozy was elected, the French have been much more hesitant to verbally attack Americans for electing Bush, hence greatly reducing political conversation. (Although it's fairly safe to assume that students studying in France aren't really Bush supporters.)
Even though it was kind of weird, and I'm sure everyone there thought we were strange and antisocial, I think I'd like to do that again - hang out with French people, that is. It not only gives me something to do and makes me feel like a normal, social human being, but it also helps a lot with my French. I've spent far too much time holed up in my apartment, WITHOUT A TV or anything to do. I think it's high time I grow up and get a life. I will NOT be pinkslipped out of a group like I was two years ago. I refuse to let it happen again. This city is far too lively and the people far too sociable for me to let it pass by a second time. Mouffetard, here I come.
The party was...awkward. It was Me, two other American girls, a Columbian girl, and a whole bunch of French people, one of which reminded me immediately of Napoleon. Everyone was really nice, it's just that it's hard to strike up conversation with people you don't know in a language you don't really know how to express yourself in. [Sidenote: in our Advanced Workshop in Contemporary French last week, the professor (teacher?) started arguing with us about how we're all francophones, and my main argument for why we were reluctant to think so was that we're not the same people in French as we are in English because we can't express ourselves the same way.] People asked the same general questions, about our previous experience in France, what we're going to do when we're done, etc. etc. We talked a little bit about Rugby - apparently France is going to lose on Saturday, but we're going to make a big deal about the game anyways. We didn't talk at all about politics - well, a teensy bit about communism, but I think after Sarkozy was elected, the French have been much more hesitant to verbally attack Americans for electing Bush, hence greatly reducing political conversation. (Although it's fairly safe to assume that students studying in France aren't really Bush supporters.)
Even though it was kind of weird, and I'm sure everyone there thought we were strange and antisocial, I think I'd like to do that again - hang out with French people, that is. It not only gives me something to do and makes me feel like a normal, social human being, but it also helps a lot with my French. I've spent far too much time holed up in my apartment, WITHOUT A TV or anything to do. I think it's high time I grow up and get a life. I will NOT be pinkslipped out of a group like I was two years ago. I refuse to let it happen again. This city is far too lively and the people far too sociable for me to let it pass by a second time. Mouffetard, here I come.
Monday, October 1, 2007
The Toilet Saga, continued!
So, for many of you, this will be the first you're hearing about the catastrophe that was my toilet (water closet) over the weekend. Let me quickly recap, although nothing could capture what happened.
Thursday: came home, found leaking pipe, etc. Then, water started pouring out of the pipe and I had to leave my apartment because A) I needed a functioning toilet and B) it was not clean water. Gross. I called the landlord, who wasn't picking up his phone, so my pseudo-landlord's assistant left a message for him. I crashed at a friend's.
Friday: Group excursion to Vaux-le-Vicomte. It was rainy out, so that didn't help anything. My pseudo-landlord (Chuck) called at about 10:30 saying it would be fixed by the time I got home. So, I got home, and nothing was fixed. It was actually worse. I fled once again to a friend's house, and my actual landlord (Steeve) came by and assessed that there was nothing that could be done until Monday. Fantastic!
Saturday: Steeve came by and said he would try to at least stop the problem from getting worse. I guess he did, because when I came back on Sunday to make sure no disaster had happened, it hadn't.
Sunday: Nothing happened with the toilet, but France kicked Georgia's ass in the Rugby World Cup, moving into the quarter finals. YES!!!
Monday: PROBLEM FIXED. At least for now. The pipes are still exposed, but that should be fixed soon. I just don't know when.
Ok, so typed out, it doesn't look as dramatic as it was. But imagine coming home to find a bucket of dirty water accumulating on top of a toilet, stinking up my apartment like the most disgusting metro stop after everyone's been on a bender (people who live in Paris will get this). It was totally uninhabitable. Even if I'd had water and a working toilet, there was no way I could stay here with the stench. But it's mostly gone now - I just need to leave the windows open a little longer, and it should be fine. PLUS! They washed my towels for me! I mean, they didn't wash them the way I would have liked them to wash them, considering they spent the better part of a week on the floor soaking up a mixture of urine, water, and wall shavings, but still! I'll just wash them again tonight and all will be well.
I'm going to go enjoy my apartment now. Did you know you can actually claim insurance benefits for "perte de jouissance" (loss of enjoyment)? I may actually try that. Oh, and I think I can get government aid for rent. Thank you, remnants of socialist France. Thank you oh so very much.
Thursday: came home, found leaking pipe, etc. Then, water started pouring out of the pipe and I had to leave my apartment because A) I needed a functioning toilet and B) it was not clean water. Gross. I called the landlord, who wasn't picking up his phone, so my pseudo-landlord's assistant left a message for him. I crashed at a friend's.
Friday: Group excursion to Vaux-le-Vicomte. It was rainy out, so that didn't help anything. My pseudo-landlord (Chuck) called at about 10:30 saying it would be fixed by the time I got home. So, I got home, and nothing was fixed. It was actually worse. I fled once again to a friend's house, and my actual landlord (Steeve) came by and assessed that there was nothing that could be done until Monday. Fantastic!
Saturday: Steeve came by and said he would try to at least stop the problem from getting worse. I guess he did, because when I came back on Sunday to make sure no disaster had happened, it hadn't.
Sunday: Nothing happened with the toilet, but France kicked Georgia's ass in the Rugby World Cup, moving into the quarter finals. YES!!!
Monday: PROBLEM FIXED. At least for now. The pipes are still exposed, but that should be fixed soon. I just don't know when.
Ok, so typed out, it doesn't look as dramatic as it was. But imagine coming home to find a bucket of dirty water accumulating on top of a toilet, stinking up my apartment like the most disgusting metro stop after everyone's been on a bender (people who live in Paris will get this). It was totally uninhabitable. Even if I'd had water and a working toilet, there was no way I could stay here with the stench. But it's mostly gone now - I just need to leave the windows open a little longer, and it should be fine. PLUS! They washed my towels for me! I mean, they didn't wash them the way I would have liked them to wash them, considering they spent the better part of a week on the floor soaking up a mixture of urine, water, and wall shavings, but still! I'll just wash them again tonight and all will be well.
I'm going to go enjoy my apartment now. Did you know you can actually claim insurance benefits for "perte de jouissance" (loss of enjoyment)? I may actually try that. Oh, and I think I can get government aid for rent. Thank you, remnants of socialist France. Thank you oh so very much.
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