Le Déjeuner

I am already well aware that transitioning back into an American diet will prove challenging. What is it about French cuisine that is so, so mesmerizing? They don't use many spices, their plates are simple, bus somehow I feel like I could eat all day and never find anything I don't love. It's a tiny slice of what it means to be here, but an important step towards embodying the Parisian lifestyle. So, I present a small guide to eating out - the French way.

1. Always start off with wine, or for those special occasions, champagne. Wine gets your palette ready for whatever else is headed for your tastebuds.

2. Choose an aperitif or an entrée. This is like the warm-up round (in french, entrée means "entrance", meaning the first course rather than the main course, as we use the word in English), so it could be a salad with warm chèvre, assorted cheeses, or soup.

3. Make sure your cheese goes with your wine (general rule is red wine with mild cheeses, white with more pungent ones), and have a basket of fresh baguette nearby.

P.S. Though it's in French, I did write a blog entry on a cheese tasting for my program... if anyone's interested,here it is!

4. The "plat", or the main course, is the star of the meal. While everything else may have been rather light, the plat is hearty but not heavy, like the duck breast and roasted potatoes Clare is modeling to the left. This day, I had a delicious Beef Bourguignon (goodbye veganism?).

5. Dessert is not an option. It is expected, welcomed, celebrated, even after lunch. French desserts are absolutely to die for, and my personal favorite part of the cuisine. Pictured here is a crème brulée and a fondant au chocolat.

It was quite the effort to get us to put down the forks and take a picture...

6. Have a café! When eating out, I haven't had a meal shorter than an hour and a half. It's all about taking your time, enjoying the company around you, and finishing off with some caffeine to ward off the after-lunch sleepy effects. While it's easy and convenient to grab a sandwich on the go, sit down lunches, when used sparingly (they're usually 11-20 Euro), are a welcome break from the chaos.

Show and Tell

I feel really silly about writing my last gloomy post, and the snarky post before that, in light of the past few days that I have had. Paris, I have to hand it to you, you're one hell of a town. I'll do all of you a favor and spare you more of my brain vomit and cut down on the text. Picture books were always my favorite kind of books anyway.

St. Chapelle

Centre Pompidou - Children's Exhibit

Centre Pompidou - Electric Art

Jean Cocteau's desk - loving the leopard.

Visiting Jean Cocteau's House in Milly-La-Forêt

"Le Cyclop" from the outside - really cool modern art sculpture/museum made to represent the excesses of society

The Monster of the Forest...

Inside, the machinery works throughout the entire structure to move the eye of the cyclops and create several spectacles.

A room, turned entirely on it's side.

"L'invitation de suicider" - A tiny bit morbid.

Mosaics from the monster

Le Cyclop from the Outside

Boar's Head at Barbizon - where artists like Van Gogh came to play.

Begin series of Grève pictures - strikes over the retirement age being raised two years. Note that the following photos were taken over three separate days, as the manifestations have continued for several weeks.

Drummers for the cause.

La femme de la liberté - puppet run by theatre workers on strike.

"In France, there is a weapon of mass destruction" - with a picture of Nicolas Sarkozy's face.

American Photographer Larry Clark's photography exhibition on American youth

I heart Paris condom. Classy.

View from the Jardin de Trocadéro during the day.

And the same at night.

Paris, je t'adore. Hard to believe my time here is half way gone...

L'Automne

Fall has arrived, vacation time is over. Finding raindrops in my hair from time to time, looking up at a cloudy gray sky - it forces me to see a new Paris, rather than an idealized panoramic view from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Paris is quaint, almost doll-like, but it is not perfect. It is in these moments of finding flaws that I realize I came here for a reason - but what was that reason again? I am a drifter, chasing after one thing before realizing I was supposed to be finding another... so I search my brain for some knowledge of that unattainable goal.

I have failed to find any sort of routine here, which maybe is a good thing. Yesterday, my host Dad said to me "Bienvenue chez nous!" ("welcome to our home!") and I didn't know what to say, because I've been in their home for over a month. He explained to me that since they feel like we haven't established a routine, each day is new and exciting, like they're welcoming me into their home every day. He was trying to be nice, trying to say it as some sort of compliment - but I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad. My host parents call me "their eldest daughter" and while I love their family and feel like I have the perfect fit here, the perfect amount of home and privacy, where is my routine? In a certain sense, routine equals comfortability in my book, so not having one means I haven't quite settled in yet. There is still a semblance of decorum, politeness that goes along with living here (not just in my apartment, but in the city in general), because I just don't know this place well enough to call it home. Everything is too big, too undiscovered, and I'm a little lost puppy, hoping someone will think I'm cute enough to help out. I want so badly to walk with a confidence that I'm going in the right direction, to know how long it takes to get from place to place, or to know that when I get to my destination, I haven't mistaken my conversion from military time! It really is the little things.

A part of what kills me about being an outsider in this metropolitan city is timidity. I feel bad subjecting native speakers to my imperfect French, so I'd rather not say anything at all. If ever there was a "goal" of coming to France, it would be speaking French, right? Not soaking in culture, incredible art, food, etc... In any case, my "passive language skills" are working hard. I am reading and understanding this language, keeping my distance from the real challenge - conversing with fluency. Half the battle, I know, is confidence. I have had a few conversations with French students in my class, as I am the only international student, but every time they say something to me, I warn them: "Hey, I'm American, so sorry if I don't speak French that well". If I just started talking, they'd probably notice a few misconjugated verbs here or there, but by doubting myself from the beginning, I've already shot myself in the foot. By telling others that I don't speak French well, how can I ever expect to believe it myself? The truth of the matter is, I've been studying this language long enough and I work hard enough that I have the tools to make it here. I can hold my own in conversation, but I have to give myself that chance.

Maybe Paris isn't living up to my expectations. I know this isn't true, because this city is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined, but did I have certain aspirations for my time abroad? Of course. I thought I'd be rubbing shoulders with all the cool French kids, speaking little to no English, seeing an immediate and tangible change in the way that I live my life. None of this has happened, of course, but in a way that is also relieving. I spend more time alone than I thought I would, but it's given me a lot of time to sort out the mess my brain has become. I think a lot about my future, and how this experience now will integrate itself into my life at home. In some strange way, this seems like a hiatus from real life, some sort of surreal "character-building" trip that I'll always love, cherish, and remember, but something that is intended to help me integrate myself back into my "other" life more fully, with a better understanding of myself, having already sorted out all of the kinks and ready to hit the ground running.

I really don't know what any of this means. All of my doubts coming out, I suppose. I'm at about the half-way point with my program and it's about now that all of my "real" work (i.e. exposés, dossiers, and papers) kick into high gear. This is the point where things are supposed to start exponentially improving, and I'm scared to be left in the dust. What if I get back to the US and my French is just as bad as it ever was. My greatest fear is this: that someone will ask me, "so what exactly did you do in Paris?" and I'll have nothing life-changing to respond with. I wish that I could find the answer to "What do I want?" or even "What do I want to do today?", but even that becomes impossible. And even more frustrating, is to know that I am being ridiculous and I am having an amazing time, but I feel the need to analyze, to pick apart my life here, to determine whether I am making the most of it or not. I wish my brain would stop working so hard.

Chuckling in Paris

Observations from an Outsider: Volume I

As in any culture, France has a very specific set of tendencies that can be hard to wrap your head around. Not following them leads to embarrassingly admitting you're american, confusing, or possibly even death.

I. The five food groups in France are bread, cheese, wine, cigarettes and coffee. This is not an exaggeration, you will see more of these items in a day then there are pigeons in Paris (and there are many, many disgusting and decrepit one-legged or two-toed pigeons here), and you'll be hard-pressed to find a Parisian who hasn't had all of these things by the end of the day. As an ex-vegan American, anti-caffeine, not inclined to be a smoker, and not of legal drinking age, what's a girl to do? Give up and play along, I guess. No matter how much I will it to be, there are no food carts with good burritos (why is it that I have endlessly been craving burritos? what is wrong with me?? Although I have eaten a couple falafels that were out of this world) or japanese food to make my palette feel at home, and the food here, as carb-ridden as it may be, is delicious and mild (no spices whatsoever! I'm a lucky girl). Everything is preservative free and local, so my ideals and my stomach are on the same page. Bon appetit!

a. I'm quite worried about caffeine dependancy becoming an issue. Coffee is a requirement with breakfast, and when I wake up I'm a squinty-eyed monster, walking zombie-like to the table and rummaging around for my café before perking up. French coffee is also much stronger than in the US, so I'm not sure what I'll do when I go back to watered down "french roast" in my giant plastic mug...

b. If bread and cheese doesn't doom my waistband, the desserts will. Oh my God, the desserts! My host dad's love to bake, so every night it's something different - almond cake, fig tart (pictured), homemade yogurt and fruit, brownies (which they call, "the American dessert")! It's like I'm Charlie and I'm living in the Chocolate Factory. Side note - the french word for "yumm" is "miam".

II. For every American hairstyle or trend, there is a French way to do it that it is infinitely more glamorous, harder to create, and more expensive. Take, for example, the messy bun. In the states, maybe it's a look for someone on the go, trying to stay comfortable, wearing ugg boots and sweatpants - in France, it is the height of fashion. Every Parisian girl you see has long, textured hair that has clearly taken years to achieve that "messy but put together" perfection, that they throw into a bun with a thousand clips, accessories, and just the right amount of hair left carelessly hanging down. That, and they pull it together with a blazer, chic tunic, skinny jeans, and stilettos - and they're ready to go to the supermarket. I refuse to be bothered - I hate brushing my hair let alone styling it, so perhaps I'm a lost cause. That, and last week was fashion week so I guess the wounds are still fresh from all of the models running around Paris.

III. Pedestrians do NOT have right of way. Ever. Many of the smaller Parisian side streets do not have traffic lights (which they call a "tricolore" meaning "three colors") or even stop signs,

so cars will just continue on the road, regardless of whether or not you happen to be in the middle of it. I have the street rules of Portland engrained in me, where stepping into a crosswalk makes traffic on both sides of the street come to a stop - so you can imagine how many times friends have had to grab my arm and pull me out of harm's way, aka a speeding car. French drivers are worse then New York City drivers, in all seriousness.

IV. Strikes are everywhere, all the time. Currently, the French government is trying to pass a bill that raises the retirement age from 60 to 62 - all hell is breaking loose. The French people do not work earlier than 9 in the morning, they do not work on Sundays (including stores), they do take three or weeks of vacation a year, so god forbid they work an extra two years! There's probably more to it, but to a girl who sees many middle to lower class families working their entire lives to make ends meet, I don't see what all the fuss is about. Nonetheless, every week or so there is a "grève", meaning strike, that shuts down the post office, all government related offices, and slows the metro down to the point where getting anywhere could take an hour or two. My host Dad, Samir, says it's because French people want to take a day off from work without getting fired. Way to go.

V. Running errands takes all day. Literally, as I'm going to sleep every night, I have to decide what the next day will be like. It's either a school work day, an errand day, or a "cultural" day. There are no in-betweens, as each of those options WILL take the whole day because of transportation, massive lines, getting lost, etc. The worst of it is errand running, though - everything here is compartmentalized. There are no large supermarkets with everything you could possibly need - one stop shopping does not exist. Instead, there is a separate place to get each of the following: bread (pictured left is one of those shops, called the "boulangerie"), cheese, meat, fish, fruits/vegetables (if you want them all fresh), then another place to get a new water bottle since you left yours in the states, and yet another to buy school supplies. Also take into account that none of these places are located in the same neighborhood - and you've got a full day's trek ahead of you. You're lucky I like being busy, Paris, otherwise we might have an issue.

VI. The University system. It is so bad. They tell me everyone in the room is a college student but I just can't believe that any of these people have made it past the ninth grade. I've actually taken to writing notes on all of the bizarre happenings I've observed in a French classroom:

• "We have been sitting in this room for twenty minutes with no professor. Should I keep waiting?"
• "Someone just told me I can't sit in a row of seats because she's 'saving all of them for her friends'. Saving seats?! Welcome back to Middle School?!"
• "Boy just walked out of class half an hour early without saying anything, Professor doesn't miss a beat".
• "Girl rolls cigarette two feet in front of professors face, pulls out a lighter, and leaves the classroom. Returns ten minutes later".
• "Second week of class, students again waiting for twenty minutes with no professor. Turns out he forgot what classroom we were in and was waiting in a different one".
• "Crazy French boy named Felix gets up, and writes 'Le CACA?' on the chalkboard, Professor says nothing. Felix, needing to be noticed, makes a paper airplane, throws it, and then asks for the class to take a break. The professor gives us a break".
• "Professor spends two hours trying to figure out how many people are in his class. Fails to give a bibliography or syllabus, and says 'see you next week!' No one is phased. I panic - no work, no readings, no idea what this class is about!"

I hope none of this is coming off as negative or as if I'm not loving making these observations. It really is quite a privilege to point out the bizarre in the tradition - if I was a part of this culture I wouldn't know any different. Once in a while I get frustrated that I don't fit neatly into the system, but I'm glad to hold my Americanisms close to my heart and take note of all of the tiny, but noticeable, differences.

I just realized how much blogging I have to catch up on.

Whoops.

Photo of the Day

I stole a picture from the internet for my blog a while back, while I was still in Bordeaux, so nervous to come to Paris, feeling inadequate and unprepared - plus my camera had just broken, so it was a moment of weakness. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to take that picture myself:

How good it feels to justify the image, to climb to the top of the Notre Dame and look out over Paris as someone who is exploring, learning, loving, and growing in the city.