I know I've already blogged once today, but I have a little extra free time before I head to bed, so I thought I'd share my post-dinner conversation with my host mom, Isabelle. I'm not entirely sure of how the conversation started, but Isabelle informed Shawna of all sorts of important things that we simply do not learn in school.
On groups of Americans: In Isabelle's opinion, groups of two are best. Less than that, when someone is all alone, is obviously bad. Any more than two or three becomes like an American bubble. The same person will always order. The same person will always talk. The group will feel safe, and therefore continue to do things "the American way." The group will be more likely to be disruptive, loud, and an easy target. Donc, two or three is a perfectly sized group.
On French/American relations: The French do not hate the Americans. Of course there are things that Americans do that the French certainly don't agree with, but that doesn't immediately imply a hating relationship. That would just be silly. Isabelle instead sees the relations between France and the United States like a grandmother/grandchild relationship. Of course grandmothers are always criticizing the grandchild (don't wear that, always cover your chest, button your sweater, don't get a tattoo, don't stay out too late, you're acting too old for your age, etc). However, no matter the amount of "criticism" a mother gives, she still loves her grandchildren. It's like that between France and the United States. Compared to Europe, America is the baby of the political world. Americans take European "criticism" personally, and see it as a direct attack against their country. Isabelle explains that it simply isn't like that.
On strange cultural differences: One thing that Isabelle found particularly strange about Americans was "flag-wearing." Apparently, this is a bit of a taboo in France. In America, Isabelle says, you will find people wearing t-shirts bearing the American flag, or patriotically dressed people, or little American flag pins, etc. For Americans, this is not strange at all...it is simply an expression of patriotism. In France, however, the same is not true. You will not find a French person wearing a shirt displaying the French flag, nor a pin, not even a scarf. A little detail, but a big cultural difference.
On the foreign experience: Before dinner, Isabelle called Shawna and me into the kitchen to explain how to make hot chocolate the French way. This seems like a little thing, but again, it's the little things that make a big difference. After dinner, Isabelle explained more why she had called us in. So many foreign students, Isabelle says, can learn language just fine from books and classes and "emersion." However, she finds that so many don't truly get a cultural experience with their host families. Maybe they'll talk, sure, but that's not all that's necessary for true emersion. Instead, Isabelle believes in an "exchange." An exchange of ideas, of stories, of traditions. For example, it's great to climb the Eiffel Tower, and take a train to Nice, and take a bus to the Mediterranean Sea, and to visit this museum and that monument...but what of that can you really take with you other than pictures? Yes, pictures are great, and yes, it will be nice to return to the United States with better language skills...but there's so much more that. Isabelle wanted Shawna and me to be able to return to the United States, buy some cream from the grocery store, find some pure cocoa at a cooking store, and make some hot chocolate the French way. And when we did so, we could share it with our own families and friends, and always remember her and our experience in France.
On political assumptions: Let me begin with an incredibly reductive political breakdown. The French like Clinton and Hilary. The French don't particularly like Bush...both of them, really. The French love Obama, and even a few have Obama/Biden bumper stickers. Moving on. Let me reference a previous point about the French hating Americans. Like I said, that is not true. However, there are some political misunderstandings that could have perhaps aided in the creation of this idea. The French consider themselves quite different from the Swiss, or the Italians, or the English, or of course the Americans. This is a common thing, and is not questioned at all. However, America is such a big country that it is hard for the French to truly comprehend how many different types of people there are contained within the same country. When the American government makes an unpopular decision, this decision is "blamed" on all of the Americans, despite the vast amount of different opinions that Americans inevitably have. For those who live in such small countries, it's hard to comprehend the vastness of America and the diversity of political opinions. Although America itself may have made a political assertion, the French sometimes forget about the millions of people who disapprove of that decision.
On European traditions: Europe is old. End of story. Because of the age of the continent, traditions tend to seem somewhat outdated. For example, dining etiquette. Clothing etiquette. Street etiquette, etc. However, while these things may seem silly sometimes, Isabelle continually reinforced that the French are more open to "important" things. Yes, they're kind of stuck in their ways about dining, but when they are faced with a difficult situation, they are open to it. Isabelle attributes this attitude to the immense amount of trauma Europe as a continent has faced in its past. Europe's extensive history is filled with wars, famine, plagues, droughts, strife, etc. Since they are experienced, Europe is better equipped (at least mentally) to deal with new world problems, such as environmental issues or human rights, even if their traditions seem outdated.
On religion: Isabelle finds it strange that despite the fact that organized religion "started" in Europe, it's the Americans that practice it. In America, says Isabelle, parents almost "force" their children to go to church. Church elders will look after the congregation. I'm sure many people have received a phone call from a church member after skipping a Sunday or two asking "where have you been?", as if you're skipping class like an unruly school child. In Europe, apparently, this is not the case. Going to church is more on a personal basis.
On French taboos: According to Isabelle, there are only three major French taboos. 1: Do not talk about religion in polite company. 2: Do not talk about money (unlike the Americans). And 3: Do not over-patriot-ize oneself (for example, by wearing a French flag).
On stereotypes: Isabelle refuses to make generalizations, because she finds that they're generally wrong. For example, many Americans think that all the French eat is baguettes, and all the French drink is wine. Isabelle never drinks wine, and rarely serves it at meals. Also, many French think that all Americans eat hamburgers. Isabelle, however, realizes that there are quite a few Americans (such as myself) that really don't eat red meat. Stereotypes, although they often have a small basis, will inevitably be wrong in many situations. Stereotypes ignore circumstantial details, personal opinions, individual tastes, and diverse people. They are thus incredibly reductive, and it's a poor choice to rely on them to immediately judge someone.
On the two sided nature of things: Isabelle repeatedly referred to the two-sided nature of life. So often, she says, the good side is only a hair away from the bad side. Let me give a few examples. Freedom is good, of course, but it brings problems. It's good to pay attention to politics, but then again it's bad to take politics personally. It's good to have traditions, but it's bad when traditions become constricting, etc. Basically, having a singular, judgmental world view is to miss things just a centimeter away from one's immediate perception.
Well, I think that's enough Isabelle wisdom for the night. Sorry that got kind of long, but I just wanted to share. Bonne nuit.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I am blessed to have a set of drawers.
Greetings! As my title so affectionately proclaims, a set of drawers is truly one of the best things thus far. Living out of a suitcase, although somewhat exotic and fun for about 20 minutes really sucks once you have to start moving around. Although leaving Paris was sad, I'm so glad to be in Avignon, where I have drawers, a vase, a tea pot, and a bed. It's pretty much heaven.
For those of you who do not have a facebook or have not yet seen my Paris albums, here are the links:
The first half:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007113&id=1417500098&l=f7921ccab0
The second half:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007114&id=1417500098&l=09746be873
Since I did my best to recount my Parisian adventure while I was on my train ride to Avignon, let me give you a small taste of what I've experienced thus far in beautiful Southern France.
We arrived on Friday, and stayed in L'Hotel Magnen, which was quite nice. Unfortunately, the French apparently don't believe in outlets, so four girls had to share a grand total of one socket. It was a bit of a problem. Oh well...it was worth it just to have internet again! I had felt so disconnected from the world. After having eaten nothing but a baguette all day, the OU students got to have a spectacular dinner (and free wine). I know it sounds cliché, but the French really do take their food seriously. My dish (the name of which I cannot recall) was quite spectacular in all respects. It was delicious, beautifully presented, and the perfect amount of food. After dinner, I went with a few other students to the Irish pub (O'Neil's), a place highly recommended by Nicky. There, I met Rémy and tried a demi fraise (aka: fruity beer). Not bad, and certainly cheaper than Paris. Sheesh.
Saturday was mostly taken up by walking in the rain. Christophe took us on a relatively unhelpful tour of the city. To get out of the rain, we ducked into a small museum for a few hours that ended up being somewhat interesting. It was dedicated to the collection of M. Jacques Doucet, a very famous collector of art. He was among the first to recognize and collect painters like Degas (my fave). Anywho, enough on that. Saturday night after a little shopping at H&M (yes, there's an H&M in Avignon), we got to meet our host families. I won't go into detail just now about the family, but know that it was WAY stressful. Not in a bad, way, of course, but in an overwhelming way. It'll take a few days to really get acclimated to everything, of course. I'm sure that I'll really enjoy it in the Lestrelin household, though. Last night the two boys (Thomas and Hugo) had a band concert, so Shawna and I decided to go. The boys (and Marie, one of the girls), attend a music school. It was so adorable seeing them get into the music...they are both quite enthusiastic percussion players. =]
As for my new house...please, feel free to be jealous.
This is a slightly blocked few of the front of my house. It's over 100 years old, and straight up gorgeous.
This is the entrance way to the house. When I have the chance to take more pictures of the general living area, I will. Nicky was right when she said that it was just like a Home&Garden house.
My room. The curtains are the perfect color and they cast a wonderful light on the room.
My bedside table, which frankly looks too good to be true. It was so nice to wake up, turn over, and see a baguette and a bowl of fruit.
And here is a general view of the city. It's not the best picture, but it kind of gives you the sense of the city. I'll take more (of course) when the weather is better for photography.
Again, there is SO much more I could say, but I have other things I need to get done before dinner tonight. I wish you all a pleasant evening!
For those of you who do not have a facebook or have not yet seen my Paris albums, here are the links:
The first half:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007113&id=1417500098&l=f7921ccab0
The second half:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007114&id=1417500098&l=09746be873
Since I did my best to recount my Parisian adventure while I was on my train ride to Avignon, let me give you a small taste of what I've experienced thus far in beautiful Southern France.
We arrived on Friday, and stayed in L'Hotel Magnen, which was quite nice. Unfortunately, the French apparently don't believe in outlets, so four girls had to share a grand total of one socket. It was a bit of a problem. Oh well...it was worth it just to have internet again! I had felt so disconnected from the world. After having eaten nothing but a baguette all day, the OU students got to have a spectacular dinner (and free wine). I know it sounds cliché, but the French really do take their food seriously. My dish (the name of which I cannot recall) was quite spectacular in all respects. It was delicious, beautifully presented, and the perfect amount of food. After dinner, I went with a few other students to the Irish pub (O'Neil's), a place highly recommended by Nicky. There, I met Rémy and tried a demi fraise (aka: fruity beer). Not bad, and certainly cheaper than Paris. Sheesh.
Saturday was mostly taken up by walking in the rain. Christophe took us on a relatively unhelpful tour of the city. To get out of the rain, we ducked into a small museum for a few hours that ended up being somewhat interesting. It was dedicated to the collection of M. Jacques Doucet, a very famous collector of art. He was among the first to recognize and collect painters like Degas (my fave). Anywho, enough on that. Saturday night after a little shopping at H&M (yes, there's an H&M in Avignon), we got to meet our host families. I won't go into detail just now about the family, but know that it was WAY stressful. Not in a bad, way, of course, but in an overwhelming way. It'll take a few days to really get acclimated to everything, of course. I'm sure that I'll really enjoy it in the Lestrelin household, though. Last night the two boys (Thomas and Hugo) had a band concert, so Shawna and I decided to go. The boys (and Marie, one of the girls), attend a music school. It was so adorable seeing them get into the music...they are both quite enthusiastic percussion players. =]
As for my new house...please, feel free to be jealous.
This is a slightly blocked few of the front of my house. It's over 100 years old, and straight up gorgeous.
This is the entrance way to the house. When I have the chance to take more pictures of the general living area, I will. Nicky was right when she said that it was just like a Home&Garden house.
My room. The curtains are the perfect color and they cast a wonderful light on the room.
My bedside table, which frankly looks too good to be true. It was so nice to wake up, turn over, and see a baguette and a bowl of fruit.
And here is a general view of the city. It's not the best picture, but it kind of gives you the sense of the city. I'll take more (of course) when the weather is better for photography.
Again, there is SO much more I could say, but I have other things I need to get done before dinner tonight. I wish you all a pleasant evening!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
For Lack of a Better Title: Paris
March 27, 2009 BLOG
Bonjour à tous. I realize that my last blog gave little to no actual detail about what I’ve done in France thus far. You now all know that you should look both ways before crossing the street in France and acquire a taste for strong coffee and macadamia nut flavored vodka, but I thought I should be a little bit more specific with my experiences in Paris. Besides, I’m on the train to Avignon right now, and I simply have nothing else to do (other than read The Count of Monte Cristo, which is far too academic for my level of fatigue right now).
Where to begin...where to begin. I haven’t a clue where to begin. I suppose Monday would be a good place to start, even though it feels as though it were a year and a half ago.
Monday I left my house and headed to the airport. I won’t report on the details of this, because they really aren’t that interesting. Personally, I find no problem with this relatively unexciting time. It was much better to be bored on my three hour layover in New York than to be running around frantically trying to find my missing passport (or something of the sort). No, the only truly eventful thing that happened was on Tuesday morning in the Charles de Gaulle Airport when Zoe mysteriously went missing. However, to be honest I can barely recall this time. I was far to exhausted to formulate memories.
After figuring out the whole transportation ordeal and arriving safely at our hostel (barely arriving safely...again, French drivers are terrifying), we decided to head out. At the suggestion of a random French guy (whose name I never learned) with whom I was speaking outside a café near our hostel, we headed to Notre Dame. I won’t relay all the details, my pictures will be far more adequate. All that really needs to be said is that Notre Dame surely is famous for a reason. The artwork was sublime, really. From Notre Dame we went to the Bastille, which frankly isn’t all that impressive. It was pretty, yes, and Paris did a good job installing good lighting. It is also interesting due to its connection with the French Revolution, but seeing it from across several lanes of traffic wasn’t exactly awe inspiring. No matter though...I have now seen the Bastille. Famished, we decided to eat something. We wound up near Notre Dame where we settled down at a nice restaurant (whose name I cannot recall). The entire back room was lined floor to ceiling with stacks of books. Needless to say, I was delighted. Our waiter was quite charming, and recognizing that we were American, defiantly proclaimed that he did not speak English. He was very helpful as we bumbled over difficult words and tried to figure out what Vitell is (it’s bottled water, for all who care). He did speak English, however, but he was delighted to help out a few students whose purpose in France was to learn French. I also would like to mention that at this particular restaurant I ordered my first legal alcoholic beverage. Unfortunately, due to an order mix-up, I never received my first legal alcoholic beverage, but no matter. By this point we were too tired to function, so heading back to the hostel early was a perfectly acceptable option.
Wednesday. Wednesday began with a knock on the door from Adam, reminding us that we did in fact need to eat breakfast. Sakinah, Catherine, and I (who were sharing a room) were all surprised that the night had passed so quickly. It was honestly one of the best sleeps I have had in years (and it wasn’t in any way chemically induced!). Breakfast was included with the hostel price, and we learned for the first time that all the stories about French breakfasts are true...bread = meal. At least it was good bread. Still a little groggy, we took a while to get ready. It didn’t help that my straightener had been fried the day before, and that my hair was a wretched mess. After some bumbling around and a few cups of coffee from the nice cafe down the street, we headed to Les Champs Elysées. Due to our incredibly sore legs, we were smart enough to buy an all day pass for the metro. A better decision has never been made. After a short and uneventful ride, we popped out in the center of the world...Les Champs Elysées. Perhaps that was an overly presumptuous statement and Les Champs Elysées aren’t truly the center of the world, but it did seem as though absolutely everything was on the most well known avenue in Paris. We took a brief jaunt through Louis Vuitton and all loathed our light pocketbooks (especially when we found adorable 2000 euro dresses). Our walk down the avenue led us the L’Arc de la Triomphe, which was surprisingly large and magnificent. Our stomachs led us to find food on Les Champs Elysées, and a brief awkward cafe moment led us to Quick (aka: French fast food). I must say, however, that French fast food is far superior to anything McDonalds could dream up. Now that our stomachs were satisfied, we were tempted into Virgin Paris. Much to our surprise and utter delight, we walked into an acoustic Metro Station concert. Yes, you should all be jealous. I saw Metro Station...live...acoustic...in Paris...in Virgin. I took many, many pictures. Beaming, we decided to leave after Adam bought Dark Side of the Moon in vinyl and Metro Station pleased the crowd with Shake It. (We all shook along to Shake It.) After watching Metro Station, we headed back to the metro station to catch a train to the Eiffel Tower. In the best interest of our wallets, we decided to take the stairs to the second floor. Yes, we saved a few euros, but the second floor is 668 stairs up. My legs still hurt. Despite the terrible climb and the biting wind, the experience definitely had more positives than negatives. I got quite a few good shots from the first and second floors and the very top of the Eiffel Tower and I smoked cloves on the top. Also, as mentioned in a previous blog, the French are attractive. The line for the elevator was quite a savory experience (no, I’m not shallow). As hard as it was to leave our French and Italian and Croatian darlings, we were frigid, so we descended. Our dinner consisted of crepes from a very good place right across from the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, we were accosted by street vendors selling glowing Eiffel Towers. Like I said before, “non, merci” translates to “yes, I would like to buy 35 of your glowing Eiffel Towers.” It’s exhausting. Licking the chocolate from our lips from the delicious crepes, we made our way back to the metro and then back to the hostel. Although we were all quite fatigued, the night was not quite over. While wandering around, someone had found a Scottish bar very near to our hostel. We decided to check it out. It ended up being quite fantastic. The bar tenders were lovely, and at one point poured out a shot of macadamia nut vodka for each of us. It was truly the smoothest vodka I have ever tasted. Nothing compares. We laughed, we spoke Frenglish, and we made good friends with the Scottish bartender, David. We went to bed happy.
Thursday, we didn’t exactly wake up happy, mostly because of Wednesday. Our legs were aching from the walk up the Eiffel Tower and our bodies were sore from fatigue. Regardless, Catherine and I decided to get a move on the day and take advantage of our last hours on Paris. We took the metro again to l’Opéra Garnier (where The Phantom of the Opera is set). I cannot describe to you my excitement. Having been obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera since the age of seven (ask my parents, it’s true), actually visiting the opera house was a dream come true. I realize that sounds cliché, but no matter. After far too many pictures and astounded sighs and oos and ahhs, we left the opera house with smiles on our faces. Starving, we decided to look for food. Catherine and I stumbled awkwardly into a cafe far too nice for our tastes, but we ended up staying for fear of looking even more awkward. Give the high prices of the entrées and the plats, I ended up having a black coffee for lunch, and Catherine ate yogurt. It’s no wonder the French are so darn skinny. Our appetites not entirely satisfied, we moved on anyhow, hoping to do some shopping. I spotted a Rug Shop across the street and I just had to stop in (I have a random obsession with well made rugs...it’s a long story). Then, while walking down the street, we saw a few adorable dresses displayed in a window. We casually walked in and, much to our surprise, were greeted by Zavia, the French fashion designer. She has designed for Vogue, had a dress in the 2005 Miss America pageant, has worked with Bon Jovi, and is in the process of designing a dress for a princess (like, a real princess with a real title and a real country). It was absolutely astounding. She was the kindest woman and told us her story and her rise to fame. I won’t go into all the details just now, but please ask. I’d love to tell the story in further detail. I must mention, however, that Zavia let us try on gorgeous velvet capes. As Catherine likes to say, “très chic.” When Catherine and I met up with the others at the Louvre, we were beaming. We were so happy we decided to get out of bed instead of lounging the morning away. We then visited the Louvre as a group, but only Katie, Adam, and I stayed after seeing the Mona Lisa (or La Jaconde en français). The Louvre is horribly overwhelming, and it immediately exhausted me, but it was nice seeing certain classics. I’m more a fan of Impressionistic and post-Impressionistic painting, but I did manage to seek out the sole Degas painting in the Louvre. Although we could have stayed for hours longer, the Louvre closed at 5:30, so we headed back to the hostel to freshen up before dinner. I was supposed to meet Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle in Montmartre to see Moulin Rouge and Sacre Coeur, but I unfortunately lost my room key. Although I would have liked to see the north side of Paris, I had quite an interesting experience instead. While sitting in my room listening to Radiohead and blogging, I heard a sharp knock on my door. Thinking it was Adam seeing when I wanted to go to dinner, I answered, only to find five French boys standing in front of my door, looking awkward. Our communication was slightly fragmented, but we talked for quite some time. It was hilarious. They invited me to go out with them, but I told them I was going to the discotheque with my American friends, and that they were welcome to come with us. We parted ways and I immediately ran to Adams room, proclaiming, “I found French boys!” (Again, no, I am not shallow.) After some more blogging and some power naps, Katie, Adam, and I went to dinner at a restaurant close to our hostel. I ate la salade niçoise (finally) and had a very good glass of Merlot. We were met by Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle back at the hostel and we prepared to go out to the Scottish bar again and then to a discotheque. It gladdens me to know that the French will in no way find it strange when someone wears Chucks with a dress (as I did on Thursday night). There was live music and good company at the Scottish bar, and after a coctail/beer/wine each, we said goodbye to David, our friend the bartender. Wednesday night David had decided that I seemed like a “leader,” and apparently holding the same sentiment on Thursday night, he gave me a set of detailed instructions. The discotheque to which we were going was right next to an Irish bar, apparently owned by a friend/rival of David’s. I was instructed to go to the bar, ask for Ricky, and flick him off. I did as I was told. I found Ricky at the Irish bar playing pool in the back room. Telling him I had a message from David, I flicked him off. We each received free shots of caramel vodka. We reveled in general merriment for a little while and then walked next door to the discotheque, where we all danced like maniacs. Noticing the time, however, we had to run to the metro station in order to catch the last train before the metro shut down at one in the morning. Unfortunately, much to our dismay, the last train from La Bastille to St. Paul had just left. We proceeded to get incredibly lost and run around the streets of Paris. Realizing the incredibly dangerous nature of this situation, Kyle and I asked a restaurant doorman how to find our hotel. Although we arrived after the 1:00 am curfew, we were let back in the hostel and happily found our beds.
This morning (Friday morning) was a little bit depressing. It was sad saying goodbye to our French friends and our friends at the local cafes and shops. However, fruit, bread, train tickets, and coffee having been purchased, we had to head to the train station at Gare de Lyon. Similar to my airplane ride, nothing too traumatic happened. Sakinah managed to get herself and her bag stuck in the ticket machine and I was attacked by a pigeon, but other than that we found no problems getting on the right train and having our tickets stamped. Now I sit, moving very quickly through the French countryside, blogging.
I apologize for this being an atrociously long blog. Most of you probably didn’t want to know about my experiences in this much detail, but oh well. It’s your right to read or not to read. For now I think I am going to go back to reading The Count of Monte Cristo and perhaps snack a little on le pain brioche that I bought at a Jewish Bakery this morning. I will communicate with you all at a later date. (That reminds me, I will be getting on Facebook sometime within the next two days. For all the posts that I have seemingly been ignoring, don’t take it personally. I simply have not had internet access for five days.)
Passez une bonne journée, tous.
Bonjour à tous. I realize that my last blog gave little to no actual detail about what I’ve done in France thus far. You now all know that you should look both ways before crossing the street in France and acquire a taste for strong coffee and macadamia nut flavored vodka, but I thought I should be a little bit more specific with my experiences in Paris. Besides, I’m on the train to Avignon right now, and I simply have nothing else to do (other than read The Count of Monte Cristo, which is far too academic for my level of fatigue right now).
Where to begin...where to begin. I haven’t a clue where to begin. I suppose Monday would be a good place to start, even though it feels as though it were a year and a half ago.
Monday I left my house and headed to the airport. I won’t report on the details of this, because they really aren’t that interesting. Personally, I find no problem with this relatively unexciting time. It was much better to be bored on my three hour layover in New York than to be running around frantically trying to find my missing passport (or something of the sort). No, the only truly eventful thing that happened was on Tuesday morning in the Charles de Gaulle Airport when Zoe mysteriously went missing. However, to be honest I can barely recall this time. I was far to exhausted to formulate memories.
After figuring out the whole transportation ordeal and arriving safely at our hostel (barely arriving safely...again, French drivers are terrifying), we decided to head out. At the suggestion of a random French guy (whose name I never learned) with whom I was speaking outside a café near our hostel, we headed to Notre Dame. I won’t relay all the details, my pictures will be far more adequate. All that really needs to be said is that Notre Dame surely is famous for a reason. The artwork was sublime, really. From Notre Dame we went to the Bastille, which frankly isn’t all that impressive. It was pretty, yes, and Paris did a good job installing good lighting. It is also interesting due to its connection with the French Revolution, but seeing it from across several lanes of traffic wasn’t exactly awe inspiring. No matter though...I have now seen the Bastille. Famished, we decided to eat something. We wound up near Notre Dame where we settled down at a nice restaurant (whose name I cannot recall). The entire back room was lined floor to ceiling with stacks of books. Needless to say, I was delighted. Our waiter was quite charming, and recognizing that we were American, defiantly proclaimed that he did not speak English. He was very helpful as we bumbled over difficult words and tried to figure out what Vitell is (it’s bottled water, for all who care). He did speak English, however, but he was delighted to help out a few students whose purpose in France was to learn French. I also would like to mention that at this particular restaurant I ordered my first legal alcoholic beverage. Unfortunately, due to an order mix-up, I never received my first legal alcoholic beverage, but no matter. By this point we were too tired to function, so heading back to the hostel early was a perfectly acceptable option.
Wednesday. Wednesday began with a knock on the door from Adam, reminding us that we did in fact need to eat breakfast. Sakinah, Catherine, and I (who were sharing a room) were all surprised that the night had passed so quickly. It was honestly one of the best sleeps I have had in years (and it wasn’t in any way chemically induced!). Breakfast was included with the hostel price, and we learned for the first time that all the stories about French breakfasts are true...bread = meal. At least it was good bread. Still a little groggy, we took a while to get ready. It didn’t help that my straightener had been fried the day before, and that my hair was a wretched mess. After some bumbling around and a few cups of coffee from the nice cafe down the street, we headed to Les Champs Elysées. Due to our incredibly sore legs, we were smart enough to buy an all day pass for the metro. A better decision has never been made. After a short and uneventful ride, we popped out in the center of the world...Les Champs Elysées. Perhaps that was an overly presumptuous statement and Les Champs Elysées aren’t truly the center of the world, but it did seem as though absolutely everything was on the most well known avenue in Paris. We took a brief jaunt through Louis Vuitton and all loathed our light pocketbooks (especially when we found adorable 2000 euro dresses). Our walk down the avenue led us the L’Arc de la Triomphe, which was surprisingly large and magnificent. Our stomachs led us to find food on Les Champs Elysées, and a brief awkward cafe moment led us to Quick (aka: French fast food). I must say, however, that French fast food is far superior to anything McDonalds could dream up. Now that our stomachs were satisfied, we were tempted into Virgin Paris. Much to our surprise and utter delight, we walked into an acoustic Metro Station concert. Yes, you should all be jealous. I saw Metro Station...live...acoustic...in Paris...in Virgin. I took many, many pictures. Beaming, we decided to leave after Adam bought Dark Side of the Moon in vinyl and Metro Station pleased the crowd with Shake It. (We all shook along to Shake It.) After watching Metro Station, we headed back to the metro station to catch a train to the Eiffel Tower. In the best interest of our wallets, we decided to take the stairs to the second floor. Yes, we saved a few euros, but the second floor is 668 stairs up. My legs still hurt. Despite the terrible climb and the biting wind, the experience definitely had more positives than negatives. I got quite a few good shots from the first and second floors and the very top of the Eiffel Tower and I smoked cloves on the top. Also, as mentioned in a previous blog, the French are attractive. The line for the elevator was quite a savory experience (no, I’m not shallow). As hard as it was to leave our French and Italian and Croatian darlings, we were frigid, so we descended. Our dinner consisted of crepes from a very good place right across from the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, we were accosted by street vendors selling glowing Eiffel Towers. Like I said before, “non, merci” translates to “yes, I would like to buy 35 of your glowing Eiffel Towers.” It’s exhausting. Licking the chocolate from our lips from the delicious crepes, we made our way back to the metro and then back to the hostel. Although we were all quite fatigued, the night was not quite over. While wandering around, someone had found a Scottish bar very near to our hostel. We decided to check it out. It ended up being quite fantastic. The bar tenders were lovely, and at one point poured out a shot of macadamia nut vodka for each of us. It was truly the smoothest vodka I have ever tasted. Nothing compares. We laughed, we spoke Frenglish, and we made good friends with the Scottish bartender, David. We went to bed happy.
Thursday, we didn’t exactly wake up happy, mostly because of Wednesday. Our legs were aching from the walk up the Eiffel Tower and our bodies were sore from fatigue. Regardless, Catherine and I decided to get a move on the day and take advantage of our last hours on Paris. We took the metro again to l’Opéra Garnier (where The Phantom of the Opera is set). I cannot describe to you my excitement. Having been obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera since the age of seven (ask my parents, it’s true), actually visiting the opera house was a dream come true. I realize that sounds cliché, but no matter. After far too many pictures and astounded sighs and oos and ahhs, we left the opera house with smiles on our faces. Starving, we decided to look for food. Catherine and I stumbled awkwardly into a cafe far too nice for our tastes, but we ended up staying for fear of looking even more awkward. Give the high prices of the entrées and the plats, I ended up having a black coffee for lunch, and Catherine ate yogurt. It’s no wonder the French are so darn skinny. Our appetites not entirely satisfied, we moved on anyhow, hoping to do some shopping. I spotted a Rug Shop across the street and I just had to stop in (I have a random obsession with well made rugs...it’s a long story). Then, while walking down the street, we saw a few adorable dresses displayed in a window. We casually walked in and, much to our surprise, were greeted by Zavia, the French fashion designer. She has designed for Vogue, had a dress in the 2005 Miss America pageant, has worked with Bon Jovi, and is in the process of designing a dress for a princess (like, a real princess with a real title and a real country). It was absolutely astounding. She was the kindest woman and told us her story and her rise to fame. I won’t go into all the details just now, but please ask. I’d love to tell the story in further detail. I must mention, however, that Zavia let us try on gorgeous velvet capes. As Catherine likes to say, “très chic.” When Catherine and I met up with the others at the Louvre, we were beaming. We were so happy we decided to get out of bed instead of lounging the morning away. We then visited the Louvre as a group, but only Katie, Adam, and I stayed after seeing the Mona Lisa (or La Jaconde en français). The Louvre is horribly overwhelming, and it immediately exhausted me, but it was nice seeing certain classics. I’m more a fan of Impressionistic and post-Impressionistic painting, but I did manage to seek out the sole Degas painting in the Louvre. Although we could have stayed for hours longer, the Louvre closed at 5:30, so we headed back to the hostel to freshen up before dinner. I was supposed to meet Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle in Montmartre to see Moulin Rouge and Sacre Coeur, but I unfortunately lost my room key. Although I would have liked to see the north side of Paris, I had quite an interesting experience instead. While sitting in my room listening to Radiohead and blogging, I heard a sharp knock on my door. Thinking it was Adam seeing when I wanted to go to dinner, I answered, only to find five French boys standing in front of my door, looking awkward. Our communication was slightly fragmented, but we talked for quite some time. It was hilarious. They invited me to go out with them, but I told them I was going to the discotheque with my American friends, and that they were welcome to come with us. We parted ways and I immediately ran to Adams room, proclaiming, “I found French boys!” (Again, no, I am not shallow.) After some more blogging and some power naps, Katie, Adam, and I went to dinner at a restaurant close to our hostel. I ate la salade niçoise (finally) and had a very good glass of Merlot. We were met by Sakinah, Catherine, and Kyle back at the hostel and we prepared to go out to the Scottish bar again and then to a discotheque. It gladdens me to know that the French will in no way find it strange when someone wears Chucks with a dress (as I did on Thursday night). There was live music and good company at the Scottish bar, and after a coctail/beer/wine each, we said goodbye to David, our friend the bartender. Wednesday night David had decided that I seemed like a “leader,” and apparently holding the same sentiment on Thursday night, he gave me a set of detailed instructions. The discotheque to which we were going was right next to an Irish bar, apparently owned by a friend/rival of David’s. I was instructed to go to the bar, ask for Ricky, and flick him off. I did as I was told. I found Ricky at the Irish bar playing pool in the back room. Telling him I had a message from David, I flicked him off. We each received free shots of caramel vodka. We reveled in general merriment for a little while and then walked next door to the discotheque, where we all danced like maniacs. Noticing the time, however, we had to run to the metro station in order to catch the last train before the metro shut down at one in the morning. Unfortunately, much to our dismay, the last train from La Bastille to St. Paul had just left. We proceeded to get incredibly lost and run around the streets of Paris. Realizing the incredibly dangerous nature of this situation, Kyle and I asked a restaurant doorman how to find our hotel. Although we arrived after the 1:00 am curfew, we were let back in the hostel and happily found our beds.
This morning (Friday morning) was a little bit depressing. It was sad saying goodbye to our French friends and our friends at the local cafes and shops. However, fruit, bread, train tickets, and coffee having been purchased, we had to head to the train station at Gare de Lyon. Similar to my airplane ride, nothing too traumatic happened. Sakinah managed to get herself and her bag stuck in the ticket machine and I was attacked by a pigeon, but other than that we found no problems getting on the right train and having our tickets stamped. Now I sit, moving very quickly through the French countryside, blogging.
I apologize for this being an atrociously long blog. Most of you probably didn’t want to know about my experiences in this much detail, but oh well. It’s your right to read or not to read. For now I think I am going to go back to reading The Count of Monte Cristo and perhaps snack a little on le pain brioche that I bought at a Jewish Bakery this morning. I will communicate with you all at a later date. (That reminds me, I will be getting on Facebook sometime within the next two days. For all the posts that I have seemingly been ignoring, don’t take it personally. I simply have not had internet access for five days.)
Passez une bonne journée, tous.
Friday, March 27, 2009
I feel as though every time I attempt to start an online journal or blog, I fail miserably. I am gung-ho for about a week and a half, and then life happens, and I no longer have the time to write about it. However, as I’m doing nothing other than sitting in Adam’s room at the moment, I might as well blog (yes, that is now a verb).
To be honest, I don’t know what exactly to write about. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t done or seen anything...it just means that I’ve done and seen too much to even know where to begin! I suppose I’ll just make a few notes on observations I’ve had thus far of the French people and France itself.
1: There are an abnormal amount of extremely attractive people.
I realize that this is a really shallow place to begin, but I can’t help it. It’s true...everywhere I look there is someone that Adam and I would classify as a “BB,” or “Bon Bon” (aka: a 10 out of 10). Maybe it’s because everyone here seems so exotic, or maybe it’s just a stereotype, or maybe it’s a projection of my internal sexual desires onto the faces of young French men. Or perhaps there truly are quite a few attractive BBs in France. Either way, people-watching is much more enjoyable when the eye’s taste is frequently whetted. Likewise, long lines seem much shorter when there is something besides the ground to look at (namely, attractive Italians...there is a story attached to this, by the way). Again, I apologize for the shallowness of this observation.
2: Bread and coffee is equivalent to a full meal.
Yes, bread counts as a breakfast. And lunch. And perhaps dinner as well if our wallets are feeling particularly light. This is not all together bad. Keep in mind this isn’t a piece of chewy, gets-stuck-in-your-teeth Wonder Bread. It’s good, crispy, please-dip-me-in-olive-oil bread. Baguettes make not only for excellent weapons (yes Tom, that was for you), but for satisfying meals (at least according to the French...I’m not sure yet if I agree).
3: There are more birds than people.
With a population as large as that of Paris, I would not be surprised if this were a true fact. Frankly, I don’t know how they all survive...I know I’m not feeding them. While waiting for my train to Avignon at the Gare de Lyon, a darn mutant Parisian bird actually flew into my head. Yes Alfred Hitchcock, it was scary.
4: Non, apparently, means oui.
No matter how many times I said “no, I would not like to buy a little glowing Eiffel Tower, even if it changes colors and I can get three for one euro” to the men near the Eiffel Tower, they didn’t seem to get the picture. I saw this trend continuing elsewhere in Paris, especially with street vendors. My annoyance with said phenomenon led me to almost run away with a rose from a Middle Eastern man. I will expand upon this story if asked.
5: The French are not snobby, except in the following situations:
if spoken to in English
if not greeted with “bonjour” upon entering the room
while in cars
when selling something
if working in a particularly touristy places
Allow me to give a few examples of the anti-snobby nature I have encountered instead:
the waiter at the restaurant we visited on our first evening here, who pleasantly joked with us and explained how the French tip system works
the men who run the hostel who, despite our late arrival at 1:30 in the morning after running through the streets of Paris, did not lock us out
the man who owns the Scottish bar down the street, who gave us each a shot of macadamia nut flavored vodka on the house
all those who have put up with our terrible French thus far
the woman at Orange who patiently helped us as we figured out our phones
the woman at the pharmacy who explained how to say “straightener” in French (which is an incredibly difficult appliance to describe with minimal vocabulary, by the way)
the French fashion designer who spoke with Catherine and me for over a half an hour (again, if you ask, I will tell you this story)
6: The French + cars = dangerous.
Roads look like sidewalks and sidewalks look like roads. Cars do not stop. Pedestrians right of way simply does not exist. Drivers pay little to no attention to common lane rules. Basically, it’s scary. Look both ways before you cross the street, children.
I could go on and on. My life is one of constant observation (even though some people whose names I will not mention think I’m horribly unobservant). The time I’ve spent thus far in France is like sensory overdrive. I can’t describe all the things I’ve seen, smelled, felt... However, despite my inability to adequately relay my experiences thus far, I hope I’ll be able to give you all a relatively accurate (though slightly skewed) portrayal of my life in France in my upcoming blogs. Jusqu’à là, au revoir!
To be honest, I don’t know what exactly to write about. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t done or seen anything...it just means that I’ve done and seen too much to even know where to begin! I suppose I’ll just make a few notes on observations I’ve had thus far of the French people and France itself.
1: There are an abnormal amount of extremely attractive people.
I realize that this is a really shallow place to begin, but I can’t help it. It’s true...everywhere I look there is someone that Adam and I would classify as a “BB,” or “Bon Bon” (aka: a 10 out of 10). Maybe it’s because everyone here seems so exotic, or maybe it’s just a stereotype, or maybe it’s a projection of my internal sexual desires onto the faces of young French men. Or perhaps there truly are quite a few attractive BBs in France. Either way, people-watching is much more enjoyable when the eye’s taste is frequently whetted. Likewise, long lines seem much shorter when there is something besides the ground to look at (namely, attractive Italians...there is a story attached to this, by the way). Again, I apologize for the shallowness of this observation.
2: Bread and coffee is equivalent to a full meal.
Yes, bread counts as a breakfast. And lunch. And perhaps dinner as well if our wallets are feeling particularly light. This is not all together bad. Keep in mind this isn’t a piece of chewy, gets-stuck-in-your-teeth Wonder Bread. It’s good, crispy, please-dip-me-in-olive-oil bread. Baguettes make not only for excellent weapons (yes Tom, that was for you), but for satisfying meals (at least according to the French...I’m not sure yet if I agree).
3: There are more birds than people.
With a population as large as that of Paris, I would not be surprised if this were a true fact. Frankly, I don’t know how they all survive...I know I’m not feeding them. While waiting for my train to Avignon at the Gare de Lyon, a darn mutant Parisian bird actually flew into my head. Yes Alfred Hitchcock, it was scary.
4: Non, apparently, means oui.
No matter how many times I said “no, I would not like to buy a little glowing Eiffel Tower, even if it changes colors and I can get three for one euro” to the men near the Eiffel Tower, they didn’t seem to get the picture. I saw this trend continuing elsewhere in Paris, especially with street vendors. My annoyance with said phenomenon led me to almost run away with a rose from a Middle Eastern man. I will expand upon this story if asked.
5: The French are not snobby, except in the following situations:
if spoken to in English
if not greeted with “bonjour” upon entering the room
while in cars
when selling something
if working in a particularly touristy places
Allow me to give a few examples of the anti-snobby nature I have encountered instead:
the waiter at the restaurant we visited on our first evening here, who pleasantly joked with us and explained how the French tip system works
the men who run the hostel who, despite our late arrival at 1:30 in the morning after running through the streets of Paris, did not lock us out
the man who owns the Scottish bar down the street, who gave us each a shot of macadamia nut flavored vodka on the house
all those who have put up with our terrible French thus far
the woman at Orange who patiently helped us as we figured out our phones
the woman at the pharmacy who explained how to say “straightener” in French (which is an incredibly difficult appliance to describe with minimal vocabulary, by the way)
the French fashion designer who spoke with Catherine and me for over a half an hour (again, if you ask, I will tell you this story)
6: The French + cars = dangerous.
Roads look like sidewalks and sidewalks look like roads. Cars do not stop. Pedestrians right of way simply does not exist. Drivers pay little to no attention to common lane rules. Basically, it’s scary. Look both ways before you cross the street, children.
I could go on and on. My life is one of constant observation (even though some people whose names I will not mention think I’m horribly unobservant). The time I’ve spent thus far in France is like sensory overdrive. I can’t describe all the things I’ve seen, smelled, felt... However, despite my inability to adequately relay my experiences thus far, I hope I’ll be able to give you all a relatively accurate (though slightly skewed) portrayal of my life in France in my upcoming blogs. Jusqu’à là, au revoir!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
There's Nowhere Else Like It
In response to my last post, I've decided to compile a list of things I actually will legitimately miss. Hudson Health Center is obviously not included.
- looking down and seeing an abnormal amount of converse-clad feet, and other good shoe taste
- having a supply of good coffee at all hours of the day (and night)
- having a question concerning advanced French grammar and immediately thinking of several people who could answer it
- walking by The Other Place store and salivating over the wonderful dresses they always have displayed
- having at least three good burrito places at all hours
- getting free pizza from Good Fella's in the middle of the night
- finding random benches on top of hills
- getting lost and winding up in cemeteries
- walking along the river
- finding amusement by walking down Mill St. or Stewart St. in the middle of the night
- smelling cigarettes/hookah/weed/cloves when walking by any given dorm
- recognizing the smokers that sit outside of their buildings with melancholy expressions on their faces
- commiserating with friends about a common hatred for dining hall food, and avoiding it whenever the replacement is free
- seeing the apparent population of the campus double when the sun shines
- listening to good music all the times
- taking classes which I love (most of the time)
- complaining about papers, but knowing that the work I will produce will be worthwhile
- going to open jam sessions
- playing piano in the middle of the night
- having five milk options for all coffee drinks (skim, 2%, whole, soy, and organic)
- stealing irish cream creamer/cereal/apples/ice cream/muffins/sandwiches from the dining hall, because they overcharge us anyways
- becoming incredibly excited when achieving a free coffee at Donkey, regardless of the fact that 10 coffees were previously purchased to reach this point
- quoting Radiohead songs, having people recognize the lyrics, and responding with the subsequent lyric
- witnessing post-it note covered doors/chairs, newspaper covered beds/chairs, misplaced mattresses, and general shenanigans
- knowing many people who would willingly participate in shenanigans
- running into people I know on the street
- teaching small children (aka: 12 year olds) how to write creatively
- having pinot parties and watching movies
- not remembering the end of movies due to pinot parties
- playing strip p'diddle on the drive from Columbus to Athens
- taking long drives thanks to pharmaceutical crises
- watching Arrested Development and taking long naps instead of studying
- studying for a final simply by listening to music for two days
- doing research for a paper simply by listening to Radiohead for four days
- playing double solitaire in lieu of studying
- considering grilled cheese a full meal
- knowing that the word "holiday" just implies "drinking" (including holidays such as Halloween, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Groundhog Day, National That's What She Said Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving...)
- using the phrase "that's what she said" more than necessary
- replacing the phrase "that's what she said" with "are you talking about your/my penis?"
- overhearing things such as "But I gave up Asians for lent!"
- using the first floor Ellis bathrooms and finding remarkably intelligent graffiti
- not questioning people dancing randomly in restaurants/elevators/public
- paying the piano man in the middle of the night
- knowing the entrances to abandoned buildings, and to the steam tunnels, and to underground caves
- using real-life swords to cut pineapple
- having deep conversations until six in the morning
- writing papers to the light of the feet-lamps at Donkey
- walking around and taking pictures
- using an oven for heat on chilly nights
- taking the Stocker Walk
- being the honorary mother of capitol hill
- needing a pair of vintage ribbed leggings and knowing exactly where to look
- using words like "sprite" and "broom"
- taking friday-evening naps on the Muffin
- walking on college green on warm days
- receiving "12:10?" texts at least once a day
- commiserating with friends on how much we hate life, but love each other
- having incomprehensible inside jokes and code names
- finding new places, and finding new friends
- driving to Ohio University from Dalton and immediately getting the feeling upon arrival that I have arrived "home"
- being accepted for who i am
I'm being too darn sentimental.
Meanwhile, a GIANT pile of laundry is sitting in my living room. It's screaming "FOLD ME!" I should get to that...
- looking down and seeing an abnormal amount of converse-clad feet, and other good shoe taste
- having a supply of good coffee at all hours of the day (and night)
- having a question concerning advanced French grammar and immediately thinking of several people who could answer it
- walking by The Other Place store and salivating over the wonderful dresses they always have displayed
- having at least three good burrito places at all hours
- getting free pizza from Good Fella's in the middle of the night
- finding random benches on top of hills
- getting lost and winding up in cemeteries
- walking along the river
- finding amusement by walking down Mill St. or Stewart St. in the middle of the night
- smelling cigarettes/hookah/weed/cloves when walking by any given dorm
- recognizing the smokers that sit outside of their buildings with melancholy expressions on their faces
- commiserating with friends about a common hatred for dining hall food, and avoiding it whenever the replacement is free
- seeing the apparent population of the campus double when the sun shines
- listening to good music all the times
- taking classes which I love (most of the time)
- complaining about papers, but knowing that the work I will produce will be worthwhile
- going to open jam sessions
- playing piano in the middle of the night
- having five milk options for all coffee drinks (skim, 2%, whole, soy, and organic)
- stealing irish cream creamer/cereal/apples/ice cream/muffins/sandwiches from the dining hall, because they overcharge us anyways
- becoming incredibly excited when achieving a free coffee at Donkey, regardless of the fact that 10 coffees were previously purchased to reach this point
- quoting Radiohead songs, having people recognize the lyrics, and responding with the subsequent lyric
- witnessing post-it note covered doors/chairs, newspaper covered beds/chairs, misplaced mattresses, and general shenanigans
- knowing many people who would willingly participate in shenanigans
- running into people I know on the street
- teaching small children (aka: 12 year olds) how to write creatively
- having pinot parties and watching movies
- not remembering the end of movies due to pinot parties
- playing strip p'diddle on the drive from Columbus to Athens
- taking long drives thanks to pharmaceutical crises
- watching Arrested Development and taking long naps instead of studying
- studying for a final simply by listening to music for two days
- doing research for a paper simply by listening to Radiohead for four days
- playing double solitaire in lieu of studying
- considering grilled cheese a full meal
- knowing that the word "holiday" just implies "drinking" (including holidays such as Halloween, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Groundhog Day, National That's What She Said Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving...)
- using the phrase "that's what she said" more than necessary
- replacing the phrase "that's what she said" with "are you talking about your/my penis?"
- overhearing things such as "But I gave up Asians for lent!"
- using the first floor Ellis bathrooms and finding remarkably intelligent graffiti
- not questioning people dancing randomly in restaurants/elevators/public
- paying the piano man in the middle of the night
- knowing the entrances to abandoned buildings, and to the steam tunnels, and to underground caves
- using real-life swords to cut pineapple
- having deep conversations until six in the morning
- writing papers to the light of the feet-lamps at Donkey
- walking around and taking pictures
- using an oven for heat on chilly nights
- taking the Stocker Walk
- being the honorary mother of capitol hill
- needing a pair of vintage ribbed leggings and knowing exactly where to look
- using words like "sprite" and "broom"
- taking friday-evening naps on the Muffin
- walking on college green on warm days
- receiving "12:10?" texts at least once a day
- commiserating with friends on how much we hate life, but love each other
- having incomprehensible inside jokes and code names
- finding new places, and finding new friends
- driving to Ohio University from Dalton and immediately getting the feeling upon arrival that I have arrived "home"
- being accepted for who i am
I'm being too darn sentimental.
Meanwhile, a GIANT pile of laundry is sitting in my living room. It's screaming "FOLD ME!" I should get to that...
Lukewarm Showers and Slaughter Street
In an attempt to not think about all the things and people that I will miss very dearly during my stay in Europe, I have compiled a list of things I will not miss.
- showers that are just slightly too short and water that turns lukewarm after about a minute and a half of showering
- the 186 stairs which I must climb on my way to tutorial every week
- people who somehow manage to screw up grilled cheese, aka: Jeff
- Renaissance Literature in general, and Edmund Spenser in particular
- the walk to First Street, and of course, Slaughter Street
- getting lost in sub-zero temperatures (see above)
- my freezer, which creaks awkwardly in the middle of the night
- the fact that I have to carry my keys/ID around with me everywhere I go lest I be locked out/abandoned
- driers that tend to eat and/or shrink and/or stretch and/or generally distort clothing
- a student health center that tries to kill its students
- the tuba player that practices two doors down from my favorite practice room, and the pedal that squeaks on my favorite piano
Unfortunately, in the process of compiling this list I found that none of these things are entirely negative. While it sucks to get lost in freezing temperatures on the way to First Street, at least it led us to Slaughter Street, the most ironic street ever. Yes, it's really annoying that my freezer squeaks, but at leas I have one. Not to mention, I have a refrigerator, a sink, air conditioning, and a relatively safe campus. Although walking up the 186 stairs to tutorial is really quite painful, especially on cold winter mornings, at least it leads to an hour of (generally) intellectually stimulating discussion. While the driers do like to warp my clothing, the monster the lives in all driers hasn't eaten too many of my socks. And while Hudson did try to kill me, at least they didn't succeed.
The thing is, I can't really think of a truly negative experience I've had here at OU. I mean, there isn't really anything positive that has come out of lukewarm showers (except for maybe water conservation), but I honestly can't complain. I guess I'm just destined to miss Athens and OU. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.
- showers that are just slightly too short and water that turns lukewarm after about a minute and a half of showering
- the 186 stairs which I must climb on my way to tutorial every week
- people who somehow manage to screw up grilled cheese, aka: Jeff
- Renaissance Literature in general, and Edmund Spenser in particular
- the walk to First Street, and of course, Slaughter Street
- getting lost in sub-zero temperatures (see above)
- my freezer, which creaks awkwardly in the middle of the night
- the fact that I have to carry my keys/ID around with me everywhere I go lest I be locked out/abandoned
- driers that tend to eat and/or shrink and/or stretch and/or generally distort clothing
- a student health center that tries to kill its students
- the tuba player that practices two doors down from my favorite practice room, and the pedal that squeaks on my favorite piano
Unfortunately, in the process of compiling this list I found that none of these things are entirely negative. While it sucks to get lost in freezing temperatures on the way to First Street, at least it led us to Slaughter Street, the most ironic street ever. Yes, it's really annoying that my freezer squeaks, but at leas I have one. Not to mention, I have a refrigerator, a sink, air conditioning, and a relatively safe campus. Although walking up the 186 stairs to tutorial is really quite painful, especially on cold winter mornings, at least it leads to an hour of (generally) intellectually stimulating discussion. While the driers do like to warp my clothing, the monster the lives in all driers hasn't eaten too many of my socks. And while Hudson did try to kill me, at least they didn't succeed.
The thing is, I can't really think of a truly negative experience I've had here at OU. I mean, there isn't really anything positive that has come out of lukewarm showers (except for maybe water conservation), but I honestly can't complain. I guess I'm just destined to miss Athens and OU. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
In a week from tomorrow, I will be leaving for France.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be flying across an ocean for the first time.
In a week from tomorrow, I will cross six time zones.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be speaking French.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be leaving the continent for the first time in my life.
In a week from tomorrow, I will have to say goodbye to my friends, my family, and my cats.
You get the picture.
I have been waiting for a week from tomorrow for months. I have had a countdown on my dashboard since day 98 or something ridiculous like that, and now it's down to 8. A week from tomorrow.
I can't say that I'm not scared, of course. Of course it will be scary to fly across an ocean, and to leave my home country, and to pet my cats goodbye. But fear is not the biggest emotion I feel right now.
Instead I feel excited, and basically every word my thesaurus could come up with to parallel the same sentiment. I will probably want a good American hamburger in a months time, and I might want some respite from speaking constant French, but I will deal with all of that when it comes.
Anyhow, as I am still in the United States (for 8 more days), I am totally allowed to be slightly sentimental (plus, I would really like to figure out how to post pictures on my blog, as I have not gotten around to figuring it out yet.
There will be giant fields of lavender in Provence, but there is nothing like the weed-infested, cat-tail overrun "wheat" field behind my house. It looks wonderful when the sun shines.
I guess the view down my road isn't exactly awe-inspiring, but it is a good spot to sit and watch the sunset.
In the last seven months, I have spent entirely too much time in this exact spot. The lawyer lamp makes for wonderful ambiance.
It gives me a little solace to know that even in France, I will have my trusty laptop (Wilhelm), a good pencil, and of course, books. Unfortunately, the books will be written in French, but I will get over that.
I can't say I will miss Jeff, exactly, but I will miss the random conversations that have taken place in that noisy, crappy, smelly dining hall.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be leaving for France. It is not yet a week from tomorrow, which means I still have to take and pass my exams, and write a few papers.
In the best interests of my academic standing, I should get to studying.
Tata for now.
- Rach.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be flying across an ocean for the first time.
In a week from tomorrow, I will cross six time zones.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be speaking French.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be leaving the continent for the first time in my life.
In a week from tomorrow, I will have to say goodbye to my friends, my family, and my cats.
You get the picture.
I have been waiting for a week from tomorrow for months. I have had a countdown on my dashboard since day 98 or something ridiculous like that, and now it's down to 8. A week from tomorrow.
I can't say that I'm not scared, of course. Of course it will be scary to fly across an ocean, and to leave my home country, and to pet my cats goodbye. But fear is not the biggest emotion I feel right now.
Instead I feel excited, and basically every word my thesaurus could come up with to parallel the same sentiment. I will probably want a good American hamburger in a months time, and I might want some respite from speaking constant French, but I will deal with all of that when it comes.
Anyhow, as I am still in the United States (for 8 more days), I am totally allowed to be slightly sentimental (plus, I would really like to figure out how to post pictures on my blog, as I have not gotten around to figuring it out yet.
There will be giant fields of lavender in Provence, but there is nothing like the weed-infested, cat-tail overrun "wheat" field behind my house. It looks wonderful when the sun shines.
I guess the view down my road isn't exactly awe-inspiring, but it is a good spot to sit and watch the sunset.
In the last seven months, I have spent entirely too much time in this exact spot. The lawyer lamp makes for wonderful ambiance.
It gives me a little solace to know that even in France, I will have my trusty laptop (Wilhelm), a good pencil, and of course, books. Unfortunately, the books will be written in French, but I will get over that.
I can't say I will miss Jeff, exactly, but I will miss the random conversations that have taken place in that noisy, crappy, smelly dining hall.
In a week from tomorrow, I will be leaving for France. It is not yet a week from tomorrow, which means I still have to take and pass my exams, and write a few papers.
In the best interests of my academic standing, I should get to studying.
Tata for now.
- Rach.
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