looking back

It's been one week and 4 days since I left Paris. I'm finally starting to get used to LA. At first, it was heavy jet lag and quite a bit of depression. LA is a far, far cry from Paris, surtout the San Fernando Valley (hey here's some random news-- Hollywood is thinking of filming a remake of Valley Girl. Apparently the script sucks though. Ha.). I've never noticed the smog so much, nor has the traffic ever seemed so horrible. The first thing I did in LA after getting back? Went out for organic Mexican food with a good friend. How stereotypical can I get? Quote of that day? "When did the 'walk' man go from green to white?" "He was always white." "what? No! He was green!" Apparently I was wrong. Another good quote from that weekend? "We can go get you a new cell today honey." "But mom, it's Sunday." "Yeah, so? We're not in Europe." Point is, there are lots of things I'm getting used to again. How to flush the toilet. The fact that shopworkers tell YOU to have a good day and not vice versa. The volume of everyone's voice. The way people dress. Dollars. Hugging and not kissing. Hearing and seeing English all around me. Who would've thought that'd become weird one day?

But this post was supposed to be about looking back. So let's do that, shall we?

From August 28, 2008 until July 31, 2009, while living in the beautiful, fun, cultural France, I...

• spent more money on alcohol, clothes, taxis, and pastries (specifically macarons) than I should have
• learned how to cut my meat differently
  
• got my French friends addicted to two very American games (wine pong-- slight modification-- and concentration)
• hardly ever studied yet learned more than I could have during a year at Wellesley
• picnicked along the Seine quite often
• guided touristes through the marvels that make up Paris
• participated in a strike.
• traveled to 25 French cities and 15 other European cities
• had a stalker until he wrote me a love poem for Valentine's Day and I wrote a mean text back telling him never to talk to me again
• went from being sick of French guys to falling head over heels for one
• interned, taught English, gave tours, and babysat, so I made a bit of money
• knew all of the waiters at Curieux Spaghetti Bar
• made some truly incredible friends who I miss VERY much right now
• lived on two different sides of Paris
• co-piloted a plane
• learned that the French are wonderful, kindhearted people with an amazing history and culture that they have every right to be damn proud of.
  

I miss it so much.

The end, for now. Because I evidently HAVE to go back one day.

Ca, c'est Paris!

On my first night in Paris, my friend Auni invited me out with some of her friends. I got off at Bastille and wound down the always popular, bar-and-restaurant crowded street named rue de Lappe. I met up with her in a restaurant there and we soon found a bar afterwards. It was a very fun first night out.

Tonight, after a nice last dinner with some American friends, the group walked back to Bastille, and happen to use rue de Lappe to get there. I hadn't been down the street in a while. It was packed and rowdy as ever. I passed by the bar Auni and I went to, where a random group of French people had offered us champagne, and passed the restaurant as well, where French boys gawked as Auni and I hugged hello (because only people in love hug in France. Normal friends kiss.).

It was just a very surreal moment, walking down the rue de Lappe on my last night in Paris while remembering being there on my first night in Paris.

I want to write more, but I get up in about 4 and a half hours, so... yeah. All I have to say is, this has been the best year of my life, and I wish it could continue. I want it to continue. Next year, I'm not writing a senior thesis, so instead, I'll spend as much time as possible figuring out how to come back to France after graduation. Plus, all my French friends will kill me if I don't.

Paris, je t'aimerai toujours. Merci pour tous. Now I'm heading back 'home' to LA...

Same city, different life

Different, extremely busy life, to be more precise. Which is why I haven't been updating this blog even though there are about 8953398 things to tell.

Just after having written my last entry, I moved across Paris from Oberkampf in the 11th arrondissement to St. Augustin/ St. Lazare in the 8th. I now live in a cute, albeit oddly shaped, apartment with my friend Stephanie. She goes to Wellesley and spent this year abroad in Aix-en-Provence. She's interning at the Musee d'Orsay (the great impressionist art museum here in Paris, personally one of my favorites), and therefore, her schedule is normal and she gets weekends off, something I'm ridiculously jealous of, but we'll get to that later.

Where I live now is just about as different as you can get from where I used to live. It's rich, residential, tame, full of businessmen during the day and nobody at night. The grand magasins (the big department stores) are literally a 5 minute walk away, which came in handing once the soldes (the bi-annual, gov't regulated sales) started. I miss the hip bars and cafes, young artsy crowds, and ethnicity of the 11th. I miss entering my door code next to a packed bar when I got home at night. I do like that our new apartment has a balcony, but we're right around the corner from Boulevard Haussmann, one of the busiest streets in Paris during the day, PLUS there's freaking construction going on at the church next door, so it's always way too loud at my place. Still, I'm not complaining. I like it here.

Now, I said I'm jealous of Stephanie for having a normal schedule because mine is as hectic and ridiculous as you can get. And not just because I've been doing traveling too. This whole summer, all tour guiding/interning/ English-teaching things were decided at the last minute, and often, my tour guiding schedule would be MESSED UP. quite often. There's nothing more irritating to me than a lack of order in my life (though I'll let my room get pretty messy...), and this whole ridiculous lack of scheduling has driven me NUTS. I feel like the days that I would go traveling were the only days I had off, because otherwise, I was working 7 days a week. And because of that, I went through a brief period of not enjoying myself in Paris. I know, you never thought you'd hear me say that, but it's true. I realized I wasn't getting a chance to just hang out and wander and chill like I did when I was just a student here.

Then I realized, however, that this was the whole point of me staying for the summer (well, that and getting to be in France for Bastille Day, and not having to be in LA for the summer...but anyway)-- to see what life is like when you're NOT a student in Paris. When you actually have to work and can't just go to museums and chill in the gardens in your spare time. This whole year I've told myself that I want to move back to Paris after college, but I wondered whether I would truly enjoy a different, working-woman lifestyle here. You know what, it's tough! And that's life. But I'll come back and do it again, definitely. It was just hard getting used to it.

I should talk more about my traveling and Bastille Day and co-piloting a plane and other fun stuff in another post (soon, promise), but I should at least mention things about the boy I brought up in my last post. Yann. He's amazing. He's so sweet and funny. I'm absolutely crazy about him. Unfortunately, on June 1st he went down to Bilbao, Spain, to intern there. I went down to visit him for 6 days in his hometown, Biscarrosse, in Southwestern France (aka southern california) (aka one of the best places to surf in France. Did I mention he surfs?), and we did a whole tour of that area, hitting up the ritzy beach town of Biarritz, the Basque town of St. Jean-de-Luz, and finally, Bilbao, which was charming. That was at the end of June, and I haven't seen him since, but we talk/skype rather often, and I'm dying of impatience because he's coming up to Paris this weekend!!!!!!!! After that... we'll see... he's studying abroad in Canada in the fall, so... we'll see what we do. All I have to say is, I'm only one of at least 5 friends who have met amazing guys just toward the very end of their stay here in France, and none of us think it's fair. :(

Another update will come soon. There's so much to blog about it's not even funny. I just don't want to overload you all.

Gros bisous!

Police/Racial Profiling/no sleep

This was NOT the entry I was expecting to write about on the day that I move from my host family's place to my apartment. But since I have to do that soon, I'll make this entry quick.

Last night was my friend Miranda's bday and we picnicked at a popular spot for young people, the tip of the Ile de la Cite. The recently-acquired boy in my life, Yann, came too, and he happened to be the only French person in the large group of Miranda's friends. Most of Miranda's friends left around 12:30 to catch the last metro, but some of us stuck around. Yann and I were just thinking of taking a nice romantic stroll along the Seine when chaos ensued.

In French there's a word, racaille, which the dictionary defines as "riff-raff" but the French explain as "those sketchy guys who are immigrants who wear sports clothes/ gangster clothes and are annoying and never leave girls alone and just hang around doing nothing on the Champs Elysees or Chatelet or other popular areas." Note that they are almost always immigrants--they are French Africans or 'Maghreb', aka French North Africans.

Last night, a group of guys that the French would definitely call racaille invaded our picnic briefly. One of them took the bottle of wine that I had bought for Miranda. It was 2/3 done, we didn't care too much about the wine, just about the fact that they thought they could annoy us by taking it which bothered us. So we kept saying "come on Monsieur, it's her birthday, let her have the wine" while simultaneously telling them to get lost. Next thing you know, the leader of the pack, an African wearing all black and a red baseball cap and a shiny silver decorated buckle on his belt (how many times did I have to describe this to the police? Oh hold on, we're getting there) puts down the wine, and takes this girl Victoria's camera, which is sitting right next to the wine bottle. Why she didn't put her camera back in her bag, I don't know, but that's when it got messy. Our friend Ryan (also from LA) was drunk enough to get aggressive with one of the guys... and we got scared. Nothing physical happened, but we knew at this point we weren't getting the camera back. They kept passing it between them, and running off. Other people in the area tried to talk to them as well, but no luck. Yann, the only Frenchy in our group, tried to talk to them, but also no luck. Finally Yann, Ryan, Victoria, and this guy Jonathan (also from LA) started chasing them down the banks of the Seine, while Jonathan is calling the cops. The guys get away, and Ryan leaves, because he isn't legally allowed to be living and working in France, and doesn't want to deal with the cops.

Once the police come, we give them a description of the leader of the pack, the one who took the camera, and within minutes they find someone who matches that exact description. We walk over to Chatelet and we see it's him, it's definitely him. However, they also have about 6 other Africans and two Maghreb guys with them, none of which match our description. That's when I started to get upset. Here were some completely innocent guys, just chillin' in a spot that happened to be where this jackass was apprehended, and because they were black/middle eastern males, the police started interrogating them. Miranda and I kept going up to the police saying "it's not them it's not them we're sure it's not them." All of the guys in that group that took the camera were wearing sporty/gangster shiny black jackets. These guys weren't. We felt horrible.

Then we had to go to the police station, where we stayed for 2 hours as they got down every detail of our story. The guy they apprehended put up a huge fight. He was screaming and banging and I almost started feeling sorry for him. I really did. This whole situation was so messed up. First the racial profiling, then the way they treated this guy (Miranda saw them perform some sort of neck-twisting move on him... not what I wanted to hear), and plus, poor Yann has a final today, and he was NOT supposed to stay out until 4 am being the "translator," despite the fact that we could all speak French pretty well. I felt SO SO SO bad that he was involved in this. I'm moving today, I wasn't supposed to stay out till 4 am either! And Miranda... well, now she's got a crazy story to tell about her 21st.

In the end, they never found the camera, and they never probably will. And now Victoria has to go to court against this guy.

8 months in Paris, and this is the first time something like this has happened...

well, bonjour there

Long time no post, blog-readers.

It's been over a month since my last post, and life has been crazy. Fantastic, yes, but crazy. And strangely enough, now, during finals, is the calmest I've felt in a while. I know you're going WHAAAT? But it's true. Bizarre how that happened. But let's backtrack, shall we? Let's go back in time...

• April 3rd, Mommy arrived in Paris and spent two weeks with me. It was really fantastic, actually, and kept me very busy, of course. Since my family had spent 3 weeks in Paris during the summer of 04, she didn't really find the need to go to the Eiffel Tower or Arc de Triomph or Louvre again. She basically wanted to see what I enjoyd doing and wanted to mimic my life. So, that we did. We all celebrated Passover, took a day trip to a French chateau (castle) in the town where French whipped cream (Chantilly) gets it's name (wow, I've been to Champagne, Dijon, and Chantilly. What other French towns can I go to who have food/drink named after them?), sat in parks, hit up museums, just had a lot of busy fun. (I also hit up two other chateaux-- Fontainebleau and Vaux-le-Vicomte-- with SBC).
• Spring break week two (because week one, Mommy was here)-- traveled to Dublin and Stockholm. Honestly, two fascinating cities. Dublin had a lot of charm and character and THE NICEST PEOPLE EVER. Stockholm was beautiful in a very unique way. It's situated on 14 islands, and there is so much to do in Stockholm it's ridiculous. It felt like San Francisco mixed with Amsterdam (which happen to be two of my favorite cities).
• All this while, I was very busy trying to prepare to be a tour guide for this summer, and more importantly, searching for an APARTMENT! Here is what I discovered-- apartment searching in Paris is a pain. A giant pain in the neck. A friend of mine from Wellesley, Stephanie Buhle, and I decided we wanted to split a place together this summer. Not only do I not like living alone, but I also have no idea how to live in an apartment alone. Stephanie, on the contrary, has had an apartment all year in Aix-en-Provence, provided to her by the Wellesley-in-Aix program. So she knows how to cook, clean, do laundry at a laundromat, deal with apartment issues, etc. Plus, I figured it would be easier to find an apartment for two people than for one, because Paris is FULL of students looking to live in "chambres de bonnes," which are tiny student rooms that can be found on the top floor of many apartment buildings, and so I figured, while everyone was looking for small chambres de bonnes, we'll look for something sliiiightly bigger. Well, apparently, it's harder to find something affordable for two people during the summer than we thought. No one wanted to rent for two months, there were less places to choose from, etc. FINALLY, through the help of SBC, we got a two-bedroom place for a ridiculously cheap price. SBC rents this place out during the year to students on our program who prefer independent living. The old couple who have the place are crazy nice, and they wanted to continue to rent it out to students during the summer, and since they trust SBC and they love students, they just handed it to me!! No contract, cheap price (considering it's in the 8th, normally a VERY expensive neighborhood. The Champs Elysees/Arc de Triomph is in the 8th. So you can imagine...), WE'RE SO LUCKY!
  
• went to the Idan Raichel Project concert here on Thursday night!! Marion came up from Aix for the concert, which was great. Always fun to spend time with far-away friends :). The concert was, as always, moving, incredible, beautiful, profound, fantastic. We bought shirts too. They've never had shirts before...God I LOOOOOVE their music. And they played a LOT of songs from their new album, which made me really happy.
• Went to Giverny, where Money lived, with SBC. Had been there before with my parents, but it was beautiful to be there again. SBC gave us the most incredible meal we'd had in a while. Felt spoiled. And full. We did some biking too. All in all, lovely day.
  
• And finally, now, finals... because things felt so crazy before, I feel actually much calmer now, and so finals don't bother me so much. Instead, I'm focusing on having fun with all of my friends before most of them leave. I can't believe they're leaving. But I'll leave that reflection for another post. In the meantime, well, I SHOULD be studying... but that's just an update. If you read all of that, I applaud you...

Sprintime, and life is fabulous

After my super depressing post last time, here's an uplifting one for you:
0. Springtime in Paris! LOVELY! 'nuff said.
1. I went to a ball last Friday at the Opera Garnier.
2. I'm working as a tour guide in Paris this summer!

So let's start, shall we?

First of all, the work-- I interviewed today to work for Sandeman's New Europe Tours (those of you traveling around other European countries may have gone on one of their tours, pub crawls, or bike tours) in Paris, and I got the job! Well, first I have to go on one of their walking tours to make sure I enjoy it, but I'm sure I will. And MY MOM ARRIVES TOMORROW (!!!), so that'll be the pefect excuse to go on one of the tours. Someone else can do all the talking, and not me, for once :-P. I'm. SO. EXCITED! That means that this summer, I will be a) interning for a film production company b)working as a tour guide and c) teaching english, ALL IN PARIS! This is going to be the best summer ever!!!

Now, onto prettier things: the ball! (I'm trying to upload pics but this thing isn't working properly...)

On Friday, March 27^th, after months of anticipation, a large group of friends (both American and French) and I donned our fanciest attire and headed to the Opéra Garnier for the 118^th Bal de l’X. Yes, the Bal de l’X is an actual ball, and not, as a a friend described, “a moisturizer for men with no hair.” It is a beautiful, lavish event for the students of Ecole Polytechnique (known as X), the grandest of the grandes écoles, the Harvard of France, if you will. The entire event, open to students of any school, Polytechnique alumni, and members of various clubs (for example, the Wellesley Club of France), consists of a dinner, a ballet, and finally the ball itself. The whole package being above and beyond the average student’s budget, my friends and I choose to attend only the ball.

The rooms for dancing included of a jazz band room, a classical music room, and a ‘techno’ room. It was thrilling to get a chance to be inside the gorgeous Opéra Garnier, and admire its artistic and architectural works. However, it was equally as thrilling to experience a real ball—an event that sounds like a dream to most Americans, especially in this economic climate. However, in France, this ball is a well-known and completely normal event. Upon mentioning to any French person that I was going to the Bal de l’X, their reaction was one of excitement, for they knew what the event was and they knew it would be wonderful. Mentioning it to American friends, I would get a completely different response, one of surprise, shock, and envy—something along the lines of “wait, you’re going to a what?”

There were two traditional aspects of the ball in particular that fascinated me, being an American outsider to this practice. The first was the outfits worn by the current students of X. The female students wear long red and black gowns, and the males are dressed in fancy military-style uniforms and hats. Another tradition was the dancing of the quadrille by current X students. To me, the dance looked like a scene out of a movie adapted from a Jane Austen novel, especially accompanied by the costumes. My French friends assured me the quadrille was not something they normally learn or practice. When I asked them why, then, did these students perform this dance in these costumes, they responded with that oh-so-French shrug of the shoulders and a “behh… c’est la tradition.” Like cheese at the end of a meal, or kisses on the cheek, these highlights of the dance were simply another French tradition that I’ve been fortunate enough to learn about while abroad this year in Paris.

tristesse, joie, c'est comme ca

Sometimes, Paris is sad. And it makes me appreciate the happier times of my life.

This past weekend, Tanya, one of my best friends since childhood, came to visit me in Paris. I was insanely happy to see her and we had a great time together running around Paris (we saw TWO weddings at the Eiffel Tower! The groom was carrying the bride and spinning her around and it was so romantic I wanted to shoot myself... I mean, um, it was really cute), and we are making plans to travel to Dublin together. But aside from all that, she made a comment that I find myself often making-- "I feel so bad for those cute puppies in the street."

She is referring to the fact that the streets of Paris are full of homeless men and women, and their dogs. It is sad enough to see so many people living on the streets of gorgeous, lavish Paris, who have literally nothing, but it is absolutely heartbreaking to see them with their cute pets (once I stopped dead on the street because I saw a homeless man, his dog, and his dogs newborn puppies without their eyes even open, nursing from their mother. In the dead of winter). And yes, they're always cute, which made me wonder-- are these really the dogs and cats of the SDF, as they're called in Paris? (SDF= sans domicile fixe, or without a fixed home) While discussing this with a friend last fall, she mentioned that France has some law that states that a SDF cannot be arrested if they posess an animal, because the police don't know what to do with the animal. She also mentioned this while talking about how beggars in Paris often live a life somewhat like a prostitute, to the extent that they have 'pimps' who teach them how to beg and take a share of their money. She mentioned that probably the beggar pimps give the homeless these cute animals to get them money from sympathetic people. I'll believe the beggar pimps, but to this day I don't know if the law concerning homeless and animals is true or not. I've tried looking it up online, but no luck, and it's not something I remember to bring into conversation with my host family or French friends.

Assuming that it was true, however, made sense logically. And it made me feel so bad for these animals, forced to work as a means to earn money for their owners by doing nothing all day. I wonder how much food the animals get, or if their SDF owners ever take them on a walk around Paris. Probably not. I'm so heartbroken each time I see one (which is often several times a day) that I want to start carrying around cans of dog food with me, and distribute them to the owners. But... wait a minute. What about the owners?

Is it wrong of me to feel sympathy for the innocent pet, but not for the human being sitting in front of me? I mean, I do feel sympathy for him or her, but I don't see myself saying "I should carry extra baguettes around in my bag to give to them." Is it because I've become so jaded by the sight of homeless beggars, having grown up in a big city myself full of homeless people? Is it because I believe that most homeless people have brought themselves into this desolate state through drinking and drug abuse? Is it because I now assume that all Parisian beggars are part of this begging ring, and my money will mostly go to their pimp? I like to think not, I do know that there are people out there who started with nothing and their whole lives have had nothing, and do not have the background or education or tools or physical/mental capacity to have a job and a place to live, and that I should help them. But then we get back to the problem of 'how do I KNOW that?' Every time I hear a "bonjour messieurs-dames, excusez-moi de vous deranger..." in that rehearsed, often foreign voice on the metro, how do I know if this is someone who is part of this ring, or if they're asking for alcohol money, or if they really want some change to buy a baguette? (well, a lot of them say something along the lines of "I have 2 kids and we have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat" so I've started to assume that's part of a memorized script)

I feel guilty for wanting to help the animals more than the people, but I won't even donate une piece (change) to people for fear of where my money is truly going. And I won't even give money to music performers on the metro because then I feel like I'd have to give money to everyyy performer, because who I am to judge who deserves money for their talent and who doesn't? And what about the gypsies? I know nothing about the gypsies, but they're always begging for money. Should I help them out? Gypsies don't exist in the States, y'know. What's their story?

Oy, this has turned into a long rant. I need to go back to writing a paper, but the point is, as beautiful and gorgeous and spectacular as Paris is for me, it is a world of despair and emptiness and tristesse (sadness) for others. And I should never, ever forget that.

To end on other happy things-- I'm getting somewhere with my possible internship and possible job in Paris this summer, I'm making more international friends, and I'm patiently awaiting the mythical springtime in Paris. My school was blocked again this week (though I did convince one of the girls blocking it to let me in! hah! and then the Professor didn't show up...), but oh well, somehow it'll all sort itself out, right?

fac en greve

Dear Paris 3- Sorbonne Nouvelle students,

I do not understand why it is necessary for you to literally BLOCK the entrance to my classes at Paris 3 from yesterday (Monday) until Thursday with your tables and your pamphlets and your bodies. Heaven forbid that some of us want to learn (or at least have class so we can get credit from our home schools, or, in the case of the poor actual Parisian students, GRADUATE one of these days), and heaven forbid that some teachers actually want to teach instead of striking.

I am all for freedom of expression, and your weekly (or bi-weekly) Assemble Generale meetings. It's great that all the students and faculty have a place to express themselves, and inform the student body about the campus happenings. Here's what I don't get-- why you're all about freedom of expression and better wages, but you won't give other students the freedom to go to class, where they can learn something useful, and maybe even make a career out of what they learned and make a life for themselves. Actually, wait, that was silly. Here's what I REALLY DON'T GET-- Students are not paid, therefore, how can they go on strike? Manifestations? (Protests) Sure. Greve? (Strike) Non!

I get that you're French, and that's kinda your thing, y'know, you enjoy life and then POOF, someone tries to change something and you strike. In this particular case, I agree, it is unfair that professors who focus on research are being forced to put in more teaching hours, especially if they're not good at teaching, so that they have something to "show for their jobs" (thanks Auni, for the clarification). I understand their need to strike and show the government their disapproval-- it's annoying to us students, but hey, it's not us who are getting shafted (I hate that word but I feel it's quite appropriate here), it's not like we can relate.

Or wait, are you Parisian students telling me...we can? Tell me, dear etudiant (student), are you blocking my school because you relate SO DEEPLY to the professor's peril that you want to make sure that EVERY professor has the ability to greve, to give a big UP YOURS to Sarkozy? After all, if no students are let in, no professors have to teach, and don't have to be forced to "show for their jobs." Just come on and admit it, you secretly don't want class, do you? ;) (Well, I suppose if the professors who are only good at research and not teaching are forced to give more classes, I would get upset to, how boring for us students! Yet, I wouldn't go on strike against him or her. Evidently we need to implement Wellesley-style end-of-semester SEQs into these universities. I hope they actually have them already).

I'm sorry if anyone who reads this doesn't agree with me, but JE NE SUIS PAS D'ACCORD AVEC CELA! (I am not ok with that!) Open up the university and let me take classes, dammit, or else I will steal your precious cigarettes and Vanessa Bruno/Longchamp bags and throw them in the Seine!

Life Update...kinda sorta...

I should've written last week when I got back from the most incredible vacation ever in Spain/ the Cote d'Azur. Or when I skyped with my parents and saw a new background in the video screen, because they had moved houses now.

I should've written at any time during this week when my host mom's super cute grandkids came to visit for the week, from Israel, and how they were loud and spoke a mixture of French and Hebrew and and I loved them dearly. They left this morning.

Or I should've written when our program's director said it's ok, I don't have to continue 6 classes, 4 of which were at Sweet Briar, just in case the university strikes continue all semester. My two Parisian university classes have still been going on despite the strike, so it's highly unlikely they'll just stop right now.

Or I should've written about 'Orly's crazy adventures with international men, romantic and otherwise' (including the crazy Spanish guys in Valencia who gave Inci and I drinks, then ate half of our dinner, sang songs in Spanish about the facist gov't on the way to the free Franz Ferdinand concert, and somehow broke a pane of glass on the bus and magically disappeared like a puff of smoke).

The point is, I've been up to a LOT lately. Between vacation and schoolwork and life, my parents moving (and getting a DOG, which came with the new house... WTF?! We are not dog people...) and friends visiting, missing the sun and sangria of Spain, babysitting the host-grand-kids, partying all weekend, learning vulgar French phrases (I will explain in just a minute) and playing wine-pong and wine-flip-cup with French people, I have not had much time to relax, let alone post on the blog.

Other bloggers-- does this ever happen to you, where you have a small, ordinarily insignificant experience, but you think about it a lot, and you want to blog about it, to tell the world and be like "Hey world, I just had some great insight into the way the French society/language/culture/people/food/music/films work, and I think you should know about it to"? And then you sit down at your computer... and you can't think about what it is you wanted to say. Is this bloggers' block, or something?

update: Oh, well here's one thing-- I love how INCREDIBLY CHILL my host parents are. Unlike my real parents (who I love dearly but as we all know are super overprotective), mes parents d'accueil encourage me to go out, telling me "profite de ta vie" ("enjoy your life", basically). Last night was a perfect example. I had dinner with friends, and then came home around 9. My host dad goes "what? it's Saturday night! You're not staying in are you?" and I say "No no I'm going to a friend's party in an hour, I was just out to dinner and I'm relaxing for a bit." "Oh, good," he says "I was worried about you there for a moment. I was worried you weren't enjoying your life." Then I came home at 5:45 this morning, went to bed, and when I woke up around noon, my host mom just mildly commented "you came home really early in the morning, didn't you?" No tone of reprimand, no teasing even, just a straight-up comment. "Well, it was a really good party, and we just kinda waited for the metro to start up again" I responded. "Right right, tu as raison, bon, c'est super." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is SUPER to my host parents that I went to a really good party and saved money by waiting to take the metro home.

And this is why I love Paris.

Now, as promised, some great vulgar French phrases--

• If you want to say "he's a player/womanizer/ladies man"-- il est un chaud lapin-- literally, He is a hot rabbit.
• 'I haven't gotten laid in a while'= J'ai traverse le desert-- literally, I have traveled through the desert.
• 'I had a one night stand'--Je suis passe(e) a la casserole--literally, I have passed the casserole
• 'Go fuck yourself up the ass'--Va te faire enculer
• 'fuck buddy'--copain/copine a baise
  

I'll leave it at that, and post a real post soon. Just felt like a random, incoherent update today, that's all.

Semester 2 is a bit crazier

After a really fun (and freezing!) winter break, it was finally time to start up classes again. Parisian university and Sweet Briar College Junior Year in France: round 2. With some changes...

Number one was a change in campus. After giving it much thought, I decided to study at Paris 3-- Sorbonne Nouvelle this semester (instead of Paris 7). I don't need to go into the long story, but the short story is, they have much better cinema classes at Paris 3. It's also located in the Latin Quarter (the 5th, to be precise, right around the corner from the cute Rue Moufftard), and not in the new, modern, ugly quarter of the 13th. I'm also taking two SBC classes this semester-- History of Paris through its Monuments, and Art History (at the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay). Basically I'm learning how to become a professional tour guide of Paris.

Of course, spending a year doing a study abroad program means meeting the new semestriels. In general, I really like the newbies. They're really nice, and adorably enthousiastic. The important shock to me, however, was their level of French. Some of them are quite good, don't get me wrong, but many of them work very hard to put a sentence together. It wasn't until I heard these newbies speak French that I realized how far I have come in my French-speaking abilities. Those new semestriels, they were ME last semester. Terrified to speak French, to make an error, to open my mouth knowing no matter how hard I would try, the Parisians would reply in English. I've been focusing so much on how much I still have to learn (i.e. A LOT!!!!!!) that I never took a moment to look back on how far I've come!

And finally, number three, and this is really the most interesting, is the university strike. There are a few things the French are very well-known for (wine, cheese, the Eiffel Tower, berets, Napoleon...), and going on strike is one of them. A few weeks ago, basically all of France staged a huge manifestation (demonstration) at Bastille, just around the corner from me. I couldn't miss 'le grand manif', so while my host mom watched on TV, I went outside and got myself right in the thick of things. I started joining in chants, marching with whichever group happened to be next to me at the moment. That was all very nice and fun, but now these strikes are getting problematic.

For reasons I won't get into, the universities have decided to go on strike (it has to do with what one has to do to become a professor... but anyway), and are all technically shut down. It's really up to the professors whether or not they want to give class or strike, and sometimes the students will be out demonstrating, and so there's no point for the professors to give class, even if they want to. This is what happened to me last Tuesday. I exited the metro just in time to see a large manif of students carrying banners and chanting. It was fun to watch, but then I ran off to class, only to find one student who was nice enough to stick around and tell anyone who showed up that the professor found it necessary to cancel class today, thanks to the demonstration. Oh, and next week's class in canceled as well. At least I sortof have class, though. Friends at Paris 7 (my university from last semester) just don't have class at all, basically, nor do the students of Paris 4. SBC students are scrambling to sign up for more SBC classes, or Institut Catholique classes-- we need our study abroad credits, dammit!!! And the poor French students need to graduate on time.

Tonight some friends and I are going to a school gala/Discobitch concert at the Aquarium. Our group is going to be one French guy who actually GOES to this school, and 5 American girls. Heh. Pimp much, Pierre? I'm excited to get all dressed up, I'm excited to be at the Aquarium, I'm excited to see Discobitch perform (I know none of you know who Discobitch is, but just know this: she sings the IT song of Fall 2008 in France, 'C'est beau la bourgeoisie.' So this is a big deal!), I'm just THRILLED in general. Fun times ahead!

Video Update Part 2

I really am lazy with these videos, I apologize.
First, a short video of the weekend I spent with Mo in Brussels and Antwerp in November. It's not cool or anything, but, if you've ever wanted to know what to see or do in these two cities, check it out. It's weird, I MUCH preferred Antwerp, but you wouldn't know that in looking at this video. I couldn't capture that je ne sais quoi aspect about the lovely town... but just know that Antwerp is really great, and it shouldn't be overlooked on a journey around Europe.


Now video number two-- this one is a gem. This is almost 10 minutes of clips from the Idan Raichel Project concert in Antwerp that weekend. It was INCREDIBLE. If you are not moved by the group's music, then, well, I just don't think I can respect you anymore. That's harsh, yes, but give it a listen. I think you'll like it. One of the members gets really interesting around 6:20 and 7:00. I REALLY want the group's new CD, but it's only on sale in Israel. Hmmm...


Other than that, things are good here. I had a CRAZY night out with 7 French friends on Saturday. It was a "soiree filles", or girls' night out, and we stayed out all night clubbing. I have also realized that my French friends all look like models, and I really shouldn't take pictures with them.

There's some crazy windstorm going on now, and I hope it passes soon. In the meantime, I should get to sleep. I'll write more about second semester in Paris another time.

I attended an haute couture show

To-do list for January 26:
- send check for me and my friends to attend the Ball de l'ecole polytechnique at the Opera Garnier. Check.
- pick up final papers from stupid class last semester. Check.
- Attend my first class at my new university, Paris 3. Check.
- Stalk haute couture fashion shows. Check.
---- get into one of the haute couture fashion shows. Checkity check check check. Someone up there likes me.

Today, my friend Taylor and I decided to start the haute couture fashion show week stalking by passing by the Ecole de Beaux-Arts and seeing if we could get into the show of a smaller haute couture designer, Christophe Josse. Taylor had miraculously gotten into the show of a smaller designer in this exact same venue during fall pret-a-porter fashion week, but we didn't think it would really work this time, during haute couture week. But whatever, it was worth a try. If they didn't let us in, it didn't matter, because we didn't know anyone, and we'd never see them again. (although actually, i've recently discovered, several times, that Paris is a lot smaller than one thinks, and you run into people you know all the time. But that's another story...)

So we go to the standing line, where definitely everyone but us is holding invites. I really don't think this is going to work, but, lo and behold, 45 minutes later (they ALWAYS start 45 minutes late), the bouncers just start letting people in. Taylor and I join in the chic frenzy, and, voila. WE'RE IN! A magazine is shoved in our face, a smiling woman is pointing us in the direction of where we can sit, which is RIGHT BY THE END OF THE CATWALK!, and we get to look over elegant programs as we wait.

The show starts, and the clothes this man presents are magnificent. He doesn't do crazy over the top haute couture, but instead more simplified designs with bold colors and lots of wings or billows or other things (I have a limited fashion vocabulary). Then, at the end, the music changed, the lights dimmed, and a model in a GORGEOUS white 'wedding dress' (much skimpier than your normal dress, but gorgeous nonetheless) steps onto the runway. She has attitude. She's like "I know I'm wearing the hottest dress on the runway, betches." People start clapping. Eventually the entire collection comes out, followed by the (attractive) designer himself. And, voila, after about 10 minutes, the whole show is over. I keep playing it over and over in my head. It was like a dream sequence. It was every american girl in Paris's dream. And it was fantastic. And I'm too tired to say more. I start karate tomorrow... in French... wish me luck!

appreciating my neighborhood and french traditions

First of all, just got back from Italy yesterday, which was spectacular! Went to Florence and Rome with my good Wellesley friend Mohona. We had some crazy adventures, some involving some VERY attractive men (*swoon*), and saw some of the most incredible sights of my life (RUINS! haha)... but I'll put up a video eventually. That's not what this post is about. Let's get back to Parisian life...

I had to go pick up something from my dad's best friend's sister-in-law at a place just 10 minutes from my house today. 10 minutes from my house, but in an area I had never been to. The whole time walking there, I was fascinated-- there's SO MUCH in my quartier (neighborhood) that I had never noticed before. I passed two hookah bars, an awesome looking cafe (au chat noir. 'in the black cat.' I think this is going to be my new favorite cafe. seriously.), ethnic restaurants, boutiques, a mosque, workshops, everything! It's a pity that it took me until January to discover more of my neighborhood, because quite frankly, IT'S AWESOME! I love the 11th arrondissement. I love Oberkampf (my street), with its boutiques and bars and clubs that are well-known throughout Paris. And now I sit here and ask myself, why is it that I will gladly get lost in the Marais or the Latin Quarter and discover what those ancient streets have to hold, but I never took a moment to get lost in my own freaking neighborhood? If it weren't for the projected rain this weekend, I would totally go wandering. I guess I'll have to wait till next week...

I also want to write about the galette du rois, a cute French cake/tradition that doesn't exist in the States. For Epiphany, which is on my birthday, the 6th, French people traditionally eat this 'cake of kings.' It has something to do with the three kings and Jesus (that's why you eat in on Epiphany), but every French person, no matter their religion, enjoyes and eats this cake (which is usually an almond cake, but some other varities exist) throughout the month. There is a whole process to eating this cake, hence why I refer to it as a cake/tradition. First of all, the youngest person in the room randomly assigns the pieces of cake to the people in the room. This is because the youngst is considred the most innocent, or the most naive, and therefore won't be biased in dolling out the pieces. Hidden inside the cake is a tiny little figurine thing (really tiny. I'm surprised people don't swallow it), often a piece of the nativity scene (the first time I ate it, there was a little cow inside...), but it could be anything really. Whoever finds the little thing (cow, king, whatever) as they're eating the cake become the king or queen, and gets to wear a little crown that comes with the cake. Sometimes, two crowns come with the cake, so that the king gets to pick a queen (or vice versa). And... that's about it, you win the satisfaction of wearing a crown and being lucky! But the French love it. Some French friends commented on how sad they were that they never succeeded in become king or queen-- not once in their life. Quel dommage! The galette du rois is eaten all during the month of January, and you basically can't find it any other month of the year. So, obviously, I'm enjoying it while I can... yum...

joy

I just had a wonderful birthday. Why? Because the friends I celebrated with were great people. Truly magnificent people. They're not my back home friends, but at this moment, I didn't care, because they made my birthday spectacular. My host parents even cooked my a special dinner and bought cake and Berthillon ice cream, and got me flowers, and my parents sent me flowers (wow! not typical for them), and my friends treated me to everything... I was so touched. These people I was with today, they were all spectacular and fun and made me so happy. I don't care about my sickness, the cold, the fact that EVERYONE was sick or on vacation or studying for finals. All I care about was that in the end, I was truly blessed, and happy, and I will now go to sleep at 3am with happy happy thoughts of strawberry shots, meeting more random French guys, falafel, cake, chilling with friends, discussing boys, a-sexuality, wearing the pants, asses, boobs, and all that's in between...

really, that's all. i just wanted to confess to the world how content i am at this moment. thank you everyone for calls and emails and facebooking and hanging out. je vous aime vraiment. ahhhhhhhh ok je suis fatiguee, je dois dormir! (i love you all truly. ahhh ok i'm tired, i should sleep!)

i'm 21, wooooooooah

hold on cuz the world will turn if you're ready or not

Yesterday I woke up sick. Today it's snowing in Paris (it rarely snows in Paris). Tomorrow is my 21st birthday. It is projected to be 25 degrees in Paris tomorrow. It usually doesn't go below 30.

what does this all mean? I don't know. Yesterday I thought it meant that the world was out to get me. Who gets sick 2 days before their 21st? That sounds like some kind of punishment, like the grown-up version of getting coal from Santa in your stocking. "Orly, you've been a bad girl this year. No wild debauchery for you come your 21st!" Ouch Santa. Wait, wtf, I don't even believe in you...

I was also annoyed because of this whole cold birthday thing. Well, not just that. Cold birthday during vacation for half my friends and finals for the other half. That means barely anyone can come celebrate my bday with me--either they're home or they're studying. That, however, would be the same case in the States, where my bday falls before the large majority of my friends, and I would have been chilling at a bar or a club with only those who had fake IDs. However, it would not be 25 degrees in LA. 25 degrees is COLD ladies and gentlemen. That's below freezing. That means that any body part not covered in about 4 layers will freeze. Oh how joyous this will be... not.

But then I woke up today and two amazing things happened: 1) I'm feeling a lot better! Not perfect, but better. So I decided NOT to call up the doctor this morning, continue my regime of napping and hot water with lemon and honey (for my poor throat), and hope for the best for tomorrow. and 2) DID I MENTION IT'S SNOWING IN PARIS?!?!?! not like 5 minutes of powder like last time, no no, real snow! And there's NOTHING, NOTHING that makes me happier than snow (ok, that's a lie, but I forget about anything else that could make me happier when I see snow).

Snow + feeling better= optimism. So what if I'll be cold? So what if I won't be in tip-top shape? January 6 is just a day. It's the first day of my 21st year, and I'll have 364 other days to make 21 special.

I'll still try and see how long I can last at a bar and club until I pass out from exhaustion, or coughing, however...

(video updates coming up soon, I promise. I'm lazy.)