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?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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!
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!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
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--
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
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