Back in Boston. Yep. No longer in Paris. Nope.
Highlight of the trip: Being a terrorist threat at London Heathrow Airport. Just a couple suggestions to readers: don't ever leave your passport on an airplane during a connecting flight, and don't ever, EVER go through doors that are marked Exit Only. You will be interrogated by many security officials and you will have to be personally escorted through the airport by some very scary people.
But nonetheless, it does admittedly feel great to see all of my friends and family. And cheap mexican food. I can't explain how much I missed cheap mexican food. It just doesn't exist in Europe. For whatever reason, Europeans see mexican food as "exotic" and therefore can justify selling a burrito for 25 euro.
So, yeah, we'll see how being back goes. I'm taking my parents to the Sox game tomorrow which isn't a bad way to spend my second night back.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
south of france
Ahhhhhh, the French Riviera. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
But seriously. I'm in love with the French Riviera. It was easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. All I wanted to do while I was there was finagle some sort of boating job or something and live there forever. I would work during the day, fish at night, catch my dinner and breakfast and be perfectly content just living right on the pebbly beaches for the rest of my life. Growing up in Delaware where going to the beach, vacationing at the beach, spending the majority of the summer in the sand, etc is pretty much the extent of the lifestyle, I naturally felt very comfortable and at home at the beach. But the joy and content that I felt in the south of France was on a whole new level. Indescribable, even.
The Mediterranean was absolutely breath-taking. The water was a beautiful deep, azure blue color (hmm, I wonder why that part of France is called the Azure Coast?), and as crystal clear as I've ever seen water. I've seen the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean a couple times in my life, and I would even go as far as to say the water was even prettier in France than there. It was much colder as well. That was perhaps my favorite part of all. It reminded me fondly of all my summers at the beach in Delaware, swimming in the cold, cold, cold Atlantic Ocean. The Caribbean is much to warm for my taste. I hate swimming in what feels like gross bath water. Blech.
I'm happy to report that the vacation was an absolute success. As I think I've mentioned before, I had always planned on taking a trip to the South soon as the weather got warm, even if I had to take a couple days and go by myself. No matter what, it was something I was going to do. I casually mentioned it to a couple people, Arianna included, just in case anyone else was interested in laying on the beach with me at the end of the semester. As time went on, I figured out when I wanted to go, Arianna was for sure in too, and we'd even done a fair amount of initial research. We figured we'd send out a mass email to all of our friends here to see if they wanted to tag along and surprisingly, about 95% of our friends wanted to go! It was fantastic! Never would I have imagined that so many people would be up for the trip, but I suppose that when other people plan your entire vacation for you and all you have to do is show up with money in your hand, who wouldn't jump on board?
Highlights of the trip include the food, the weather, our hostel (we stayed at the Villa St. Exupery in Nice), and the people. As apparent as it was that the citizens of the South hated the tourists as much as Parisians do, it's always nice to get away from the Parisian mentality and just drop back a gear and enjoy life.
But seriously. I'm in love with the French Riviera. It was easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. All I wanted to do while I was there was finagle some sort of boating job or something and live there forever. I would work during the day, fish at night, catch my dinner and breakfast and be perfectly content just living right on the pebbly beaches for the rest of my life. Growing up in Delaware where going to the beach, vacationing at the beach, spending the majority of the summer in the sand, etc is pretty much the extent of the lifestyle, I naturally felt very comfortable and at home at the beach. But the joy and content that I felt in the south of France was on a whole new level. Indescribable, even.
The Mediterranean was absolutely breath-taking. The water was a beautiful deep, azure blue color (hmm, I wonder why that part of France is called the Azure Coast?), and as crystal clear as I've ever seen water. I've seen the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean a couple times in my life, and I would even go as far as to say the water was even prettier in France than there. It was much colder as well. That was perhaps my favorite part of all. It reminded me fondly of all my summers at the beach in Delaware, swimming in the cold, cold, cold Atlantic Ocean. The Caribbean is much to warm for my taste. I hate swimming in what feels like gross bath water. Blech.
I'm happy to report that the vacation was an absolute success. As I think I've mentioned before, I had always planned on taking a trip to the South soon as the weather got warm, even if I had to take a couple days and go by myself. No matter what, it was something I was going to do. I casually mentioned it to a couple people, Arianna included, just in case anyone else was interested in laying on the beach with me at the end of the semester. As time went on, I figured out when I wanted to go, Arianna was for sure in too, and we'd even done a fair amount of initial research. We figured we'd send out a mass email to all of our friends here to see if they wanted to tag along and surprisingly, about 95% of our friends wanted to go! It was fantastic! Never would I have imagined that so many people would be up for the trip, but I suppose that when other people plan your entire vacation for you and all you have to do is show up with money in your hand, who wouldn't jump on board?
Highlights of the trip include the food, the weather, our hostel (we stayed at the Villa St. Exupery in Nice), and the people. As apparent as it was that the citizens of the South hated the tourists as much as Parisians do, it's always nice to get away from the Parisian mentality and just drop back a gear and enjoy life.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
End of classes and more France/US contrasts
We’re honing in on our last few weeks as genuine Parisians and I couldn’t be sadder.
Saturday was Fete de travail, aka Labor Day, throughout France. Experiencing a French labor day was perhaps one of the biggest culture shocks that I have experienced so far. Labor Day in France is nothing like Labor Day in the States. For one, everyone actually has the holiday off, as opposed to businesses in States where only corporate industries, private industries, governmental industries and any other cushy white-collar jobs get to have Labor Day off. The laborers, on the other hand, are forced to continue to labor on what justifiably should their day of reprieve.
France, on the other hand, grants everyone the day off, especially the laborers. Having lived here for several months now I think I understand the system well enough to knowingly assume that if the government doesn’t allow everything the right to a day off all hell would break loose, most likely in the form of violent protests. While I was slightly inconvenienced this morning when I couldn’t find a boulangerie to get my sandwich crudités thon, a large part of me was really happy to see that all of my favorite bakers had given themselves the day off. Bakers have got to be the hardest working individuals within the borders of l’hexagone, getting up at the crack of dawn to begin baking bread and whatnot, and really not stopping until after dinnertime. So, for that, I am willing to get my lazy ass up to make my sandwich myself for once.
Taking my typical, Saturday afternoon lazy stroll through the Bastille, I noted something rather different from anything I had ever seen in Bastille: HUGE mass protests with thousands of protesters, spectators and the like. Every street that branched off of the round-about was blocked off to traffic, police were EVERYWHERE and anyone with a microphone was shouting some spiel about how the government doesn't control them, how the workweek must be shortened, etc etc. One of the larger groups of protesters even promised a social revolution come July 13 (France's 4th of July, for those who don't know). I think that group was the one that intrigued me the most. Their message and presentation of said message kind of came off as crazed radicalism, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm considering making it back to the City of Light for Bastille Day just to see what kind of hell these radicals can raise.
In other news, classes are finally over! Not that I didn't enjoy all of my classes (sort of, heh), knowing that it's the beginning of May and classes are still in session and finals are even further away is incredibly annoying. I didn't realize how spoiled I had become by attending Northeastern and having spring classes end so early, but I reeeeally don't like having to be in classes this late. My attention span and overall interest in learning has been slowly dissipating for several weeks now and it's getting harder and harder to pretend to be interested in class. Not to mention that my thoughts have recently been almost entirely consumed by my impending vacation-within-a-vacation to Nice in a few days! Words simply cannot describe how stoked I am at the anticipation of this short trip to the Cote d'Azur.
That brings up another interesting point: Reading Day. AUP gives its students a "Reading Day" before finals week starts. Except that it's not just one day, it's about a week. Yet AUP still calls it Reading Day.
I just don't get AUP sometimes. They try so hard to come off as a respectable institution of higher education and then they go and do something like pretend a week is just a day, or making spring break 2+ weeks so that we have "more time to travel".... Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to returning to normalcy, like, for example, a place where a day is just a day and a week is a week.
Who really needs a whole week to "prepare" for finals, anyway? Talking to friends and other students, half of their profs aren't even assigning real finals anyway. And all those term papers that snuck up on us towards the end of the semester are all due by the last day of classes, so really though, what does the AUP administration really expect us to do with that "Reading Day"?
I'll stop the fashionable AUP rant there because I'm almost finished dealing with their shenanigans and I don't want to put a damper on my end-of-classes good mood.
Up next: Nice and beyond!
Saturday was Fete de travail, aka Labor Day, throughout France. Experiencing a French labor day was perhaps one of the biggest culture shocks that I have experienced so far. Labor Day in France is nothing like Labor Day in the States. For one, everyone actually has the holiday off, as opposed to businesses in States where only corporate industries, private industries, governmental industries and any other cushy white-collar jobs get to have Labor Day off. The laborers, on the other hand, are forced to continue to labor on what justifiably should their day of reprieve.
France, on the other hand, grants everyone the day off, especially the laborers. Having lived here for several months now I think I understand the system well enough to knowingly assume that if the government doesn’t allow everything the right to a day off all hell would break loose, most likely in the form of violent protests. While I was slightly inconvenienced this morning when I couldn’t find a boulangerie to get my sandwich crudités thon, a large part of me was really happy to see that all of my favorite bakers had given themselves the day off. Bakers have got to be the hardest working individuals within the borders of l’hexagone, getting up at the crack of dawn to begin baking bread and whatnot, and really not stopping until after dinnertime. So, for that, I am willing to get my lazy ass up to make my sandwich myself for once.
Taking my typical, Saturday afternoon lazy stroll through the Bastille, I noted something rather different from anything I had ever seen in Bastille: HUGE mass protests with thousands of protesters, spectators and the like. Every street that branched off of the round-about was blocked off to traffic, police were EVERYWHERE and anyone with a microphone was shouting some spiel about how the government doesn't control them, how the workweek must be shortened, etc etc. One of the larger groups of protesters even promised a social revolution come July 13 (France's 4th of July, for those who don't know). I think that group was the one that intrigued me the most. Their message and presentation of said message kind of came off as crazed radicalism, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm considering making it back to the City of Light for Bastille Day just to see what kind of hell these radicals can raise.
In other news, classes are finally over! Not that I didn't enjoy all of my classes (sort of, heh), knowing that it's the beginning of May and classes are still in session and finals are even further away is incredibly annoying. I didn't realize how spoiled I had become by attending Northeastern and having spring classes end so early, but I reeeeally don't like having to be in classes this late. My attention span and overall interest in learning has been slowly dissipating for several weeks now and it's getting harder and harder to pretend to be interested in class. Not to mention that my thoughts have recently been almost entirely consumed by my impending vacation-within-a-vacation to Nice in a few days! Words simply cannot describe how stoked I am at the anticipation of this short trip to the Cote d'Azur.
That brings up another interesting point: Reading Day. AUP gives its students a "Reading Day" before finals week starts. Except that it's not just one day, it's about a week. Yet AUP still calls it Reading Day.
I just don't get AUP sometimes. They try so hard to come off as a respectable institution of higher education and then they go and do something like pretend a week is just a day, or making spring break 2+ weeks so that we have "more time to travel".... Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to returning to normalcy, like, for example, a place where a day is just a day and a week is a week.
Who really needs a whole week to "prepare" for finals, anyway? Talking to friends and other students, half of their profs aren't even assigning real finals anyway. And all those term papers that snuck up on us towards the end of the semester are all due by the last day of classes, so really though, what does the AUP administration really expect us to do with that "Reading Day"?
I'll stop the fashionable AUP rant there because I'm almost finished dealing with their shenanigans and I don't want to put a damper on my end-of-classes good mood.
Up next: Nice and beyond!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Worlds Fair may be the greatest thing ever invented
This past Saturday was World's Fair at AUP, aka another AUP offering that enables kids to blow off all the steam that we're supposed to be suppressing due to all of our "stress" from our classes. Heh.
But aside from that, it was also another way for AUP to take advantage of the cultural hub that is their little community and expand the cultural horizons of its students. While I must admit that AUP students already have the advantage over NU and probably most American campuses with regards to their vast knowledge/acceptance/general interest in other cultures, I still find it amazing that AUP takes their cultural promotions so seriously. It's definitely something that not many American universities can successfully pull off, and I'm really happy that I have the opportunity to experience, albeit for a short time.
Back to World's Fair. For those of you who don't know what World's Fair: AUP style is, it's an afternoon in which any or all of the countries from which AUP students hail (some 100 different countries in all)can have a table where they can present their country through food, drink, photos, and the like. Most tables tapped into the AUP norm and elected to present whichever alcohol and mixed drinks are most common to their country while others also went the extra mile and prepared several dishes for us to munch on as well.
Something that I found particularly interesting what the number of regional stereotypes that were apparent as I moved from table to table. For example, the Balkan countries decided to team up to create a former-soviet-block super nation. What did they present? Loooooots of grain alcohol, most of which they made themselves. The English table? Beer and cadbury chocolates, further proving that the Brits don't have any decent cuisine. The Colombians, Peruvian, Chileans, and Argentinians all showed up at the Fair at noon already hammered, and by about 1pm, were all chanting their respective countries' futbol anthems. Same went for the Spaniards. Oh, and the American table? Sloppy joes, and a beer bong. Yep, that's America, folks. Even from the American perspective.
All-in-all, World's Fair is probably the greatest thing ever invented. For someone like me, who enjoys learning about new cultures through food and drink most of all, I was certainly in heaven.
I wish I had pictures to share, but once again I got caught up in the doing and forgot to pictorially document for prosperity. I'll be kicking myself in the future, for sure, for not taking any pictures of the Fair itself (I'm not counting the photos I took of the after-party/general shenanigans at the Champs de Mars because I don't think anyone should see the craziness that occurred there, haha), but I guess that's how things go sometimes, right?
But aside from that, it was also another way for AUP to take advantage of the cultural hub that is their little community and expand the cultural horizons of its students. While I must admit that AUP students already have the advantage over NU and probably most American campuses with regards to their vast knowledge/acceptance/general interest in other cultures, I still find it amazing that AUP takes their cultural promotions so seriously. It's definitely something that not many American universities can successfully pull off, and I'm really happy that I have the opportunity to experience, albeit for a short time.
Back to World's Fair. For those of you who don't know what World's Fair: AUP style is, it's an afternoon in which any or all of the countries from which AUP students hail (some 100 different countries in all)can have a table where they can present their country through food, drink, photos, and the like. Most tables tapped into the AUP norm and elected to present whichever alcohol and mixed drinks are most common to their country while others also went the extra mile and prepared several dishes for us to munch on as well.
Something that I found particularly interesting what the number of regional stereotypes that were apparent as I moved from table to table. For example, the Balkan countries decided to team up to create a former-soviet-block super nation. What did they present? Loooooots of grain alcohol, most of which they made themselves. The English table? Beer and cadbury chocolates, further proving that the Brits don't have any decent cuisine. The Colombians, Peruvian, Chileans, and Argentinians all showed up at the Fair at noon already hammered, and by about 1pm, were all chanting their respective countries' futbol anthems. Same went for the Spaniards. Oh, and the American table? Sloppy joes, and a beer bong. Yep, that's America, folks. Even from the American perspective.
All-in-all, World's Fair is probably the greatest thing ever invented. For someone like me, who enjoys learning about new cultures through food and drink most of all, I was certainly in heaven.
I wish I had pictures to share, but once again I got caught up in the doing and forgot to pictorially document for prosperity. I'll be kicking myself in the future, for sure, for not taking any pictures of the Fair itself (I'm not counting the photos I took of the after-party/general shenanigans at the Champs de Mars because I don't think anyone should see the craziness that occurred there, haha), but I guess that's how things go sometimes, right?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
"It's the final countdown!"
Just under 4 weeks left here, and I'm none too happy about it. I still have soooo much that I want to do while I'm here and I have no idea how I'm going to fit it all in. I've been making lists non-stop lately. Mostly mental lists, but lists nonetheless. Separate ones for all the museums I still want to visit or re-visit, the restaurants that I want to eat at, the presents I still need to purchase for friends and loved one, tokens and mementos for myself, friends who aren't going to be going back to Boston with me who I'd like to have some last one-on-one time with, etc etc etc.
Arianna has been making lists too. Hers are perhaps even more ridiculously involved and overwhelming than mine.
I've got about 293847923573 things I need to do for class too. AUP kills me. Seriously, I would hate to go here full time. For the last three months of the semester professors have given practically no work whatsoever. The only class that I've really had any kind of somewhat consistent work for is French, and even that's stretching it a bit. But now, as the semester is winding down, profs decided it's time to assign all those 10-page terms papers, 20-minute presentations and tons of readings that they forgot to assign at the beginning of the semester, not to mention the constant reminders of exams in a couple weeks. It's horrible. I don't know why this university condones spending the first 3/4 of the semester lackadaisically doing nothing and then expected students to work 24/7 at the end of the semester.
I feel like this has been particularly hard for me, and probably most of my fellow study abroad friends. Not only is this semester several weeks longer than what we're used to at Northeastern, but this semester has also been an anomaly of sorts. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that as study abroad students, our first priority isn't exactly getting a stellar education. Instead, we're much more preoccupied with learning to live in this new, different place and experiencing as much as we can. That in itself is much more exhausting than I think people realize. I mean, I certainly didn't anticipate how tiring just living would be. Traveling is another thing. It really takes the energy out of you. The planning, the packing, the traveling itself, the pictures, the maps, the reservations, getting around, barely sleeping in order to see as much as possible, it gets pretty tiring pretty fast. And 5 months of this really adds up after a while.
I feel bad for a lot of people, though, because there has a lot of events and overall fun things going on lately, especially since the weather has been so beautiful and it seems like everyone's locked up in their apartments or in the library rather than out and enjoying life. I just don't think it's fair on them, you know? I think I've been pretty good about refraining from complaining about or being too critical of AUP, even though criticizing AUP seems to be the most fashionable thing to do in the last couple years whether you are a full-time student or just visiting. But I just really don't think it's fair on students to give them so much work all at once.
I have this one professor who always says, "well, that's what makes you college students" in reply to anything. If we complain about having a million papers and exams and obligations at the same time, "that's what makes you college students". If we collectively mention that we weren't too fond of the reading he assigned, "that's what separates you as college students from high schoolers". It's the stupidest thing ever. The worst part is that this class is a 300-level class, which means we're all either juniors or seniors. We're not new to this college thing. If we have a problem with one of the readings he has assigned, it's not because it was "too long" or "really, really boring"; we've all had enough required readings in our day to know a well-written, effective or book from one that's not effective. And yet he trivializes our opinions. I find it really discouraging, to be honest.
On a MUCH happier note, I've more or less finalized my plans for Nice this week. 13 days until fun in the sun!! This trip is turning out to be better than I ever imagined. Long before I came to Paris, I had been planning on taking a trip to the South as soon as it gets warm. I didn't really imagine anyone would want to go with me, so I always figured I'd just couch surf and bum around by myself for a couple days. I mentioned it to Arianna verrry early in the semester just in case she'd be up for another trip with me. This particular trip came up several times over the course of the semester, with me always hesitating because I didn't know how much money I'd have by May. But once I realized I would be fine financially, we went ahead with planning our beach trip. It took a looooong time and lots of unnecessary stress, but we eventually made some final decisions and concrete plans.
Then we decided to offer everything up to our friends, just in case anyone else was interested in joining us. I figured a couple people would be on board, but in the end, there were about 12 of us altogether who were interested. Far more than I ever anticipated! So now, my little beach break after classes are over that I've had in the works for about 6 months now is essentially going to be our last horrah--our one last trip as a group before finals begin and before we all go our separate ways. I'm really excited!!
I'll be sure to dedicate an entire blog entry to Nice once I get back, because I know it's gonna derserve it.
Arianna has been making lists too. Hers are perhaps even more ridiculously involved and overwhelming than mine.
I've got about 293847923573 things I need to do for class too. AUP kills me. Seriously, I would hate to go here full time. For the last three months of the semester professors have given practically no work whatsoever. The only class that I've really had any kind of somewhat consistent work for is French, and even that's stretching it a bit. But now, as the semester is winding down, profs decided it's time to assign all those 10-page terms papers, 20-minute presentations and tons of readings that they forgot to assign at the beginning of the semester, not to mention the constant reminders of exams in a couple weeks. It's horrible. I don't know why this university condones spending the first 3/4 of the semester lackadaisically doing nothing and then expected students to work 24/7 at the end of the semester.
I feel like this has been particularly hard for me, and probably most of my fellow study abroad friends. Not only is this semester several weeks longer than what we're used to at Northeastern, but this semester has also been an anomaly of sorts. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that as study abroad students, our first priority isn't exactly getting a stellar education. Instead, we're much more preoccupied with learning to live in this new, different place and experiencing as much as we can. That in itself is much more exhausting than I think people realize. I mean, I certainly didn't anticipate how tiring just living would be. Traveling is another thing. It really takes the energy out of you. The planning, the packing, the traveling itself, the pictures, the maps, the reservations, getting around, barely sleeping in order to see as much as possible, it gets pretty tiring pretty fast. And 5 months of this really adds up after a while.
I feel bad for a lot of people, though, because there has a lot of events and overall fun things going on lately, especially since the weather has been so beautiful and it seems like everyone's locked up in their apartments or in the library rather than out and enjoying life. I just don't think it's fair on them, you know? I think I've been pretty good about refraining from complaining about or being too critical of AUP, even though criticizing AUP seems to be the most fashionable thing to do in the last couple years whether you are a full-time student or just visiting. But I just really don't think it's fair on students to give them so much work all at once.
I have this one professor who always says, "well, that's what makes you college students" in reply to anything. If we complain about having a million papers and exams and obligations at the same time, "that's what makes you college students". If we collectively mention that we weren't too fond of the reading he assigned, "that's what separates you as college students from high schoolers". It's the stupidest thing ever. The worst part is that this class is a 300-level class, which means we're all either juniors or seniors. We're not new to this college thing. If we have a problem with one of the readings he has assigned, it's not because it was "too long" or "really, really boring"; we've all had enough required readings in our day to know a well-written, effective or book from one that's not effective. And yet he trivializes our opinions. I find it really discouraging, to be honest.
On a MUCH happier note, I've more or less finalized my plans for Nice this week. 13 days until fun in the sun!! This trip is turning out to be better than I ever imagined. Long before I came to Paris, I had been planning on taking a trip to the South as soon as it gets warm. I didn't really imagine anyone would want to go with me, so I always figured I'd just couch surf and bum around by myself for a couple days. I mentioned it to Arianna verrry early in the semester just in case she'd be up for another trip with me. This particular trip came up several times over the course of the semester, with me always hesitating because I didn't know how much money I'd have by May. But once I realized I would be fine financially, we went ahead with planning our beach trip. It took a looooong time and lots of unnecessary stress, but we eventually made some final decisions and concrete plans.
Then we decided to offer everything up to our friends, just in case anyone else was interested in joining us. I figured a couple people would be on board, but in the end, there were about 12 of us altogether who were interested. Far more than I ever anticipated! So now, my little beach break after classes are over that I've had in the works for about 6 months now is essentially going to be our last horrah--our one last trip as a group before finals begin and before we all go our separate ways. I'm really excited!!
I'll be sure to dedicate an entire blog entry to Nice once I get back, because I know it's gonna derserve it.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Faire des courses
Faire des courses is one of my favorite terms in French. It essentially means to go shopping, but to be more specific, when you say that you are going to "faire des courses" you mean that you are going to run errands. You'll probably go to the super market, the butcher, the patisserie and boulangerie, maybe Nicolas for some nice wine for dinner, perhaps the fromagerie and post office as well. You get the point.
You can also say faire des courses when referring to running track or running a race as well.
This is why faire des courses is one of my favorite French terms. The fact that you use the same term for both actions is terribly ironic but the most obvious thing in the world at the same time.
Paris, (and I would almost go as far as to say all of France, but not quite as much as Paris), is known for its specialization of products. The reason you have to go to about 6-12 different stores in order to successfully "faire des courses" is because of specialization.
Where I live on rue de Rivoli, if I stand on either of my balconies and look out at either rue Sainte Antoinne or towards the heart of the Marais, I see: two super markets, several boulangeries, a mielerie (yep, that's a honey store, no lie), a chocolaterie, a fromagerie, two Nicolas, several Jewish/kosher delicatessens, several pharmacies, two butchers (one kosher, one not), a vaisellerie (for dishes), several patisseries, as well as restos and the like.
So the irony in the faire des courses terminology is that if you indeed run errands on, say, a Saturday afternoon, it is exactly like running track or running a race, because you have to run around until you're nearly dying of exhaustion. And if you're me, you have to lug everything you bought up five flights of stairs, and you're about ready to keel over by the time you get to your apartment.
But the thing is, if I had the choice, I wouldn't have it any other way. Honestly. When I was in London a couple of months ago and Delanie and I were grocery shopping for the week, being in a huge supermarket nearly turned my stomach. I walked up and down the isles literally in awe of everything that this supermarket had. The worst was when I reached the bread isle. I stood there dumbfounded by the idea of having an entire isle dedicated to bread. There was easily 25 different types of sliced bread there. I thought to myself, why do people need 25 different bread options? One brand that sells white (or pain Americain as they call it in France), whole wheat, rye, and perhaps a sourdough or multi-grain is perfectly sufficient. If you want something else, I suggest finding a fresh bakery where you can get better bread. I couldn't get over the culture shock, and that was just the difference between England and France.
One time I needed to sow a couple buttons on my jacket. It was a Sunday afternoon, and naturally nothing was open except the epiceries and a couple various pharmacies. After striking out pathetically at all the epiceries, I tried a couple pharmacies. The first couple I went into I just looked around and left when I couldn't find a needle and thread. At the last one, I decided it would be beneficial to ask the pharmacienne for help. Naturally I couldn't remember how to say "to sow" or "needle" in French, so I had to go with the word for thread and then act out as best I could what I needed. After a few minutes of the woman at me like I had two heads (no worries, I've definitely gotten used to this look by now. I'm completely unfazed by it, actually), she finally understood what I wanted. Relieved, I said, "Fantastique! L'avez-vous?" After looking at me again like I had two heads, she erupted with laughter and said, "non, non, non, madame! C'est une pharmacie! Nous ne vendons pas cela ici! Seulement des pharmaceutiques, madame." As if selling thread and needle was the craziest thing in the world to sell in a pharmacy!
I immediately flashed back to all the times in Boston when I was either too lazy to walk to Shaws or too poor to pay for over-priced groceries at Wolly's and instead opted to do my grocery shopping at CVS. You can buy botox, reading glasses, and perfume at Parisian pharmacies, but a needle in thread is the most absurd thing ever suggested.
I didn't get it at the time, but I get it now. It's all about specialization. A pharmacie just isn't the place to get a thread and needle. Now that I've lived here for several months, I wouldn't even think twice about why it would be convenient to sell that in pharmacies. If I needed some black thread on a Sunday and supermarkets weren't open, I wouldn't even hesitate to walk the 15 minutes into the Chinese garment district in the 3rd to buy some thread. It's just how it is.
For that reason, I'm kind of terrified to go back to the States. If I had been living in Paris for all of 5 weeks and got overwhelmed in a London supermarket, I don't know how I'll be able to handle going back to American supermarkets after living here for 5 months.
I can imagine throwing a fit because I won't be able to find warm baguettes or croissant d'abricots whenever I want. Or fresh tuna and crudites on a baguette when I want something light and refreshing for lunch.
This is what worries me most about going back home next month.
You can also say faire des courses when referring to running track or running a race as well.
This is why faire des courses is one of my favorite French terms. The fact that you use the same term for both actions is terribly ironic but the most obvious thing in the world at the same time.
Paris, (and I would almost go as far as to say all of France, but not quite as much as Paris), is known for its specialization of products. The reason you have to go to about 6-12 different stores in order to successfully "faire des courses" is because of specialization.
Where I live on rue de Rivoli, if I stand on either of my balconies and look out at either rue Sainte Antoinne or towards the heart of the Marais, I see: two super markets, several boulangeries, a mielerie (yep, that's a honey store, no lie), a chocolaterie, a fromagerie, two Nicolas, several Jewish/kosher delicatessens, several pharmacies, two butchers (one kosher, one not), a vaisellerie (for dishes), several patisseries, as well as restos and the like.
So the irony in the faire des courses terminology is that if you indeed run errands on, say, a Saturday afternoon, it is exactly like running track or running a race, because you have to run around until you're nearly dying of exhaustion. And if you're me, you have to lug everything you bought up five flights of stairs, and you're about ready to keel over by the time you get to your apartment.
But the thing is, if I had the choice, I wouldn't have it any other way. Honestly. When I was in London a couple of months ago and Delanie and I were grocery shopping for the week, being in a huge supermarket nearly turned my stomach. I walked up and down the isles literally in awe of everything that this supermarket had. The worst was when I reached the bread isle. I stood there dumbfounded by the idea of having an entire isle dedicated to bread. There was easily 25 different types of sliced bread there. I thought to myself, why do people need 25 different bread options? One brand that sells white (or pain Americain as they call it in France), whole wheat, rye, and perhaps a sourdough or multi-grain is perfectly sufficient. If you want something else, I suggest finding a fresh bakery where you can get better bread. I couldn't get over the culture shock, and that was just the difference between England and France.
One time I needed to sow a couple buttons on my jacket. It was a Sunday afternoon, and naturally nothing was open except the epiceries and a couple various pharmacies. After striking out pathetically at all the epiceries, I tried a couple pharmacies. The first couple I went into I just looked around and left when I couldn't find a needle and thread. At the last one, I decided it would be beneficial to ask the pharmacienne for help. Naturally I couldn't remember how to say "to sow" or "needle" in French, so I had to go with the word for thread and then act out as best I could what I needed. After a few minutes of the woman at me like I had two heads (no worries, I've definitely gotten used to this look by now. I'm completely unfazed by it, actually), she finally understood what I wanted. Relieved, I said, "Fantastique! L'avez-vous?" After looking at me again like I had two heads, she erupted with laughter and said, "non, non, non, madame! C'est une pharmacie! Nous ne vendons pas cela ici! Seulement des pharmaceutiques, madame." As if selling thread and needle was the craziest thing in the world to sell in a pharmacy!
I immediately flashed back to all the times in Boston when I was either too lazy to walk to Shaws or too poor to pay for over-priced groceries at Wolly's and instead opted to do my grocery shopping at CVS. You can buy botox, reading glasses, and perfume at Parisian pharmacies, but a needle in thread is the most absurd thing ever suggested.
I didn't get it at the time, but I get it now. It's all about specialization. A pharmacie just isn't the place to get a thread and needle. Now that I've lived here for several months, I wouldn't even think twice about why it would be convenient to sell that in pharmacies. If I needed some black thread on a Sunday and supermarkets weren't open, I wouldn't even hesitate to walk the 15 minutes into the Chinese garment district in the 3rd to buy some thread. It's just how it is.
For that reason, I'm kind of terrified to go back to the States. If I had been living in Paris for all of 5 weeks and got overwhelmed in a London supermarket, I don't know how I'll be able to handle going back to American supermarkets after living here for 5 months.
I can imagine throwing a fit because I won't be able to find warm baguettes or croissant d'abricots whenever I want. Or fresh tuna and crudites on a baguette when I want something light and refreshing for lunch.
This is what worries me most about going back home next month.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Chris in Paris and that pesky little politics issue
I had my first visitor this weekend!! Chris decided to take a couple vacation days from coop and take the looooong trip across the pond to spend a long weekend with me in Paris. I'm jealous of him because he got a direct flight out of Boston and I have to spend considerably more time in Heathrow airport than I would like. He also got to fly airfrance, which I'm considerably jealous of as well.
But I digress. Chris came to visit me, and although I can't speak for him, I think it was an all-around successful weekend.
I realized this weekend how much I enjoy introducing outsiders to this fun, exciting, different life that I live over here. In many ways it was very surreal, because although Chris and I have been the best of friends for a couple years now, I sometimes felt like I had to re-introduce him to myself. While I maintain that I'm essentially the same person I've always been, and that Paris has not, I repeat, has NOT changed who I've always been, certain aspects of my life and personality are different here. And for that reason it felt a bit surreal at times.
The poor guy stayed at a small hotel directly across the street from me and not only did he have to endure my 5 flights of winding elevatorless stairs, he also had to endure 5 flights of perhaps the windiest, narrowest, steepest stairs in existence. Welcome to Paris. They apparently have a fear of lifts here, because elevators are a rare commodity in buildings older than about 40 years.
On a completely different note, I recently had a conversation with a french man that I met in a bar that I found rather unsettling. I'll preface by saying that the French love Obama. Like, really love him. Like, men, women, and children probably all want to have his babies. I'm sure I've mentioned this at least once before. As an American living in Paris, I find that this has both its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, I'm able to live here freely without feeling like I'm being judged and discredited for the mistakes and wrong-doings of my nation's government. I encountered a bit of hostility very early on in my time here one night on the metro. My friends and I all got onto the car preparing to go out somewhere, I think to a club or something when we ran into a few young french guys. They all did the typical, "I see zat yoo arr Americaine. Where arr yoo frome?" I couldn't even get out my reply before he delved into the Bush-bashing. Except, it wasn't so much Bush-bashing as it was American-public bashing for electing such an individual to office. This caused me to go into liberal American defense mode and defend my country. I countered with the standard, "well, the American public didn't really elect him into office, we just re-elected him in 2004." But of course the French don't know of/understand the electoral college whatsoever (I can't really blame them, as most Americans don't really understand it either) and when I tried to explain my assertion, they had to idea what I was talking about. Of course. Thankfully, all of this quickly ended once Obama was inaugurated.
Going back to Obama, having him as president when the French like him so much also has its disadvantages. The main one being that it's very hard to have a critical discussion/argument about Obama with the French. It's hard to believe, but it's true. The president was recently in Strasbourg for a town-hall style discussion during his European tour. I just happened to be in the AMEX for lunch while he was speaking and I was able to watch it in its entirety. At the end of the speech he quoted the French motto, "liberté, egalité, fraternité", except he said it backwards. Now, it obviously didn't bother me any. And in truth, had he messed up the US's "In God we trust" I probably wouldn't have cared either. But the French, you see, are.... different. They take these types of things muuuuch more seriously. Like, don't insult their country unless you have a death wish. After Obama made his error, everyone in the bar let out a collective and surprised gasp. Had he just messed up the French motto in France? The entire country is probably watching this right now, what's gonna happen? Everyone in the bar and I hesitantly looked around the bar to see if any French were among us, in case we had to do damage control. Make sure no pint glasses were broken or chairs thrown at televisions or something. But nobody did anything.
Shortly thereafter, I was in a bar talking to another random French man that I struck up a conversation with. I mentioned this incident to see how he felt about it. He didn't care whatsoever. In fact, he still managed to find a way to defend Obama, saying something like, "well, yoo see, he does not, errr, parler le francais tres bien. I understand that he makes mistakes in ze francais." I was floored. I think I mumbled something about how it seems a bit insulting to come into one's country. In all honestly, I thought his error was easily up there with Kennedy's "Ich bin ein Berliner" flub. But not the French, apparently. He wouldn't even let me get a defensive word in against Obama; any time I tried to say something, he'd shut me up with "Ce n'est pas grave" or something to that effect. Had Bush made that mistake the entirety of France would probably have declared him the anti-Christ, and yet Obama can do no wrong. I don't get it. Perhaps they are so desperate to maintain that Obama is the savior of the free world that they are willing to put aside any and all criticisms that they might have. Defend him to the death or something. I don't know.
I'm really looking forward to getting back to the States just for the poilitics. Electing Obama to office was probably one of the biggest events in our nation's history, and it's been hard being gone for the majority of his first 100 days. I think I would have prefered to be in the States to see how the American public is reacting than in France who apparently think he's immortal or something ridiculous like that.
But I digress. Chris came to visit me, and although I can't speak for him, I think it was an all-around successful weekend.
I realized this weekend how much I enjoy introducing outsiders to this fun, exciting, different life that I live over here. In many ways it was very surreal, because although Chris and I have been the best of friends for a couple years now, I sometimes felt like I had to re-introduce him to myself. While I maintain that I'm essentially the same person I've always been, and that Paris has not, I repeat, has NOT changed who I've always been, certain aspects of my life and personality are different here. And for that reason it felt a bit surreal at times.
The poor guy stayed at a small hotel directly across the street from me and not only did he have to endure my 5 flights of winding elevatorless stairs, he also had to endure 5 flights of perhaps the windiest, narrowest, steepest stairs in existence. Welcome to Paris. They apparently have a fear of lifts here, because elevators are a rare commodity in buildings older than about 40 years.
On a completely different note, I recently had a conversation with a french man that I met in a bar that I found rather unsettling. I'll preface by saying that the French love Obama. Like, really love him. Like, men, women, and children probably all want to have his babies. I'm sure I've mentioned this at least once before. As an American living in Paris, I find that this has both its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, I'm able to live here freely without feeling like I'm being judged and discredited for the mistakes and wrong-doings of my nation's government. I encountered a bit of hostility very early on in my time here one night on the metro. My friends and I all got onto the car preparing to go out somewhere, I think to a club or something when we ran into a few young french guys. They all did the typical, "I see zat yoo arr Americaine. Where arr yoo frome?" I couldn't even get out my reply before he delved into the Bush-bashing. Except, it wasn't so much Bush-bashing as it was American-public bashing for electing such an individual to office. This caused me to go into liberal American defense mode and defend my country. I countered with the standard, "well, the American public didn't really elect him into office, we just re-elected him in 2004." But of course the French don't know of/understand the electoral college whatsoever (I can't really blame them, as most Americans don't really understand it either) and when I tried to explain my assertion, they had to idea what I was talking about. Of course. Thankfully, all of this quickly ended once Obama was inaugurated.
Going back to Obama, having him as president when the French like him so much also has its disadvantages. The main one being that it's very hard to have a critical discussion/argument about Obama with the French. It's hard to believe, but it's true. The president was recently in Strasbourg for a town-hall style discussion during his European tour. I just happened to be in the AMEX for lunch while he was speaking and I was able to watch it in its entirety. At the end of the speech he quoted the French motto, "liberté, egalité, fraternité", except he said it backwards. Now, it obviously didn't bother me any. And in truth, had he messed up the US's "In God we trust" I probably wouldn't have cared either. But the French, you see, are.... different. They take these types of things muuuuch more seriously. Like, don't insult their country unless you have a death wish. After Obama made his error, everyone in the bar let out a collective and surprised gasp. Had he just messed up the French motto in France? The entire country is probably watching this right now, what's gonna happen? Everyone in the bar and I hesitantly looked around the bar to see if any French were among us, in case we had to do damage control. Make sure no pint glasses were broken or chairs thrown at televisions or something. But nobody did anything.
Shortly thereafter, I was in a bar talking to another random French man that I struck up a conversation with. I mentioned this incident to see how he felt about it. He didn't care whatsoever. In fact, he still managed to find a way to defend Obama, saying something like, "well, yoo see, he does not, errr, parler le francais tres bien. I understand that he makes mistakes in ze francais." I was floored. I think I mumbled something about how it seems a bit insulting to come into one's country. In all honestly, I thought his error was easily up there with Kennedy's "Ich bin ein Berliner" flub. But not the French, apparently. He wouldn't even let me get a defensive word in against Obama; any time I tried to say something, he'd shut me up with "Ce n'est pas grave" or something to that effect. Had Bush made that mistake the entirety of France would probably have declared him the anti-Christ, and yet Obama can do no wrong. I don't get it. Perhaps they are so desperate to maintain that Obama is the savior of the free world that they are willing to put aside any and all criticisms that they might have. Defend him to the death or something. I don't know.
I'm really looking forward to getting back to the States just for the poilitics. Electing Obama to office was probably one of the biggest events in our nation's history, and it's been hard being gone for the majority of his first 100 days. I think I would have prefered to be in the States to see how the American public is reacting than in France who apparently think he's immortal or something ridiculous like that.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Still here...believe it or not
Yeah, so I realize that I haven't been updating this thing as often as I should. I don't really feel like I have much to say, though. That's probably not good. I'll have to work on coming up with new topics of discussion.
I've also been super busy, which has undoubtedly been a major reason for my lack of updates.
My 21st birthday was last week. Like normal, I made a point of dragging my birthday festivities out over a week, because my birthday week is always my favorite time of the year. My celebrating began two days before my birthday when I went to the France-Lithuania football game, as my present to myself. And let me tell you: my present to myself did NOT let me down. No sir. It was everything I was hoping for and more. First of all, La Stade
Annie was there celebrating her birthday too, which was a day before mine. It was really nice to get to celebrate with her, because the football match was essentially her birthday present to herself as well.
On another note, it was the first real, official sporting event at which I was allowed to (legally) drink. While I thought that freedom would feel pretty damn good, in the end it wasn't all that special. I mean, yeah, you can have a beer and cheer for your team, and that's all well-and-good, but who the hell wants to pay 7.50euro for that beer anyway? And while I refused to fork over that much money for a beer, some friends got some and they tasted like cat piss (or rather, what I imagine cat piss would taste like). So... yeah. Being able to drink legally in
Thursday night I broke my own rule of not going out on Thursday nights because of much work I always have to do for my shoot-me-in-the-eye-Fridays. Arianna, Kashka and I walked over to Bastille to my favorite, favorite, favorite bar in all of
Friday night was the big night. After getting away with murder in all of my classes by milking the birthday card, I had a wonderful Mexican meal prepared for me by a couple of my cuisine club ladies for my birthday. Let me tell you, if there is any single quintessentially American thing that I miss here in
After my birthday dinner, I was treated to bar-hopping with Kashka and some friends at our favorite Scottish bars. I'll leave the details out, but it was a really, really great time, and definitely a great way to spend one's 21st birthday.
Amsterdam followed my birthday. After getting home and crashing into my bed at approximately 5:30 in the morning, I had to be up at 7am to catch my train to Amsterdam. Not exactly the most ideal situation, especially because I was going to Amsterdam with my Jewish History class. Yeah. And since I had been milking the birthday thing the whole day before, my professor took one look at me and goes, "Jesus Christ, it looks like you had a good 21st birthday. Are you even going to be able to function this weekend?" I believe I groaned in reply and proceeded to pass out in my seat for the entirety of the train ride.
Again, I won't go into all the incriminating details, but I had a fantastic time. The.... architecture was lovely. As were the canals.... and other things I saw while I was there. Heh.
And some pictures:
But yeah, so this was another one of those class trips, and let me tell you, as I've gushed about before, class trips are still the greatest things in the world! I'll stop there, since I've already dedicated a journal entry to this topic after my Madrid trip, but my love for class trips still remains, and I still maintain that NU should incorporate those into their classes. I don't know how, but they should. They are a great opportunity for all involved.
After visiting Amsterdam, I realized how much living in Paris has affected my mentality and the way I view what clothes people wear and how they wear them. Now, I'll preface what I'm going to say by stating a rather obvious and well-known fact: Paris is the fashion capital of the world. Small dogs run around the city dressed better than I'll ever know how to. It's a sad and surreal fact, but it is nonetheless true. So, I was in Amsterdam. And... to put it one way, people in Amsterdam don't exactly dress like Parisians. Not just the tourists, but the locals too. So during the two days that I was visiting, and saw dozens of people just walking the streets in sweats and t-shirts, I couldn't get over how appalling they looked. I couldn't even make sense of how or why they were dressed that way. It seemed the craziest, most absurd thing I've ever witnessed. Soon after I got back to Paris I was talking about the "fashion" of Amsterdam with a friend. I told her how horribly everyone dressed and how I couldn't believe anyone would go out in public like that. And in complete surprise, she replies, "wow, I didn't think I'd ever hear you mock the way someone chooses to dress. You sound like a true Parisian."
That leads me to my final thought. I've often discussed how I feel about assimilating to the local culture, and this is a perfect example of assimilation without even realizing that I'm assimilating. My general stance on this whole issue has been: just go with it; if assimilation happens, it happens, or, if I wake up proud to be an American and want all of Paris to know that I'm an American, so be it. That being said, after being faced with the harsh reality that whether I want to or not, I'm adapting quite easily to this culture. And I don't think I'm happy about it.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Life, or something like it
So I feel as though my journal-writing has been seriously lacking, but I have a great excuse for that: spring has arrived in Paris, and my sitting in front of my laptop is probably the last place in the world that I want to be.
The weather's been lovely the last few weeks, and we FINALLY started daylight savings, so the days are long as well. Arianna and I are taking the initiative and introducing picnics into our lives as well as the lives of our friends, and it's been wildly successful. Assuming the weather holds out, we're planning on picnicking every Tuesday afternoon at a different park (side-note: I originally spelled park with a c instead of a k and stared at it for about 5 minutes wondering why firefox was insisting it was a misspelled word, heh) or place around the city.
Speaking of places. I discovered the Place des Vosges recently. Now that I've been there I feel kind of stupid for not having gone before. I don't even have a reasonable, substantial excuse for not ever have gone, seeing as I live a mere three blocks from the place. But my inexcusable laziness aside, I have now visited the place twice, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite spots in Paris. Having already spent some time in the Place Dauphine for my Cities and States class, I can't help but appreciate the significance of the Place des Vosges within the history of Paris.
Now moving on to a more serious topic of discussion: this journal. As some of you may know, this journal/blog/diary/site for rambling, ranting & bitching/whatever you want to call it, is a requirement for the Int'l Study Programs office as part of my study abroad experience. It also serves as a way for everyone back home to keep up with the goings-on in my life in Paris, but it is foremost an obligation. One of the things I am supposed to focus on in my journal entries is comparing Paris to the States. However, as I've now lived in Paris for nearly three months, I've become quite content with my life here. I spend less time comparing my life here in France to my life back home. I spend less time worrying about how I'm fitting in as a Parisian, how well I'm assimilating to their culture. I spend less time wondering if this is the life for me. And ultimately, I think it's a good thing. It doesn't mean that I value my life back in Boston/Delaware/wherever I hang my hat any less, because it's still a huge part of who I am. But the fact of the matter is, this is my life at this point in time.
Differences between my values as an American and French values aren't that glaring anymore because I've learned to adapt. I've always been that way. I go with the flow no matter where I am or whom I am amongst. Differences still exist, but differences exist between everyone, from person-to-person. You can't just categorize an entire group of people and their "values" and compare it to another entire group of people's "values". If I'm not mistaken, that's a form of stereotyping, and that's not cool, man.
I know my life here is different from my life in the States, and when I get back to Boston, I know the realization of just how different these two lives are will hit me like a ton of bricks, but for now, I'm just trying to live in the moment, because time is fleeting, and as my days in Paris dwindle down, I think--I know--I'd prefer to enjoy every aspect of life, every breath, every flower, every sunny day, every baguette, and not focus too much on the differences between the US and France. Comparisons will inevitably emerge in my rants and musings within this journal from this point on, but I'm not going to worry about make a point of throwing them into every journal entry from now on. When all is said and done, and I look back on my time here through this blog, I think that my understanding and interpretations of the differences between my two homes will be evident to me and to anyone who reads this. And if that's not enough for the Study Abroad office? Well, I'm fucked. But I won't worry about that now, I'll worry about that when I get back. Because in this life, I don't let things trivial matters like that consume my life. The fact of the matter is, at this moment, the sun is shining and the sky is blue, and I've already spent too much time inside on my computer. I'm gonna go live my life while I still can. Peace.
The weather's been lovely the last few weeks, and we FINALLY started daylight savings, so the days are long as well. Arianna and I are taking the initiative and introducing picnics into our lives as well as the lives of our friends, and it's been wildly successful. Assuming the weather holds out, we're planning on picnicking every Tuesday afternoon at a different park (side-note: I originally spelled park with a c instead of a k and stared at it for about 5 minutes wondering why firefox was insisting it was a misspelled word, heh) or place around the city.
Speaking of places. I discovered the Place des Vosges recently. Now that I've been there I feel kind of stupid for not having gone before. I don't even have a reasonable, substantial excuse for not ever have gone, seeing as I live a mere three blocks from the place. But my inexcusable laziness aside, I have now visited the place twice, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite spots in Paris. Having already spent some time in the Place Dauphine for my Cities and States class, I can't help but appreciate the significance of the Place des Vosges within the history of Paris.
Now moving on to a more serious topic of discussion: this journal. As some of you may know, this journal/blog/diary/site for rambling, ranting & bitching/whatever you want to call it, is a requirement for the Int'l Study Programs office as part of my study abroad experience. It also serves as a way for everyone back home to keep up with the goings-on in my life in Paris, but it is foremost an obligation. One of the things I am supposed to focus on in my journal entries is comparing Paris to the States. However, as I've now lived in Paris for nearly three months, I've become quite content with my life here. I spend less time comparing my life here in France to my life back home. I spend less time worrying about how I'm fitting in as a Parisian, how well I'm assimilating to their culture. I spend less time wondering if this is the life for me. And ultimately, I think it's a good thing. It doesn't mean that I value my life back in Boston/Delaware/wherever I hang my hat any less, because it's still a huge part of who I am. But the fact of the matter is, this is my life at this point in time.
Differences between my values as an American and French values aren't that glaring anymore because I've learned to adapt. I've always been that way. I go with the flow no matter where I am or whom I am amongst. Differences still exist, but differences exist between everyone, from person-to-person. You can't just categorize an entire group of people and their "values" and compare it to another entire group of people's "values". If I'm not mistaken, that's a form of stereotyping, and that's not cool, man.
I know my life here is different from my life in the States, and when I get back to Boston, I know the realization of just how different these two lives are will hit me like a ton of bricks, but for now, I'm just trying to live in the moment, because time is fleeting, and as my days in Paris dwindle down, I think--I know--I'd prefer to enjoy every aspect of life, every breath, every flower, every sunny day, every baguette, and not focus too much on the differences between the US and France. Comparisons will inevitably emerge in my rants and musings within this journal from this point on, but I'm not going to worry about make a point of throwing them into every journal entry from now on. When all is said and done, and I look back on my time here through this blog, I think that my understanding and interpretations of the differences between my two homes will be evident to me and to anyone who reads this. And if that's not enough for the Study Abroad office? Well, I'm fucked. But I won't worry about that now, I'll worry about that when I get back. Because in this life, I don't let things trivial matters like that consume my life. The fact of the matter is, at this moment, the sun is shining and the sky is blue, and I've already spent too much time inside on my computer. I'm gonna go live my life while I still can. Peace.
Monday, March 23, 2009
This class runs on sangria
I've decided that class trips are my new favorite this in the entire world, and I came to this in Madrid over the weekend.
Let me begin by saying that NU needs to incorporate some class trips (and no, walking tours of Boston do not count) into their courses. Not only was it an amazing time for everyone, including my professor, but it was easily the most effective way to drive home the entire point of the class. The class is called Building States, Building Cities: London, Paris and Madrid. The concept of the class is hard to understand, and perhaps even harder for me to articulate, but it is essentially a class that looks at the history of the urban development of these three cities and determine how its position as the capital within the state changes (or doesn't change) its role as a city. So what better way to understand the history of urban development than to go to the city itself and see for our own eyes how the city has evolved. We do it here in Paris all the time and are all encouraged to visit London and do the same.
This is one of the things that I like best about my life here and studying here compared to Boston. While I would never consider going to AUP full time or never want to go to AUP full time, I really appreciate how much they encourage us to travel and learn new cultures and make the most of our lives while we can. I understand that it's probably a lot easier for a school like AUP to be so accommodating and helpful with this kind of stuff due to its small size, but being here makes me see how much Northeastern (not to mention practically every other university that I know well of) doesn't encourage us to take advantage of everything we have at our fingertips. I'm not saying that NU should suggest that students hop a plane to Madrid for a long weekend because I understand that something like that is a lot less feasible than it is here. But there are so many areas where NU can be more encouraging, or help us broaden our horizons.
AUP has a TON of lecture series or seminars or discussions that are open to all students as well as the public. They are typically on a large array of topics ranging from literary topics, to the environment, to social problems like the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, to a million other topics, and whenever I go to one, there's always a bunch of AUP students there too, regardless of what their area of study happens to be. They're just there to learn something new, broaden their horizons. I feel like Northeastern seriously lacks in encouraging students to learn new things and getting the most out of what the world has to offer.
Ok, NU vs AUP/US vs Europe rant over.
So, Madrid? Absolutely amazing. I loved it there more than I can even begin to describe. Going with my class was a great advantage because I was able to see essentially all of the city and learn about everything that I was seeing as well. Even though we went as a history class, my prof was really helpful in our getting the most of the culture as well. He took us to museums even though they weren't on the itinerary, as well as to his favorite areas for nightlife or dining or dancing because he wanted us to really experience everything Madrid had to offer. It was great.
We saw Guernica at the Reina Sofia and it literally took my breath. I've seen prints of the painting before, but I was in no way prepared for how powerful a painting it truly is. We also saw Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights which was on lone at the Prado. I really dug it and dug how radical it was for its time.
We ate the most amazing food as well. Tapas is perhaps the greatest thing in the world. Also, half the class became obsessed with croquettas and sangria by the first night, so we had to make sure to somehow incorporate them into every meal. The sangria was pretty easy to incorporate into our eating habits, but we had to get a bit creative in where we ate and what we ordered so that croquettas fit into the aesthetics of the meal. We enjoyed it though. Sangria became such a significant motif for the trip that we're even considering getting t-shirts made up that say "This class runs on sangria". Which is true. The class did in fact run on sangria. All the walking tours and educational aspects of our days were essentially just things that we did in between when we got to sit down in a plaza and order some jarras de sangria.
Man, the weather was perhaps the best part though. 27 degrees (75 degrees F) everyday and not a cloud in the sky. I was so excited for really warm weather that I didn't even bring a jacket with me. Rebellious, I know.
We all have the Madrid blues now, though. I need to go back to Spain as soon as it's financially possible. I don't think I'll make it back this semester, and I really don't have a clue when the next opportune time will be, but I'm going back as soon as I get a chance.
On another note: siestas. Man, whoever came up with that idea is a genius. Seriously.
Let me begin by saying that NU needs to incorporate some class trips (and no, walking tours of Boston do not count) into their courses. Not only was it an amazing time for everyone, including my professor, but it was easily the most effective way to drive home the entire point of the class. The class is called Building States, Building Cities: London, Paris and Madrid. The concept of the class is hard to understand, and perhaps even harder for me to articulate, but it is essentially a class that looks at the history of the urban development of these three cities and determine how its position as the capital within the state changes (or doesn't change) its role as a city. So what better way to understand the history of urban development than to go to the city itself and see for our own eyes how the city has evolved. We do it here in Paris all the time and are all encouraged to visit London and do the same.
This is one of the things that I like best about my life here and studying here compared to Boston. While I would never consider going to AUP full time or never want to go to AUP full time, I really appreciate how much they encourage us to travel and learn new cultures and make the most of our lives while we can. I understand that it's probably a lot easier for a school like AUP to be so accommodating and helpful with this kind of stuff due to its small size, but being here makes me see how much Northeastern (not to mention practically every other university that I know well of) doesn't encourage us to take advantage of everything we have at our fingertips. I'm not saying that NU should suggest that students hop a plane to Madrid for a long weekend because I understand that something like that is a lot less feasible than it is here. But there are so many areas where NU can be more encouraging, or help us broaden our horizons.
AUP has a TON of lecture series or seminars or discussions that are open to all students as well as the public. They are typically on a large array of topics ranging from literary topics, to the environment, to social problems like the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, to a million other topics, and whenever I go to one, there's always a bunch of AUP students there too, regardless of what their area of study happens to be. They're just there to learn something new, broaden their horizons. I feel like Northeastern seriously lacks in encouraging students to learn new things and getting the most out of what the world has to offer.
Ok, NU vs AUP/US vs Europe rant over.
So, Madrid? Absolutely amazing. I loved it there more than I can even begin to describe. Going with my class was a great advantage because I was able to see essentially all of the city and learn about everything that I was seeing as well. Even though we went as a history class, my prof was really helpful in our getting the most of the culture as well. He took us to museums even though they weren't on the itinerary, as well as to his favorite areas for nightlife or dining or dancing because he wanted us to really experience everything Madrid had to offer. It was great.
We saw Guernica at the Reina Sofia and it literally took my breath. I've seen prints of the painting before, but I was in no way prepared for how powerful a painting it truly is. We also saw Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights which was on lone at the Prado. I really dug it and dug how radical it was for its time.
We ate the most amazing food as well. Tapas is perhaps the greatest thing in the world. Also, half the class became obsessed with croquettas and sangria by the first night, so we had to make sure to somehow incorporate them into every meal. The sangria was pretty easy to incorporate into our eating habits, but we had to get a bit creative in where we ate and what we ordered so that croquettas fit into the aesthetics of the meal. We enjoyed it though. Sangria became such a significant motif for the trip that we're even considering getting t-shirts made up that say "This class runs on sangria". Which is true. The class did in fact run on sangria. All the walking tours and educational aspects of our days were essentially just things that we did in between when we got to sit down in a plaza and order some jarras de sangria.
Man, the weather was perhaps the best part though. 27 degrees (75 degrees F) everyday and not a cloud in the sky. I was so excited for really warm weather that I didn't even bring a jacket with me. Rebellious, I know.
We all have the Madrid blues now, though. I need to go back to Spain as soon as it's financially possible. I don't think I'll make it back this semester, and I really don't have a clue when the next opportune time will be, but I'm going back as soon as I get a chance.
On another note: siestas. Man, whoever came up with that idea is a genius. Seriously.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ahh, oui, le jour de Saint-Patrick, je le connais
So apparently St. Patrick's Day isn't as big in Europe as it is in the States. I learned this yesterday. According the French people that I spoke with, St. Pat's is just like any other day, and in no way a justification to get wasted and act completely inappropriate for 24 hours. My professors didn't understand why I acted as if it were blasphemy that they scheduled exams on St. Patrick's Day, and they definitely didn't understand or appreciate when I ranted and whined about why we shouldn't even have to come to class on St. Pat's. My French prof seemed to get into St. Pat's a bit, but her idea of celebrating the gloriousness that is this holiday was calling on students to tell the story of St. Patrick in French. Who knows the real story of Patrick? Something about snakes, right? Not my idea of fun and celebration.
Also, throughout the day, I observed who at AUP was wearing green and who wasn't and found that they only people donning their Catholic Green yesterday were Americans, but not even all the Americans, just the visiting students like me and my friends. I suppose I've just grown accustomed to the craziness in Boston on St. Pat's, because I was really disappointed in the lack of celebration.
Guinness and Kilkenny didn't flow through faucets, there was no loud parade barreling through the city, no cops were sharing beers with under-aged kids, nothing. There weren't even any specials on Guinness or Kilkenny at any of the Irish pubs I stopped into. Is it just me, or is that not crazy? I saw Derek at around noon in our London, Paris and Madrid class and I high-fived him for wearing his green Northeastern shirt with the shamrock on it. He asked me why it was noon and we weren't shammered yet. I replied, "Europe", and frowned. So yeah, St. Patrick's Day in Europe really made me miss Boston and the States more than I would ever imagine. Go figure.
Also, throughout the day, I observed who at AUP was wearing green and who wasn't and found that they only people donning their Catholic Green yesterday were Americans, but not even all the Americans, just the visiting students like me and my friends. I suppose I've just grown accustomed to the craziness in Boston on St. Pat's, because I was really disappointed in the lack of celebration.
Guinness and Kilkenny didn't flow through faucets, there was no loud parade barreling through the city, no cops were sharing beers with under-aged kids, nothing. There weren't even any specials on Guinness or Kilkenny at any of the Irish pubs I stopped into. Is it just me, or is that not crazy? I saw Derek at around noon in our London, Paris and Madrid class and I high-fived him for wearing his green Northeastern shirt with the shamrock on it. He asked me why it was noon and we weren't shammered yet. I replied, "Europe", and frowned. So yeah, St. Patrick's Day in Europe really made me miss Boston and the States more than I would ever imagine. Go figure.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
So apparently, Paris really IS nice in the spring
Spring has officially hit Paris, and just in case anyone was wondering, it's true what they say, there's nothing like Paris in the springtime. When I was in Rome, I quickly became attached to the beautiful, temperate Italian climate, and got bummed out thinking that I would have to endure a few more weeks of rainy Paris. But to my surprise, it has been absolutely beautiful since we got back from spring break. While it's only been in the mid to upper 50s, it has felt so much warmer, which I would say is one of the biggest differences between Paris weather and Boston weather. The mid 50s in Boston still feels a bit chilly because there's always a slight chill in the air, or because the wind is blowing so freaking hard that you can't help but feel cold, but here it feels so great. On the plus-side, spring has brought the Parisians out of their stuffy apartments and into the city. People are picnicking all over the place, they're hanging out on the quais du seine, they're walking around, I've seen like 12 neighbors who I've never seen before. It's been a really nice change from the cold, drab Paris that I've experienced the last two months.
On the downside, the warm weather has also brought the tourists, and I'm already resenting them. I never understood the Parisians' aversion to tourists, but now I totally get it. I've found that you can easily spot a tourist, particularly an American tourist, because they don't wear jackets when it's warm enough to go without one (plus their tendency to wear sensible footwear, but that's another story). I don't understand why, and I definitely don't understand how, but the French ALWAYS wear coats. This weekend it was 65 degrees, felt like 70, and they were walking around in wool coats. I could understand if they wear them so that they have something warm when the sun goes down and the temperature drops, but they don't even take them off and drape them over their arms during the day. It really baffles me how they can endure that kind of heat. I mean, I wear my jacket all the time too so that I fit in here (yeah, I'm assimilating, I know), but I just about die of heat exhaustion in doing so. It kinda sucks, man. Not that I miss seeing Americans don their shorts and flip-flops at the first sight of spring, but seriously, it wouldn't hurt the French to shed a layer or two. but anyway, that's enough complaining from me.
In other news, I just bought tickets to the France-Lithuania world cup qualifying match and I'm pretty stoked about it! Apparently, Lithuania is doing much better than anyone anticipated, while France is currently having a pretty shitty year. Annnnd, if France loses this game, they are not going to the World Cup next year, so I could potentially get to witness an historical moment in l'histoire du foot-ball francais. Also, the sports director guy here at AUP told me that if I wear Lithuanian colors or a Lithuania t-shirt to the game, it's quite possible that I would get killed because of it. So, yeah, football's kinda serious here in Europe. Who knew, right?
Oh, and I'm also going to Madrid this weekend which is cool as well.
On the downside, the warm weather has also brought the tourists, and I'm already resenting them. I never understood the Parisians' aversion to tourists, but now I totally get it. I've found that you can easily spot a tourist, particularly an American tourist, because they don't wear jackets when it's warm enough to go without one (plus their tendency to wear sensible footwear, but that's another story). I don't understand why, and I definitely don't understand how, but the French ALWAYS wear coats. This weekend it was 65 degrees, felt like 70, and they were walking around in wool coats. I could understand if they wear them so that they have something warm when the sun goes down and the temperature drops, but they don't even take them off and drape them over their arms during the day. It really baffles me how they can endure that kind of heat. I mean, I wear my jacket all the time too so that I fit in here (yeah, I'm assimilating, I know), but I just about die of heat exhaustion in doing so. It kinda sucks, man. Not that I miss seeing Americans don their shorts and flip-flops at the first sight of spring, but seriously, it wouldn't hurt the French to shed a layer or two. but anyway, that's enough complaining from me.
In other news, I just bought tickets to the France-Lithuania world cup qualifying match and I'm pretty stoked about it! Apparently, Lithuania is doing much better than anyone anticipated, while France is currently having a pretty shitty year. Annnnd, if France loses this game, they are not going to the World Cup next year, so I could potentially get to witness an historical moment in l'histoire du foot-ball francais. Also, the sports director guy here at AUP told me that if I wear Lithuanian colors or a Lithuania t-shirt to the game, it's quite possible that I would get killed because of it. So, yeah, football's kinda serious here in Europe. Who knew, right?
Oh, and I'm also going to Madrid this weekend which is cool as well.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
I'm back, baby!
Yeah, so I realize it's been a while since I wrote anything (thanks for the reminder, Tara), but my life has been mad hectic since I left for Rome.
I guess I can cover Rome now. Sooooo, part two of my wonderful vacances de printemps was spent visiting Dennis in Rome, and let me just say, 5 days of Italy was not nearly enough. I fell in love with the country from day one. I took the train from Paris to Rome because I wanted to have a real eurotrip experience that I feel you can only really experience by choosing to take the train instead of plane. But anyway, 16 hours on the train wasn't exactly an ideal way to spend over half a day, but getting to travel through Pisa and Tuscany and the Italian countryside was totally worth it. I fell in love immediately. Rome did not disappoint either. From the minute we stepped out of the metro and looked up to see some Romans ruins just chillin in the middle of the city I was in awe. Now, I love Paris--don't get me wrong. And one of the things that makes me love Paris in a way that I could never love an American city is how old it is. The first time I walked from my apartment in the 4th to university in the 7th, I felt like everything I saw, touched, walked on, etc was an antique. Like, I would walk past Hotel de Ville, and to think that that at least parts of the building have existed for nearly 700 years totally blew my mind. And I'm not ashamed to say that it still kinda does blow my mind. However, walking through Rome and being able to see for my own eyes and physically touch something that was built 1500 years ago REALLY blew my mind.
I was equally in awe later that day when I visited the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, Palatine Hill and the Imperial Forum. In a way it reminded me of seeing the Mayan ruins in Mexico, but somehow way cooler than the Mayans, most likely because I thought Italy was way cooler than Mexico, but that's a story for another time.
Later, while waiting
for Dennis to get out of studio, I was sitting in the Piazza Campodiglio just soaking up everything around me, when I look to my right, and see a 20-piece brass band warming up. I didn't think it was a holiday, and there wasn't really anything around them to make me think it was any kind of special event. But nevertheless, they were there. After about 10 minutes of getting warm, they began to play what I imagine was the Italian national anthem, because within the first couple of notes played, all the Italians flocked to the band and began singing along in the most nationalistic was I have ever seen anybody sing anything in my life. I think I even saw a few men cry. No lie. Afterwards they played a piece from some opera. I'm not sure what it was, but I definitely recognized it. This time they had an opera singer singing along. It was crazy. I don't know how I was lucky enough to be able to be sitting there in the right place at the right time to witness that randomness, but I was really happy I got to. I had been in Rome for all of 6 hours and I already witnessed one of the coolest things I've ever seen in my life. It made my impression of Rome even greater than it already was.
When I met up with Dennis, he was eager to show me around. Not to brag, but choosing to go to Rome for holiday because I knew I had a place to crash was probably the most brilliant idea I've had in a really long time. But not only did it work out economically, but I soon realized that picking Dennis was also brilliant because as an architect major, he knew sooooo much about the city. As we walked from sight to sight I was able to point to different buildings and things and could explain to me exactly why they looked the way they did, and how old that makes them, and why they were built, and all kinds of crazy cool facts that I definitely wouldn't find in any guidebook. So, in other words, I'm a genius. Yep. We also got lost a couple times, but I absolutely loved it. As I'm sure I've mentioned in more than one blog post, one of my favorite things to do here in Europe is wonder around until I'm lost, and then try to find myself again, because I honestly believe it's the best way to see and experience really, really cool things that you would never get to if you always follow the beaten path. It was the same in Rome.
When we got home we were a couple hours early for dinner so we had a nice salad--Dennis made his own salad dressing, I was quite impressed--and he introduced me to Italian wine. I brought a bottle on French wine with me as a thank-you for letting me crash with him, so we were able to compare the two. After our salads we headed to a pizzeria that was supposedly the second best pizzeria in Rome and split a mushroom, sausage, olive pizza. Not to state the obvious, but yeah, it was pretty damn good pizza. The strangest part, though, was the fact that the
olives on the pizza were whole black olives, pits included. So to eat the olives we had to pick them off the pizza, eat them, spit out the pits, and then proceed with the rest of the pizza. I'm not exactly up with all of the cultural customs of Italy, but I can't imagine how somebody hasn't at least mentioned to them that it would make more sense to cut the olives first, or at least de-pit them. I don't know. It was still amazing pizza. The one thing that I both love and hate about pizza here in Europe (and this applies to every place in Europe I've been so far) is that the pizza is really fancy, and gourmet. You can't get real American pizza anywhere; every place that sells pizza, even Pizza Hut here in Paris, sells small pizza with crazy toppings and super special crust, ect. There's a lot of places that sell "American Pizza" or "Pizza Americain" or "Pizza Americano" as well, but in all of these places, their definition of American pizza is usually just something like plain pepperoni pizza, not a big-ass 16" (40cm?) pizza with shitty sauce and stringy cheese that might taste terrible under most circumstances, but tastes like the greatest thing in the world at three in the morning when you've had to much... we'll say "juice", to drink. I miss it now, but I know that once I get back to the States and eat real American pizza for the first time I'm going to be incredibly disappointed that the cheese is just stringy mozz and not delicious camembert or brie or gruyere. But that's life, I guess.
Dennis had the next morning free so we walked to Vatican City and did the whole Vatican thing. It goes without saying that
I had a really great time and loved everything that I saw, but after four hours of looking at Catholic art and sculptures and frescoes and urns and a million other thinks I kinda wanted to poke my eyes out. So we left and ate lunch. Because food, especially Italian food, never makes me want to poke me eyes out. Dennis and I made pasta for dinner that night and I was once again impressed by Dennis' ability to make his own pasta sauce. I also explained to him that the long, round bread that comes in a paper bag that he eats with dinner every night is actually a French baguette. He was rather surprised. I was surprised that he had no idea what a baguette really was.
I left a couple days later and was really upset to have to leave, but nevertheless happy to get home to my apartment and back to the life that I've grown so accustomed to. Also, I missed fresh croissant. I had a brioche crema just to be able to compare the two, and while I was highly impressed by the idea of stuffing a croissant with cream, it in no way compared to the deliciousness that is a fresh croissant from my favorite boulangerie.
So, long story short, Italy was amazing. And if I ever do this whole study abroad thing again, I really can see myself choosing somewhere in Italy. But, the fact of the matter is, being away from Paris just makes me realize all the more that Paris has become my home within these last two months, and it's the one place, above all, that I truly feel at home.
I guess I can cover Rome now. Sooooo, part two of my wonderful vacances de printemps was spent visiting Dennis in Rome, and let me just say, 5 days of Italy was not nearly enough. I fell in love with the country from day one. I took the train from Paris to Rome because I wanted to have a real eurotrip experience that I feel you can only really experience by choosing to take the train instead of plane. But anyway, 16 hours on the train wasn't exactly an ideal way to spend over half a day, but getting to travel through Pisa and Tuscany and the Italian countryside was totally worth it. I fell in love immediately. Rome did not disappoint either. From the minute we stepped out of the metro and looked up to see some Romans ruins just chillin in the middle of the city I was in awe. Now, I love Paris--don't get me wrong. And one of the things that makes me love Paris in a way that I could never love an American city is how old it is. The first time I walked from my apartment in the 4th to university in the 7th, I felt like everything I saw, touched, walked on, etc was an antique. Like, I would walk past Hotel de Ville, and to think that that at least parts of the building have existed for nearly 700 years totally blew my mind. And I'm not ashamed to say that it still kinda does blow my mind. However, walking through Rome and being able to see for my own eyes and physically touch something that was built 1500 years ago REALLY blew my mind.
I was equally in awe later that day when I visited the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, Palatine Hill and the Imperial Forum. In a way it reminded me of seeing the Mayan ruins in Mexico, but somehow way cooler than the Mayans, most likely because I thought Italy was way cooler than Mexico, but that's a story for another time.
Later, while waiting
for Dennis to get out of studio, I was sitting in the Piazza Campodiglio just soaking up everything around me, when I look to my right, and see a 20-piece brass band warming up. I didn't think it was a holiday, and there wasn't really anything around them to make me think it was any kind of special event. But nevertheless, they were there. After about 10 minutes of getting warm, they began to play what I imagine was the Italian national anthem, because within the first couple of notes played, all the Italians flocked to the band and began singing along in the most nationalistic was I have ever seen anybody sing anything in my life. I think I even saw a few men cry. No lie. Afterwards they played a piece from some opera. I'm not sure what it was, but I definitely recognized it. This time they had an opera singer singing along. It was crazy. I don't know how I was lucky enough to be able to be sitting there in the right place at the right time to witness that randomness, but I was really happy I got to. I had been in Rome for all of 6 hours and I already witnessed one of the coolest things I've ever seen in my life. It made my impression of Rome even greater than it already was.When I met up with Dennis, he was eager to show me around. Not to brag, but choosing to go to Rome for holiday because I knew I had a place to crash was probably the most brilliant idea I've had in a really long time. But not only did it work out economically, but I soon realized that picking Dennis was also brilliant because as an architect major, he knew sooooo much about the city. As we walked from sight to sight I was able to point to different buildings and things and could explain to me exactly why they looked the way they did, and how old that makes them, and why they were built, and all kinds of crazy cool facts that I definitely wouldn't find in any guidebook. So, in other words, I'm a genius. Yep. We also got lost a couple times, but I absolutely loved it. As I'm sure I've mentioned in more than one blog post, one of my favorite things to do here in Europe is wonder around until I'm lost, and then try to find myself again, because I honestly believe it's the best way to see and experience really, really cool things that you would never get to if you always follow the beaten path. It was the same in Rome.
When we got home we were a couple hours early for dinner so we had a nice salad--Dennis made his own salad dressing, I was quite impressed--and he introduced me to Italian wine. I brought a bottle on French wine with me as a thank-you for letting me crash with him, so we were able to compare the two. After our salads we headed to a pizzeria that was supposedly the second best pizzeria in Rome and split a mushroom, sausage, olive pizza. Not to state the obvious, but yeah, it was pretty damn good pizza. The strangest part, though, was the fact that the
olives on the pizza were whole black olives, pits included. So to eat the olives we had to pick them off the pizza, eat them, spit out the pits, and then proceed with the rest of the pizza. I'm not exactly up with all of the cultural customs of Italy, but I can't imagine how somebody hasn't at least mentioned to them that it would make more sense to cut the olives first, or at least de-pit them. I don't know. It was still amazing pizza. The one thing that I both love and hate about pizza here in Europe (and this applies to every place in Europe I've been so far) is that the pizza is really fancy, and gourmet. You can't get real American pizza anywhere; every place that sells pizza, even Pizza Hut here in Paris, sells small pizza with crazy toppings and super special crust, ect. There's a lot of places that sell "American Pizza" or "Pizza Americain" or "Pizza Americano" as well, but in all of these places, their definition of American pizza is usually just something like plain pepperoni pizza, not a big-ass 16" (40cm?) pizza with shitty sauce and stringy cheese that might taste terrible under most circumstances, but tastes like the greatest thing in the world at three in the morning when you've had to much... we'll say "juice", to drink. I miss it now, but I know that once I get back to the States and eat real American pizza for the first time I'm going to be incredibly disappointed that the cheese is just stringy mozz and not delicious camembert or brie or gruyere. But that's life, I guess.Dennis had the next morning free so we walked to Vatican City and did the whole Vatican thing. It goes without saying that
I had a really great time and loved everything that I saw, but after four hours of looking at Catholic art and sculptures and frescoes and urns and a million other thinks I kinda wanted to poke my eyes out. So we left and ate lunch. Because food, especially Italian food, never makes me want to poke me eyes out. Dennis and I made pasta for dinner that night and I was once again impressed by Dennis' ability to make his own pasta sauce. I also explained to him that the long, round bread that comes in a paper bag that he eats with dinner every night is actually a French baguette. He was rather surprised. I was surprised that he had no idea what a baguette really was.I left a couple days later and was really upset to have to leave, but nevertheless happy to get home to my apartment and back to the life that I've grown so accustomed to. Also, I missed fresh croissant. I had a brioche crema just to be able to compare the two, and while I was highly impressed by the idea of stuffing a croissant with cream, it in no way compared to the deliciousness that is a fresh croissant from my favorite boulangerie.
So, long story short, Italy was amazing. And if I ever do this whole study abroad thing again, I really can see myself choosing somewhere in Italy. But, the fact of the matter is, being away from Paris just makes me realize all the more that Paris has become my home within these last two months, and it's the one place, above all, that I truly feel at home.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Where tea flows from the kitchen faucets and a good cup of coffee is nowhere in sight
While I'm on my brief reprieve from my spring break travels, I thought I'd get a post in so that I don't have to write a super-long one after I return from Rome.
So the last six days were filled with amazing Londonness. Things didn't exactly start off smashingly, however. I took the bus from Paris to London. Overall, it wasn't a bad ride at all. About 8 hours in total, with a pleasant 1.5hr trip across the Channel via a luxurious British ferry. I occurred to me approximately one hour into my trip that despite carefully making these travel plans, I didn't have Delanie's number, nor did she have mine, and I also had no idea where she was living. In fact, the only thing I knew about Delanie's stay in London was that she was studying in conjunction with the University of London, which I only knew because she had mentioned it once in passing. Now, if you know us, you know this is quintessential Delanie-Justine. It's just what we do, it's how we roll. We're not ones for planning ahead, and we typically prefer spontaneity and fun over rationale. However, being in two separate countries and ones that neither of us has ever visited before, the stakes are a little higher now, and in retrospect, a little better planning would probably have been best. So, at approximately one hour into my travels, I felt sick to my stomach--not because of car-sickness, because I knew something was going to go wrong.
We arrived in London 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Knowing Delanie, I would be surprised if she even made it to the bis station on time, so I told myself I was going to give her 45 minutes, and then I would start worrying. I tried to sit in the terminal and read, but I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the gnawing feeling in my stomach telling me that Delanie was not going to come running through the doors fashionably late and slightly exasperated. At 9:40 I started to panic. My first act of desperation was asking the two young guys next to me if they happened to know anyone at the University of London. They did not. I left the arrivals terminals and headed across the street to the departures terminal thinking that Delanie might have gotten confused and assumed I would be there. Turns out the departures terminal was HUGE. Much, much bigger than the arrivals terminal. As I was walking I began to worry that Delanie mixed up the days. I remembered that she had a weekend trip to somewhere in England and that she had Mondays off. Perhaps she would not be back in London until Monday evening? What the hell was I supposed to do if that were the case? Stay in a hostel Sunday night and wait until she came back? But then how would she ever know where I was? I was really starting to panic at this point. Out of desperation I even started asking people if they had working internet on their laptops. Perhaps she sent me a message on facebook at the last minute telling me she wouldn't be in London until Monday. I went back to arrivals because I realized that it probably wasn't a good idea to be moving around. I stood outside of the arrivals terminal once again, this time talking to any random stranger I saw. They all thought I was crazy for not having my friend's cell phone number. I was beginning to realize just how stupid we were for not even thinking about exchanging numbers. They all asked if I could call someone else to pick me up. Nope. Delanie's literally the only person I know in the entirety of the United Kingdom. Shit. I'm beyond screwed.
I went to the information desk next hoping that I could at least flirt my way into getting the security guard guy with the computer to let me check facebook. Shameless, I know. He suggested I use the intercom thingy to request Delanie's presence, and give it five minutes. Ten minutes passed and I was on the verge of a breakdown. Then, if by some miracle, I heard someone say, "maybe you can ask at the information desk." And I turned around, and there she was. At 10:30pm, we had finally found each other. Turns out Victoria station is ridiculously big, and the tube drops you off nowhere near the Victoria coach station. She was as panicked, if not more, than I was. She also had to pay some random guy five pounds to help her find me.
Things got better from there. A lot better. Overall I had a really great time, no complaints. I got to see Big Ben (four times, actually. yeah.), Parliament, St. James Park, the Eye, Buckingham Palace, the guards (I even got to see two of them walk!! I didn't even realize they were allowed to move!), a gentleman's club, the official cobbler to the monarchy, the house where Clarissa Dalloway lived in Mrs. Dalloway, the Prime Minister's house, Abbey Road, Abbey Road studios, Kelly Jones of the Stereophonics emerging from Abbey Road Studios, the street where Oscar Wilde used to pick up young boys, Lawrence of Arabia's house, the British Museum, the national galleries, plus more that I'm sure I'm forgetting.
The ride back to Paris was less than enjoyable. I had to sit next to a nervous Franco-Italian, who kept fidgeting every ten seconds. I thought he was normal enough in the beginning of the trip because we casually talked about London and Paris and Italy, then discussed what I was studying and how I'm enjoying my studies. That was the first ten or fifteen minutes. Afterward he just got really fidgety which in turn made me feel really uncomfortable. I hoped that he just needed to get off the bus and walk around a bit, and after we got off the ferry he would be better, but he definitely wasn't--he was perhaps even more uncomfortable than before we left England. Maybe he was smuggling drugs or something. I don't know. But after I gathered my luggage and sat down in the metro, I don't think I've ever felt so happy to be home.
There were a few cultural things that struck me while I was in London. The biggest one was the supermarkets. I guess I never realized it because I'm so used to living in Paris, but the supermarkets here are so much smaller than in England (as well as the States). I'd forgotten that in supermarkets outside of France you can get literally everything you could possibly need all under one roof. But by having everything at my disposal made me wonder who in their right mind wouldn't want to buy their pastry, and bread, and cheese, and meat, etc, etc, etc, fresh. It boggled my mind.
I was also surprised at how much London reminded me of any random city in the States, specifically with all the chain restaurants and fast-food places on every corner. Paris has some of that, but probably only a 10th of what London has. As much as I enjoyed London, it made me really happy that I picked Paris to study in. I don't care what anyone says or thinks, a fresh sandwich from a quaint patisserie that's been in business since the 19th century trumps anything from Subway any day.
Burger King also threw me for a loop. I didn't realize France doesn't have Burger King until I saw them all in England. They've got quite a few McDonald's but no Burger King. I maintain that France's long-time adversity to the monarchy is the reason for their lack of Burger King.
Highlights of the trip:
1) The white cliffs of Dover. I have always wanted to see the white cliffs of Dover, and I definitely was not let down. Perched atop the beautiful cliffs were several unbelievable fortress-like castles. The nerd in me almost expected to see a Heathcliff-type char
acter broodingly looking out onto the water, but alas, I saw none. It really was an amazing sight to see, especially because I've never really thought that I'd be able to see it in this lifetime. My biggest regret was not getting a picture. I'm really kicking myself over that one.
2) Delanie dancing into a chick in a wheelchair. Nuff said.
3) Burger King. I missed it a ton and I didn't even realize it until we were finally in England and I saw one with my very own eyes. We ate it twice in the six days I was there and I feel disgusting for doing so.
4) Getting to walk across Abbey Road like on the album. Abbey Road in general was a amazing. Kind of like my Mecca, I'd say. Seeing Kelly Jones of the Stereophonics was all kinds of rad too. I probably should have gotten a picture with him while I had the chance.
That's all for now. I'll update again when I return from Rome. Maybe they'll have Wendy's there. That would be pretty awesome.
So the last six days were filled with amazing Londonness. Things didn't exactly start off smashingly, however. I took the bus from Paris to London. Overall, it wasn't a bad ride at all. About 8 hours in total, with a pleasant 1.5hr trip across the Channel via a luxurious British ferry. I occurred to me approximately one hour into my trip that despite carefully making these travel plans, I didn't have Delanie's number, nor did she have mine, and I also had no idea where she was living. In fact, the only thing I knew about Delanie's stay in London was that she was studying in conjunction with the University of London, which I only knew because she had mentioned it once in passing. Now, if you know us, you know this is quintessential Delanie-Justine. It's just what we do, it's how we roll. We're not ones for planning ahead, and we typically prefer spontaneity and fun over rationale. However, being in two separate countries and ones that neither of us has ever visited before, the stakes are a little higher now, and in retrospect, a little better planning would probably have been best. So, at approximately one hour into my travels, I felt sick to my stomach--not because of car-sickness, because I knew something was going to go wrong.
We arrived in London 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Knowing Delanie, I would be surprised if she even made it to the bis station on time, so I told myself I was going to give her 45 minutes, and then I would start worrying. I tried to sit in the terminal and read, but I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the gnawing feeling in my stomach telling me that Delanie was not going to come running through the doors fashionably late and slightly exasperated. At 9:40 I started to panic. My first act of desperation was asking the two young guys next to me if they happened to know anyone at the University of London. They did not. I left the arrivals terminals and headed across the street to the departures terminal thinking that Delanie might have gotten confused and assumed I would be there. Turns out the departures terminal was HUGE. Much, much bigger than the arrivals terminal. As I was walking I began to worry that Delanie mixed up the days. I remembered that she had a weekend trip to somewhere in England and that she had Mondays off. Perhaps she would not be back in London until Monday evening? What the hell was I supposed to do if that were the case? Stay in a hostel Sunday night and wait until she came back? But then how would she ever know where I was? I was really starting to panic at this point. Out of desperation I even started asking people if they had working internet on their laptops. Perhaps she sent me a message on facebook at the last minute telling me she wouldn't be in London until Monday. I went back to arrivals because I realized that it probably wasn't a good idea to be moving around. I stood outside of the arrivals terminal once again, this time talking to any random stranger I saw. They all thought I was crazy for not having my friend's cell phone number. I was beginning to realize just how stupid we were for not even thinking about exchanging numbers. They all asked if I could call someone else to pick me up. Nope. Delanie's literally the only person I know in the entirety of the United Kingdom. Shit. I'm beyond screwed.
I went to the information desk next hoping that I could at least flirt my way into getting the security guard guy with the computer to let me check facebook. Shameless, I know. He suggested I use the intercom thingy to request Delanie's presence, and give it five minutes. Ten minutes passed and I was on the verge of a breakdown. Then, if by some miracle, I heard someone say, "maybe you can ask at the information desk." And I turned around, and there she was. At 10:30pm, we had finally found each other. Turns out Victoria station is ridiculously big, and the tube drops you off nowhere near the Victoria coach station. She was as panicked, if not more, than I was. She also had to pay some random guy five pounds to help her find me.
Things got better from there. A lot better. Overall I had a really great time, no complaints. I got to see Big Ben (four times, actually. yeah.), Parliament, St. James Park, the Eye, Buckingham Palace, the guards (I even got to see two of them walk!! I didn't even realize they were allowed to move!), a gentleman's club, the official cobbler to the monarchy, the house where Clarissa Dalloway lived in Mrs. Dalloway, the Prime Minister's house, Abbey Road, Abbey Road studios, Kelly Jones of the Stereophonics emerging from Abbey Road Studios, the street where Oscar Wilde used to pick up young boys, Lawrence of Arabia's house, the British Museum, the national galleries, plus more that I'm sure I'm forgetting.
The ride back to Paris was less than enjoyable. I had to sit next to a nervous Franco-Italian, who kept fidgeting every ten seconds. I thought he was normal enough in the beginning of the trip because we casually talked about London and Paris and Italy, then discussed what I was studying and how I'm enjoying my studies. That was the first ten or fifteen minutes. Afterward he just got really fidgety which in turn made me feel really uncomfortable. I hoped that he just needed to get off the bus and walk around a bit, and after we got off the ferry he would be better, but he definitely wasn't--he was perhaps even more uncomfortable than before we left England. Maybe he was smuggling drugs or something. I don't know. But after I gathered my luggage and sat down in the metro, I don't think I've ever felt so happy to be home.
There were a few cultural things that struck me while I was in London. The biggest one was the supermarkets. I guess I never realized it because I'm so used to living in Paris, but the supermarkets here are so much smaller than in England (as well as the States). I'd forgotten that in supermarkets outside of France you can get literally everything you could possibly need all under one roof. But by having everything at my disposal made me wonder who in their right mind wouldn't want to buy their pastry, and bread, and cheese, and meat, etc, etc, etc, fresh. It boggled my mind.
I was also surprised at how much London reminded me of any random city in the States, specifically with all the chain restaurants and fast-food places on every corner. Paris has some of that, but probably only a 10th of what London has. As much as I enjoyed London, it made me really happy that I picked Paris to study in. I don't care what anyone says or thinks, a fresh sandwich from a quaint patisserie that's been in business since the 19th century trumps anything from Subway any day.
Burger King also threw me for a loop. I didn't realize France doesn't have Burger King until I saw them all in England. They've got quite a few McDonald's but no Burger King. I maintain that France's long-time adversity to the monarchy is the reason for their lack of Burger King.
Highlights of the trip:
1) The white cliffs of Dover. I have always wanted to see the white cliffs of Dover, and I definitely was not let down. Perched atop the beautiful cliffs were several unbelievable fortress-like castles. The nerd in me almost expected to see a Heathcliff-type char
acter broodingly looking out onto the water, but alas, I saw none. It really was an amazing sight to see, especially because I've never really thought that I'd be able to see it in this lifetime. My biggest regret was not getting a picture. I'm really kicking myself over that one.2) Delanie dancing into a chick in a wheelchair. Nuff said.
3) Burger King. I missed it a ton and I didn't even realize it until we were finally in England and I saw one with my very own eyes. We ate it twice in the six days I was there and I feel disgusting for doing so.
4) Getting to walk across Abbey Road like on the album. Abbey Road in general was a amazing. Kind of like my Mecca, I'd say. Seeing Kelly Jones of the Stereophonics was all kinds of rad too. I probably should have gotten a picture with him while I had the chance.
That's all for now. I'll update again when I return from Rome. Maybe they'll have Wendy's there. That would be pretty awesome.
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