Another Weekend

Spring has begun to show its icky side. It has rained quite a bit the past few days, and I really haven't been in the mood to post. But here's what I've been up to since Friday.

Saturday, I spent all of the day at the municipal library doing research on Montesquieu. They summon books for you, and you can use their private student room to study. It's quite fantastic, actually. In my research, I got to work with this beauty:

This very book was published in 1874. That's right: I handled a book that's over 130 years old! I felt so scholarly leafing through its aged pages. Needless to say, it smelled fantastic. And I felt like I had to be super delicate with it, lest I ruined an antique.

After all day at the library, I felt like I deserved a reward. So Robert and I went out to Le Welsh and had some fantastic Murphy's Stout (better than Guinness, no joke) as well as some beer that's produced directly in the region called La Piautre... and it was delicious.

One of the things I love the most about Le Welsh is how ecclectic it is. Within its walls you'll find a lot of dragon imagery, a Rolling Stones clock, Kermit and Miss Piggy, a trophy with a dodo bird on top, and many more random accoutrements... including a cat!!! We're not sure what its name is, but this cat is super chill (it has to be if its going to live in a bar).

Robert and I meandered through the centre ville after draining our glasses, talking about our spring break adventures and life in general while scoping out new restaurants to discover after he comes back from Morocco. It was a very enjoyable evening and I will definitely be sharing Le Welsh with more friends.

Since that great evening, I don't believe that I have left the house. It's been icky and my friends have been online. Plus, all the research I need is at my desk, so why venture into the wet? I still have a lot more research to do, and the discovery of Twin Peaks really hasn't helped my concentration at all. We'll see what the rest of the week brings.

More Spring, More Awesome

It's finally the weekend!!!

My week since I posted last has been filled with cloudless days and perfect weather.

Class has gone well, and my Montaige class really boosted my confidence. I had written a commentaire composé (a really techical, structured paper) for this very difficult class. I got it back with compliments!!! I thought I had totally bombed it, but all was well :)

All other classes have gone normally. The weather has swept me away. Everything smells like spring and joy and beauty and new things. Each day, I've been taking the long way home. If the weather continues, I will be exploring all of the local parks. Even though i've bee nreally hitting the books hard, I've never felt happier or more alive in my time here. It might be the spring. It might be being over AJ. It might be all the fresh produce that is now in season. It might be that I have realized how much my French has improved. Whatever it is, it's going to keep me in amazing spirits for quite some time.

Last night, my friend Trey and I went to this amazing little bar called Le Welsh. It is by far the best bar for beer in Angers... and the best bar for beer that I have ever seen. All the beers are delicious, and range from Gelgian, German, Engilsh, American, and French varieties. It's impossible to go wrong with anything there. And the amount and quality is great for the price. Trey and I played a few games of chess and he told me the story of how he met his wife. Trey is 22, but he has been married for a year now. He and his wife met on a mission trip in Wales when he was 18. The day they met, they spent the afternoon exploring a castle. It makes for a great story. And you really never do know who you'll end up with. It's a wonderful story that's given me hope.

I'm definitely going back to Le Welsh soon.

Today, after class, I rode my bike to the library. It was my first bike ride in a while.. and it was sooooooooo refreshing!!! I need to bike around more often, I've decided. I had a very productive afternoon studying in the library until close. I've found great resources for my sizeable project on Montesquieu. Things are really looking up for me and I'm planning on making sure that everything continues that way. My host parents aren't here this weekend, so me and Manon have the house to ourselves. Not sure what I'm going to do, but it will include more studying.

Good Times

Springtime in France.

It is impossible to be sad or anxious or worried about anything. Now that the week has started, I should technically be working... but I've caught spring fever.

The morning was spent in the library doing research, but even that couldn't get me down. I found some great sources! Lunch was delicious, and sitting outside reading in the afternoon just made things wonderful.

The electrician was working on the house all day, which kept me off the internet. This American Life was as inspiring as always. I went to my class, and felt good about myself and my work. Didn't really nail the "examen blanc", but Prof. Prouteau took us through what she was expecting of us. Now, I feel very confident and self-assured... for that exam, at least. The work load hasn't eased up at all, and I dread Wednesday's classes, but the sun will still be out and my French will still improve. All is good. No, all is great.

After my class, I was invited out by two friends to grab some coffee. We meandered through the centre-ville to an adorable gourmandise that's rapidly becoming my favorite. I got an espresso, one got a hot chocolate, and the other got a caramel-chocolat torte. I sampled both... and it was everything that anyone could ever want from either. Here are a few demonstrative diagrams:

The conversation was wonderful and new friends are always fantastic. We swapped St. Patrick's Day stories and tales about fun nights back home and here. Oh, it was a great time.

Once home, Benoit, Manon, and I all sat down for dinner. The conversation was very lively today, and somehow, Justin Bieber got brought up.

You may hate me for this, but I had to do it... after dinner, Manon and I plopped down in front of the family computer to watch Rebecca Black's pitiful excuse for a song in one of the worst music videos ever: "Friday". It felt so great to laugh about it together and to translate how hideous it was for Benoit. "Yesterday was Thursday; today is Friday (we so so so excited!)" are terrible lyrics in any language.

Now, it's back to homework and episodes of "How I Met Your Mother". My 2 and a half months that I have remaining will not go by in vain. Spring is here. And I plan to make the most of it.

The First Day Being Better

I woke up.

I wrote an email.

I realized that it didn't hurt anymore.

Today was the first day that I have been okay with being single. I am ready to move on. The universe knew that I was ready today, so it made sure that the weather for an early spring afternoon in France was perfect. The air smelled fantastic from all the flowers in bloom. Anne and Benoit had spent all morning in the garden, planting flowers and vegetables. I love not having a dryer durring this weather: all my clothes hanging outside are going to smell so wonderful in the morning. Sipping coffee from an oversized mug, Poupousse at my feet, listening to the caucaphany of windchimes and birdsong and child's play and growing things made me feel so at peace, so in love with life. Yeah, it was an amazing zen moment.

Later that afternoon, Anne invited me to take a walk along the Loire river with her and her Thai friend Noe. The day greeted us with a smile. The view was spectacular, the air fresh, and the walk amazing. I don't think there's anything as French as taking these walks on a sunday afternoon. The path along the Loire that we took is an old dockway that comes right up to the back entries of castles and country houses. It's so cool to peer into the beautiful yards of those who live along the riverbanks and dream of one day owning a house like that. We also passed public gardens, horse pastures, and open fields. One of the best things about Angers is that it takes a 10 minute drive to spend a day in the country. And not a corn-soy-corn-corn-corn-lookmorecorn kind of way, but in an overgrown vinyard, rambling roses, lush grasses kind of way. Walking along the Loire, taking the time to meander barefoot through the long grass, I found peace. I'm on a great adventure, and nothing more is going to weigh me down.

Refreshed from the wonderful walk, I was ready for a great meal. Pappi and Mammita had invited me to a dinner at their house. I felt so honored! They live right across from the military school in Angers and have the most fabulous house. It's filled with all of these old paintings and photographs, antique furniture, and accents of their travels abroad. It is beautiful enough to be a museum, but comfortable and intimate enough to be the perfect grandparents' house. Pappi and Mammita are in great shape. Their bedroom is on the third floor, their kitchen on the second. They still use the stairs regularly, and don't really have an option. The evening was wonderful and the food was good. I had this rum aparatif that was called "shrube" or something to that effect from Guadeloupe that was absolutely delicious, and Mammita had made the best tomato soup I have ever eaten. The company was delightful. Pappi entertained us all evening-- as well as anyone who called on the phone-- with a singing tie that he had been gifted that Christmas. I was very sad when the evening came to a close, but Pappi and Mammita have opened their doors to me whenever I need it, as did Noe earlier that day. Life is grand. And I have faith that what is coming next for me-- on any and all fronts-- will be wonderful.

St. Patrick's Day: FRANCE

I spread the Irish-American tradition. And I'm proud of it.

St. Patrick's Day was a Thursday like any other... only with a lot more green (almost completely on the part of the exchange students). I had dinner with the family, then headed out to a tiny Irish pub on a side street called The Inishmore. I met my friend Trey there, and we had an amazing time! It was packed with lots of French, Irish, Americans, and British people. Everyone came out to celebrate an excuse for drinking.

Even though Angers is a small city, there are at least 7 irish pubs. No joke. This one was founded by Irish folks who are still the barkeeps. Everything on tap is Irish (except Heinekin) and there is a plethora of hard cider to choose from.

A live band spent much of the evening playing mediocre music, but they were great tunes that everyone shout-sang along to, holding their beers in the air. 3 Beatles classics were to be had (with missing verses... but I was a little to far gone to call them on thier blasphemy). My personal favorite was the Proclaimers' classic "500 Miles". Towards the end of the evening, I met this guy named Matthieu. He was really into me and bought me some Guinness. We hung out until the bar kicked us out, then we went to his appartment for a bit. He gave me a mellow belgian beer, and we talked. We talked until 6am. Then I walked myself home just as the birds were beginning to sing.

It was a super fun evening! The great tradition of St. Patrick's Day can hold its own here in France. Oh, and I got a free hat:

Yes, I am going to treasure it for St. Patty's Days to come. They were giving them out for free at the Inishmore, and I just had to take one. Rediculus? Yes. Worth it? Totally!!!

Old Love is Better

I have been hearing all about Pappi and Mammi ever since my arrival. They spend the winter months after Christmas in Guadeloupe. Since spring has sprung across Europe, they have made their return. And last night, they joined us for dinner.

I'm not sure what I was expecting... perhaps an image of my own grandparents in their French forms. That's not what I was greeted with. M and Mme Bertrand are both very tall, and look older than I was expecting. Both wear large, thick glasses that magnify sartlingly blue eyes. Kind and talkitive, Pappi and Mammi were ready for a fantastic dinner and some good company. Pappi did most of the talking.

Halfway through the dinner, Manon turned to Pappi and asked him how he met Mammi.

When he was 17 years old, Pappi spent his summer vacation with his married sister in Belgium. One evening, he and his sister went to a local dance club for the evening. And that's the first time he saw her.

Mammi was sitting with her parents and a group of her friends at a nearby table. Every chance he got, Pappi glanced her way. His sister nudged him in the small of his back, telling him that he'd better dance with that girl. Nervously, he went up to Mammi and asked her to dance. She said yes. And they danced the waltz together. 52 years later, they are still supporting eachother through what life brings.

When I imagine this scene in my head, I picture an elegant black and white film. Manon even commented that it was "just like in the moves". Their story of love began so sweetly and so simply. Perhaps everyone wants a beginning like that. And it was obviously a successful beginning with a happy history, continuing to be a story worth hearing.

The Mission is now Possible

Ladies and gentlemen, all of the rumors are true:

France is better for you. Period.

There is not a doubt in my mind about it, now. Being in France makes you sleep better, you eat healtier, and you get more excercise without even trying. As a consequence of all of these combined factors, I am losing weight. I'm turning into a skinny French bitch!!! It's awesome. Mission: Sexy Body is officially a go.

Why do I sleep better?

Honestly, I don't know. It might have something to do with the fact that my brain is working in overtime every day with the whole bilingual thing. It may be from all of the walking I do. Whatever it is, the sleep makes me feel fresh and ready for another glorious spring day.

Eating healthier is part of the French lifestyle.

Small breakfasts are common. I usually just have tea and a yogurt (even though I boosted it up to a complimentary pain au chocolat yesterday before my 9am exam). Lunch is the bigest meal of the day, and when I make it at my host family's house, it consists of a plate filled with vegeterian protien, plenty of water, and a heaping fresh salad to finish it off. Oh, and fresh fruit for dessert. Fruits and veggies are cheaper here and taste so much better. Everything's grown in the region (with some off-season exceptions) and the French eat seasonally. These next few months are going to be great foodwise. I find many of these noon meals becoming vegan, which is fine by me, as my host family likes a lot of cheese for dinner. We all eat together, and have our main dish and vegetables. Next comes a heaping plate of salad, then bread, cheese, and wine. Smaller portions all around and a balancing of all the elements make for healthy living.

How does one get excercise without even trying?!

Answer: you walk everywhere. Or you bike on your free bicycle from the local government. Regardless, you get where you need to go by burning extra calories. Round trip to the grocery store: 15 minutes. Walking to class: 7 minutes. Enjoying the beautiful French spring: take as long as you like. Today after my examen blanc, I went meandering by foot for 2 and a half hours. All of the flowers are in bloom and it got up to 68 degrees today. I just HAD to go out and enjoy it! The trees lining the boulevards shower petals on you as you walk by... it's so idyllic.

On these meanderings in the centre ville, I may or may not have ventured into some boutiques, and may or may not have tried on some clothes. Remeber that drama about my thighs? Yeah, that has already cleared up for the most part... in less than 2 weeks! And the same sizes fit better... some even too big! To be safe, I'm going to wait until the week before spring break to invest in clothing, but the way things are headed, it's going to be a pleasant thing :)

Moral of the story: come to France. It's good for you.

New Perpectives

One of the best things about this whole study abroad experience is, without a doubt, my host family.

My first exam was today. Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck. My only form of solace is that these exams can't hurt me, but only help me. Still, 4 hours in a stuffy room with native speakers who are kicking more as than you without even trying is a bit disconcerting.

My second one is tomorrow afternoon, but i'm not nearly as nervous for two reasons:

I am resigned to barely surviving academically

Dinner was so delightful that I realized that my experience here is more important than any academic credits my exhausted brain could muster at this point in time.

Not only has my host family been willing to edit my papers for me and gently correct my speech, but their personalities go along with mine in a way that I feel like this is my home. After a bad day, they always have a way of cheering me up and making me forget about homesickness, pressure, and stress. They also really incorporate me into their family life and traditions. Today, they asked me when my birthday was, and said I could choose what we would eat on that day and Anne would make me the dessert of my choice as well. So here's the question: crème brûlée or mousse au chocolat? Clearly, I have some serious thinking to do.

In addition to all this love, our genuinenly invested conversations enrich my understanding of French people and culture, and it's a great way to get a fresh perspective on global events. The ritual surrounding the sharing of dinner with the family has had a great impact on me durring my stay. I'm eating very healthily and burning calories at the same time from all the laughter. Tonight was especially wonderful. A guest appearance by Charlie livened the mood more than usual, and Anne and I had a marvelous conversation for a whole 45 minutes comparing French and American news broadcasts, passport registration processes, medical systems, work ethic, and presidential connundrums. Oh, it was fantastic! And one of the best parts was that I was able to communicate all of my ideas to her in a way that she was able to understand... IN FRENCH!!!

I must be getting better at it than I thought.

A new perpective on my own linguistic development has also been noticed. Beginning in February, I noticed that I no longer translated French into English and back again in my head. This phenomenon has been exponentially increasing in occurence! I'm very happy with myself. It's gotten to the point that I only translate in my head when I'm searching for a word or expression. Regular conversation and most thoughts are nothing but French. My brain surprises me sometimes.

Those are the new developments on this end. I'll try to include more pictures when relevant in my next posts.

A Month of Sundays

So... I haven't posted in quite a while. I apologise. Blame being overwhelmed.

Each day after my lovely vacation simply drags on into a lonely abyss of reading and work and being inadequate. Those surprise exams aren't helping matters much.

There have been some bright spots in this sea of endless trial.

On Friday, my class went alright, but what happened next was better:

I GOT TO TALK TO MY LOVELY FAMILY VIA SKYPE!!!

My GOD, it was exactly what I needed. I have realized that I am not over AJ at all, and earlier this week has been a haze of work interrupted by an overwhelming need to break down and cry. But talking to my grandma, my mom, and my adorable sisters made things so much better. When I came down later in the day, my host mom said that she heard me laughing, and that it was wonderful. She said it cheered her up just listening. I guess I'm good for something :)

Later in the evening, Trey and I followed through with our master plan to met a whole bunch of other ERASMUS students at this amazing Indian restaurant downtown. It was a great time. The food was most excellent, and the company was delightful. Guest countries include Mexico, Columbia, Greece, Lithuania, Germany, Finland, and the United States. My meal was super delicious:

Yeah, I know you're jealous.

Afterwards, a group of us headed over to a tiny Irish pub on a small side road where there was a couchsurfing meeting.

For those who are not in "the know", couchsurfing is an online organization one can sign on with and basically stay in the homes of places one is visiting for free. Several of my friends here have utilized this organization for trips to Wales, Bretagne, and Portugal. They had nothing but glowing reviews and it does seem a great way to truly get to know the area.

The meeting was a bunch of fun. The bar was tiny, but the company was amazing (Franglais was spoken the majority of the time) and I discovered a new light beer that I like. The evening was a great success, even though I got home at 2am and it was bitterly cold on the walk home and i had to wake up the next day to study.

After a Saturday filled with studying and the obligatory grocery shopping and the French rugby team losing to Italy in Rome (their first loss ever to Italy in the history of the league), the day wasn't going so hot. The chocolate mousse my host mom made perked things up around lunchtime (note: I need to get that recipe from her). The afternoon was consumed by work, and the evening was counsumed by a lovely famly dinner with both my host brothers coming by for Benoit's birthday celebration. That's right, my host dad will be 49 years young on Monday. After the meal, I was exhausted and couldn't even bring myself to go out again.

Today has been -- guess what?!-- full of work. Enthralling, right? I have a sore throat that won't go away, so a nap this afternoon was called for (it should also be noted that Rousseau may or may not have been putting me to sleep). Dinner was delicious, as usual. But the news broadcast was anything but cheerful. Thoughts going out to Japan as their Hell comes in threes (earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster) as well as to Lybia (where a civil war is quickly spawning). And at this very moment, I am listening to NPR podcasts and typing this out for y'all in a desperate hope that my work will do itself.

A Government Summons

Getting back to work this week has been exhausting. All I want to do is go back to Paris and meander about like I did durring my vacation. But, alas, the show must go on.

My one slolace in this long trek before Easter break is the planning for it. My friend Robert and I will be exploring the south of France!!! How awesome is that?! Our ferries between Nice and Corsica, our hostels and hotels, and our flights have been resered already. Robert came over Monday night and we sat down to planning. It took about 3 hours, but it was awesome and well worth it and now i cannot wait until spring break!!!

Besides that, classes are... well... let's just say that they happen. There are midterms next week that we did not find out about until this week. They told us there would be some, but did not give us the date or time until yesterday. Giant pain in the butt. That aside, the good news is that these exams don't count for anything. They're a practice test to gage how you are doing, and if you need to miss the final in any class that an "examen blanc" has been taken in, you won't fail! It can only help you, which is good.

For the first time in my life, I find myself praying for scraping along the bottom. Usually, I excel at what I am doing and shoot for the top. But now, I'm not even shooting for the middle. I'm praying with the rest of my exchange student classmates that we don't fail. A 10/20 would be a good enough score for us. That way, the credits transfer. Don't get me wrong: this experience is phenomenal and I wouldn't change it for the world, but it has turned out more difficult than expected. You know what? I'm fine with that. I'm working hard and doing my best, and that is good enough... if I pass all my classes.

In other news: I know that I haven't written in a while. I am sorry. It's simply been overwhelming on this end. But a funny thing happened to me as soon as I got back from vacation. A letter came for me while i was away, summoning me to Nantes for a medical exam to finalize my "carte de séjour" process. With this magic piece of paper in my passport, I can travel anywhere outside of France I want, and they'll let me back in to continue my studies! The possibilites are now virtually endless. I can go visit friends in the UK, Marocco, Spain, Kenya... ANYWHERE!!! That's out of the way, but I had to go all the way to Nantes to get it done, and I missed two classes (one of which I was supposed to be giving a presentation in). But when the government tells you to be somewhere, you do it.

The train ride is only 35 minutes and it's super cheap. Nantes-- or what I briefly saw of it-- is lovely. The OFII office was impossible to find, but I made it there in time for my appointment. They took an x-ray of my chest, and I had to see a doctor. It was the usual: medical history, eyesight, weight, height... nothing overly embarassing. They just want to make sure I'm not about to have a medical catastrophe on their watch.

In the waiting room, I met a lovely older woman named Diana from Australia (note: when I say "older", I mean 69 years of age). We really hit it off, and got a bit to eat after our appointments and rode the train back together. She's a delight, and my half a day spent waiting and being examined ended up being a lot of fun and a wonderful way to pass the time.

Tomorrow, back to work even more hardcore than usual in an attempt to catch up and study for exams. But what can you do? When the French government summons you to an appointment to allow you to stay in their wonderful country, you do it.

French Men Let You Know You're Beautiful

It's gonna take a while until I get to the title of my post but, trust me, it is relevant.

My second to last day in Paris started like every day in Paris: lazy with a lot of walking to look forward to. On exiting the appartment, I went searching for an elusive restaurant called Guen Mai around St. Michel. Did I find it? No. Did I find another amazing Asian place that was super delicious? Yes.

It got the job done for meal 1 of the day... and that is all that matters. Next, it was off to see some more dead people and-- guess what?-- walk around a lot. TOMS are amazing when traveling.

To get my fix on the famous and deceased, I headed for this lovely building:

The Panthéon is located near the Sorbonne and was originally commisioned as a basilica by Louis XV, king of France. After the Revolution, it was transformed into a secular homage to France. It's kind of offsetting just how patriotic this building is:

All those statues are of famous French revloutionary encounters, nude depictions of Liberty (the secular goddess of the French), or figures of French heroes and intellectuals. The only remnants left of the church can be found on the murals painted all along the walls that depict the saints and religious glory of France. Here's one of my faves:

Yes, that is Jean d'Arc kicking some ass. Each mural is huge, and tells the whole story of the importance of these saintly individuals. Below this magnificent display, winding stairs lead to the crypt, where the heroes of France have been burreid... for the most part. Within these mostly empty chambers (waiting for another revolution, I suppose) one can find Victor Hugo, Voltaire, J.J. Rousseau, Alexandre Dumas, the Curies, and many others. It's truly fabulous to see, and worth the visit.

After this adventure, I went walking all around the University of Paris area and stumbled across the National Mideval Museum. While I did not go inside, I did meander through the mideval garden open to the public. Spring arrives in France the first of March. Everything was green and beautiful. That's one of the things I adore about Paris: there's a gorgeous hidden garden within 5 blocks of where you are standing at ay given moment... you just need to find it.

After thoroughly enjoying that small garden and walking a lot more, I took the metro to the Galeries Lafayette-- the first one. It's immense! 7 stories in the main building (there are 3 sizable buildings) housing such brands as Tiffany's, Prada, Louis Vutton, Dior, and Dolce & Gabana. It's immense and gorgeous. I couldn't leave the most luxurious department store ever without getting something, so I got this:

MY FIRST EVER WATCH!!! I don't like watches as a general rule, but the time has come to make une a permanent accessory. Part of entering the adult world, I guess. I found this beautiful timepiece among the immense jewelry section. It is descrete and elegant enough to distract from the fact that it controls my life! I love it. First watch = great success.

After this little-- and slightly pricy-- excapade, I made my way to the Champs-Élysée for some mediocre pizza and a very funny french film: Rien a Declarer. It was the cherry on top of a great day.

Returning home, I hung out with Perrine and Sofia and the friends they had over. It really was a great evening.

The next day-- my last day-- started just as lazy and as late as all of the others. What can I say? I was on vacation!!! Rising later than usual, I took a walk along the Seine to the Louvre... but the line was way too long. I said to myself, "screw this!" and waked through le Jardin Tuileries again to the Musée d'Orsay. The line was much more reasonable, admission was free, and I was absolutely starving. What is more elegant than fine dining in one fo the world's premier art museums with a fabulous view of Paris? Not much. Meal 1 of the day came very late, but it was delicious and savoured. On my third visit to the Musée d'Orsay, I began to feel... well... bored. This is really embarassing to admit. I love art and truly appreciate it, but there was something about that afternoon that left me uninspired by most of the things I saw (except Rodin, the furniture collection, many of the other sculptures, and Monet). Perhaps it was all the obnixious tourists. Perhaps it was the fact that several wings ere closed for renovation. Maybe it was ennui. Whatever it was, it did not go away at my next stop.

It took some configuring and a bunch more walking, but I figured out how to catch the metro to Pere Lachaise. This cemetery is the largest in Paris. It's absolutely sprawling:

Yeah, immense. Many famous people are burried here: Cezanne,, Seraut, Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Molière, Jim Morrison, George Sand, and Fredrich Chopin. I put on my cemetery music (Iron and Wine's new album, as well as Endless Numbered Days) and went wandering. I was exhausted, so meandered very slowly, which is unlike me. Pretty soon, a very heavy feeling overwhelmed me along the beautiful pathways of Pere Lachaise: a deep, infinite loneliness. I felt so unbelievably alone that I had to sit down. The feeling did not pass until I went to a nearby café for dinner and a waiter began hitting on me. Montesquieu provided some comfort as well (note: always carry books with you). Dinner was good, and I took my time about it.

Around 7:30, I entered the metro again, blasting Passion Pit to maintian the joie de vivre that I had found again after my stent of solitude. After the transfer at Reamur Sebastopol onto my line, I ended up sitting across from a gorgeous gentleman with olive skin and deep brown eyes. He kept trying to catch my eye, and when the metro car cleared out a bit, he began talking to me.

Mohamed is a tunisian who works at a bakery. He showered me with compliments and was genuinely interested in what I had to say. He continued riding with me to the end of the line-- four stops after his own-- just so he could talk to me. First mark, then Mohamed?! What was it with French men telling me I was beautiful and being genuinely interested?

My ego greatly boosted and a smile spread across my face, i encountered Sofia and Perrine just as they were entering the appartment with groceries. We had a wonderful time chatting and drinking in their appartment until after midnight, when we decided to go out to an Irish club with a very cosmopolitain feel to it:

This was my first ever clubbing experience... and it was super awesome and so much fun! The music was great and all I wanted to do was dance. Many men asked me to dance and treated me like a goddess. Oh, it was wonderful fun. Lucien was my last dance partner of the night. He had been watching me the whole evening and hadn't said a word. So... I did something I've never ever done before EVER: I asked him to dance with me. And it was great. He was very nice and very much the gentleman. Every single man that paid me attention told me I was beautiful and did not want me to leave Paris the next day.

What is it about French men? I'm more popular here than I ever have been in the States. My current theory is that the French are not afraid to let you know how beautiful you are. Alterior motives or no, there is no denying that being called "beautiful", "queen of the evening", and "the most striking person on the dancefloor" does wonders for the confidence. When all is said and done, it was a great way to say adieu to Paris.

Now I'm back in Angers, not ready to return to work, but very much in love with life.

The Recompense and the Right of Glory

Woke up late and lazy yesterday. Dawdled over tea and biscuts, the braved the world.

This particular day was a day where I decided to get in touch with my Catholic roots... at least that's how it started. What ended up happening was an all-day reflection on the inevitability of death, and how we deal with that in life.

The first stop on this journey was, of course, Notre Dame de Paris. I had never visited it before, and I just had to see it.

I entered the heavy wooden doors and was confronted with flocks of tourists... while there was a mass going on. It felt wrong to take pictures, so here's one I found of the internet to give you a taste of how immense and beautiful this place is:

Traversing with the other tourists felt really odd. The mass was in full swing, and the echo of the numerous whispers and exclamations of the hundreds of visitors alomst drowned out the service. It was as if no respect was given for the intended, practicing function of the magnificent structure. It made me want to cry, really. Another thing that irked me to no end was the gimmecky aspect to it all. There were at least 3 gift shops, and those souvenir token machines dispersed everywhere around the cathedral. The image that automatically came to mind was Jesus casting the merchants out of the temple. Yet the tourists must be appeased, I suppose, and the church needs its money.
Exiting back out into the beautiful day, I headed straight for the crypt beneath the courtyard of Notre Dame. There, you can find battlements and foundations dating back to the Gallo-Roman period. Paris is very old, and it all started on the island where Notre Dame was built. It was neat to see the different layers of history: Gallo-Roman, Middle Ages, Renaissance, and then additions made up into the 18th century, when some of the walls the Romans built were still in use. I was lead to this neat place under false pretenses, however. I wanted to see the catacombes. The lady at the front desk of the exibit was really nice, and she gave me a map of the city and marked where to find the catacombes.

Off I went.

It was a gorgeous day outside, and in my opinion, that is the ONLY time ANYONE should go into the catacombes. Sound a little counter-intuitive? Imagine you are snaking your way through a series of claustrophobic underground tunnels lined with the bones of the dead, then tell me that you do not want to re-emerge from it into a beautiful early spring day with not a cloud in the sky, happy to be alive. For me, it's all about looking forward to the light of day that awaits you at the end of the journey... at least when visiting the catacombes.

Cemeteries have been emptied here.

Battles have been fought here.

Visitors have come and gone since the 19th century.

Yet the piles of bones in the Empire of the Dead (that is what the section of the catacombes that houses all the corpses are called) continue to haunt.

All of the walls within the Empire of the Dead look like this:

No joke. Sometimes, the skulls are arranged in designs: one wall boasted the outline of a heart made out of skulls near the entrace to the crypt. If your french isn't that good, the plaque above reads that all of those bones are frome the St Etienne Cemetery, and they were moved to their present location in May of 1787. As Paris expanded, the living took prescidence over the dead, and cemeteries were built over to make room for the growing population.

Many of the plaques along the walls hold poetic verses about death or scriptures from classic Greek thinkers or the Bible. I wrote many down, but I will not bore you with them here (plus I do not feel like translating). However, I will share with you where the title of this post comes from. One of the inscriptions reads:

Chaque mortel parait, disparaît sans retour; mais par s’illustrer faites vivre dans la mémoire: voila la récompense et le droit de la gloire!

Translation: Each mortal perishes, disappears without return, but his image comes alive in the memory; here is the recompense and the right of glory

Emerging into the light of day felt wonderful. The living can only pass among the dead for so long.

Next stop: Montmartre.

This is my favorite place in the city and I wanted to explore it alone. I made a bee-line for Sacre Coeur. I have visited this chapel every time I have been to Paris, and each time it manages to take my breath away. While construction on Notre Dame began in 1116, Sacre Coeur's origins are from the 1870s. The centuries spanning the difference between the two is evident in the architecture and the art. I prefer Sacre Coeur. There was no mass going on, the tourists were much quieter and more respectful, and absolutely no photographs allowed. I found one online for you, however:

It's guilded mosaics are all over the place, and the stained glass windows are fantastic. I felt much more comfortable here than in Notre Dame. There was only one book store, and it was all about Catholocism... and run by nuns. The kiosks for souvenir coins were not in the chapel, but outside it. Because it is less touristy, it is more authentic.

Thus ended my religious stint for the day, and I decided to meander about my favorite places on Montmartre that I rememberd from when I was 16.

In my wanderings, I stumbled across the Salvador Dali Museum.

That's right.

And it was awesome! Over 300 original works by the madman himself.

He was an active artist until his death (1989) and daubled in furniture design and sculpture, as well as book illustrations. Here are a few of my faves:

The 4 euro entry fee was totally worth it!

How does this fit into my theme? Simple: surrealism is a way to deal with reality. Branching off of Existentialism (thanks, Albert Camus), it is a movement that acknowledges that everything happens... but there is no reason. The absurdity of existence leads these souls to expressing that anguish in a very phenominal way. And Salvador Dali is just awesome. Charlie Sheen could take a few cues from this character. Two of Dali's most famous quotes:

"I am surrealism!"

"I don't do drugs. I am drugs."

I am going to leave you with these absurd thoughts and go explore Paris some more. Only 3 more days left in this wonderful city!

Paris: the city where anything goes

So... I haven't posted in a few days. You could say I was exhausted after meandering through the city, or you can classify it as laziness. I will allow you to decide for yourself.

Here is what you missed in my life:

The last day of February, I found myself meandering through the Jardin Tuileries. It's a beautiful, long garden which connects the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, and l'Orangerie. Each little nook is either filled with the marble figure of one Greek god or another, or astonishing modern works. It took me a very long time to wander through most of this beautiful place. There are also four restaurants, several carrousels, a playground, and lots of fountains. This is what the Louvre looks like from behind the grand fountain:

Yeah, it's absolutely immense. That arc with all the gilded work? It's about 50 feet tall. And it's a good ways away from the Louvre itself. Just to give you some sort of idea of why a single visit to the Louvre for an art lover is futile.

I did not visit either the Louvre or the Musée d'Orsay that day. Instead, I made for l'Orangerie after meal one (side note: best tiramisu ever). L'Orangerie is the site of Monet's Nymphéa series. For those of you who aren't up on the history of it, these are ENORMOUS panels (8 exactly) that cover the walls of two large oval rooms. Monet spent 20-something years working on these masterpieces and the museum was not openned until he was finished. It's truly amazing! I have visited Giverny twice (Monet's house and giant gardens) and to look at the paintings feels exactly as if you were on a boat in the middle of his Japanese lake, taking in all of the beauty that surrounds you. Then again, that was his intent all along. The basement of l'Orangerie houses some beautiful works by Renoir, Picasso (early-- none of that cubist stuff), Cezanne, and many others. Oh, it was fantastic!!!

After exiting the museum out onto the Place de la Concorde (oh yeah, that's right!), I was struck by this:

So this is where the French have been hiding Rodin's "The Kiss". I stood there, staring at it for a good five minutes before I could bring myself to moving on. This piece is so well known that it may be kitch to many, but it will always be sublime in its naked honesty and raw emotion in my eyes.

Next was a walk traversing the Place de la Concorde. The Champs-Élysée is just a bit of a walk from there, and that was my end goal. On the way, however, I was distracted by (what else?) a shiny object on the horizon. "Ooooh! Perhaps it is the Panthéon!" I thought to myself excitedly, so I made a beeline for it, taking this picture from the bridge that I crossed:

Alas, all that walking away from my final destination was for naught. I had stumbled upon les Invalides. The gold dome that resembles so greatly the last resting place of Rousseau and Voltaire and many others was, in fact, the tomb of Napoleon and the attached museum on the military history of France. I had already visited Napoleon's tomb and it wasn't worth doing a second time. I had never seen the museum, but war really cramps my style (the general tendancy of non-violent activists, I find) and I wasn't about to pay to see the evolution of the tools and techniques that the French used to kill other people. Here's what it looks like before you enter (notice the gold spire indicating Napoleon's final resting place):

About-face for me, and I walked back over to the other bank of the Seine to continue my sojourn to l'Arc de Triomphe.
I reached the Champs-Élysée with tired feet and a bladder that was about to explode, so I purchased a movie ticket because I could satisfy both needs (side note: the lack of public restrooms in France is rather distressing and irritating, and you're not allowed to use the restrooms in establishments unless you pay for the food; some places-- *cough* Starbucks *cough*-- have coded locks on the doors with the code printed on the reciept). I ended up seeing Les Femmes du 6e étage, which was nothing short of fantastic.

Upon entering the real world again, I did what every person does along the Champs-Élysée: WENT SHOPPING! This did not last long, however. The first short dress I tried on have halted all of my clothing shopping indefinitely. Talk about poor self-esteem moment. I regarded myself in the mirror and the only thing I could see or think was, "whose thighs are those?! they are not mine" but mine they were. Ugh. No more new clothes in France for me... or possibly ever until I get my act together.

After that painful interlude, I made it to l'Arc de Triomphe, where there was a military ceremony honoring WWII vets going on. It was cool to see, but more military things only made me depressed. I opted to treating myself to a designer wallet on my way to the metro because my old one was falling apart on me and I'm on vacation, so why not?!

After getting out of the metro station, I bought myself dinner to make in the appartment that evening (veggie soup and a whole carton of strawberries for dessert). All was well with the world after a little bit of sleep... although I detest my thighs. That's not going away ever.

The first day of March was an ego-boosting day. The universe sensed that I needed it. The day was absolutely gorgeous, so I headed to my favorite part of the city: Montmartre. The highest point in Paris, it is also the most beautiful:

This is Sacre Coeur-- Sacred Heart Basilica-- and it's absolutely gorgeous inside. I explored the garden below it for a bit, then stopped to listen to a harpist. It was gorgeous and I sat myself down on the stairs to listen some more. A man plopped right down next to me and began talking, introducing himself as Mark and confusing me for a native speaker. When I told him I was American, he was absolutely floored. He then proceeded to recount his life's story and offered to show me around. I agreed, of course. It's not every day that one recieves such an offer from a Parisien.

He took me through all the neighborhood gardens, showed me the vinyard on Montmartre, told me of the music and wine festivals there, directed me to the café from the film Amélie, guided me through the cemetery, and directed me by this:

That's right: I had never seen it before. Here you go!

After that, he bought wine and cheese and olives and apples and bread and we had a picnic in the park right below Sacre Coeur. Afterwards, he offered to show me around some more, and we ended up on the stairs of the operahouse. He was showering me with compliments and telling me I was beautiful. That was all well and good... until he tried to kiss me on parting. Aw, HELL NO! Sorry, Mark, but no. However, I do have Mark's phone number and email. Not sure if I want to hang out again, though. We shall see. It was flattering, none the less.

After this, I headed all the way across town to get my hair cut. It is short! And I love it. Pics to follow, worry not.

For dinner, I went with Sofia and Perrine to a friend's appartment for a lovely girl's-night-in. Flor was a wonderful hostess. It was her going-away party, as she is leaving for Portland, Oregon on Friday and will be living and working there for the next six months. Snacks and pizza and all was well with the world.

Today, I felt a little under the weather this morning and stayed in the appartment all day watching movies and playing sudoku... riveting, I know.

I was feeling much better by the evening, and went out with Sofia and Perrine to the greatest mexican restaurant ever! Seriously, it was scrumptious. It's called Casa Palenque, and while the guacamole left something to be desired, my principle dish was superb. Nothing short of perfection. It was as if the Aztec gods had blessed me with their own personal source of nourrishment. And 3 hours later, I still couldn't eat another thing.

On the way home, we sat next to a man with a sketchbook and a brush pen. He was sketching faces on the train and they were beautiful. His next subject was... me?! Oh, it was flattering on so many levels. Perhaps my face will become a part of a greater work, or maybe it will never leave the pages of that sketchbook. Regardless, being someone's model for a few minutes was exhilirating.

Anything goes in Paris.

Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!