attempts at independence.

so. having no formal training in french. GASP. i have become fairly dependent on those that do have a clue what is going on around them. its fine and all, but occasionally its nice to feel like i could potentially survive if left deserted on a street corner.

so. i have begun to venture out on my own.

saturday morning i woke up to meet marie-claire at her apt. i shared a room with her at the dreaded fiap, see previous posts. oye. anyway, she had her share of housing woes, but found herself with an adorable french apartment in a great little neighborhood, and saturday i saw it.

i met her at 11:15 ish, took the metro myself, looked up transfers myself. myself (for emphasis). she met me at the metro, baguette in hand tres francaise. we went back to her apartment, where she fed me this amazing chocolate chip bread creation her local boulangerie sells. and i tried guava juice. yum.

next we ventured out towards a flea market I HAD LOOKED UP, that she verified was near her. we looked around and i found these amazing rings that i wanted... then found out were 80, 90, or 100 euros, like hi. flea market? whatever. this is a french flea market. lesson learned. meh. kept walking. it was frigid. people were packing up. i was left wishing i had listened to my mother and packed gloves. whoops. second lesson learned. mom is always right. :)

after we exited le flea market. we walked all around her neighborhood, i enlightened her to the fabulous establishment known as picard. frozen food heaven. we walked, chatted, and lunched. lunch of course took 2-3 hours. what up france. and then i let her go, she is a transfer to AUP. aka a real student. aka not just taking art and art hsitory and french. aka has h.dubbs. i left her to do her 17 chapters of law reading while i metro'd it over to meet dana at a vintage clothing shop in the 1st arr.

yes. once again i navigated MYSELF to dana. go me.

while the next example is not on my own, it is me attempting to use french, so i should still get some points. dana and i got postcards for some extremely important people in our lives (yes everyone, yours is in the mail). and we decided to mail them en route to the gym. we walk into le poste.

one. they wear silly vests at the post offices in paris. haha

two. oye. talk about confusing slash having NO idea what i needed to do. TG for dana.

she parle en francais and gets the guy to tell us WHICH line to stand in. we stand for like 20 minutes, one woman in front of us. again, what up france.

its our turn. dana works her french magic, says she needs to send these to the USA, she buys her four stamps, licks them, and hands the post cards to the woman. yes. i said lick. these are not self adhesive stamps. did i mention france is somewhat behind. as i type this post from the base of my staircase. where i get le wee fee access.

HERE IS MY MOMENT, i step forward:

moi aussi, trois.

yes dana made fun of my non-accent. yes it was three words. YES I GOT STAMPS. so in the end, i won!

Lastly, dana and i needed portfolios for all of our amazing works of art. and tuesday, aka nudey-day (nude model in tomorrows class), is drawing class. so i took it upon myself to venture out after my double period of french and get us some portfolios. my friend hannah had informed me i could go to BHV to get some art supplies, and that i they had portfolios there. she said it was the Hotel D'Ville stop on the 1 or the 11. so i figured i'd just wing it.

hopped on the metro transferred from the 8, to the 1, hopped off. fail #1. i got stuck/lost in the metro station. i kept following signs for what i thought was the sortie. oye. oops. i finally found a green man walking up stairs (the sign for exit) like 15 minutes later, and found daylight TG.

i see BHV across the street. confused. it is a large department store. oye. fml. hannah has sent me to one of those one stop shopping nightmares for the non-french speaker. confused because i met hannah in french class, therefore her french is minimal slash non existent as well. i remember her saying that i should go up one level. TG. i go up on level in this parisian monstrosity.

F to the M to the L. this place is huge. like huuuuuge. like so big i cannot see behind displays. there are all these signs in french, and tons of art supplies, office supplies, luggage, books, dvds, EVERYTHING. i wander. frantically text jared. attempt to bbm dana. like i cannot come all this way and walk out without two portfolios.

i cannot ask for help because i don't know the french word for portfolio. i consider my charades skills briefly, and realize there is no good way to act out the word portfolio. commence aimless wandering.

this occurs for approximately 12 minutes when i find the art section. paper. pencils. paintbrushes. i am close. i can feeeeeel it. finally, portfolios. i grab two. somehow find the register. TG for digital display, i read the total and get out of there.

on my way out my portfolios do not make it through the glass door as successfully as i do. oops. bag ripped. yes, i am that awkward girl on the train with the oversized package attempting to fit. yes i transferred 3 times. yes everyone around me hated me. but then they hated the woman next to me cutting her nails more. so you win some you lose some.

all in all, i have been slowly becoming more independent. watch out. its about to get cray cray.

l'cab.

while l'cab is the name of a popular night spot located conveniently in the first, near the louvre. THAT is not what this post will be about.

cabs.

yet another form of transportation around the glorious city that is paris. the metro, while speedy and convenient closes tres early. i don't know the exact hours. i just know that whenever i want to go home, its closed.

cabs have become my good friend since my arrival. living with dana makes it easy, we normally go out together and therefore split the cost, making every ride approximately 5 euros. not too bad.

here have been some of my favorite interactions with transportation in the le form of taxi:

#1: Louis

dana and i join dana's friends from home in the 11th arr, at the pop in. this tres hipster joint is small, two levels, crowded, and hipter-loaded. its fun, an introduction to the 11th to say the least. as dana’s friend steps out for a cig, i join her to get some fresh air and walk around. cue french boys eager to speak english. they chat, ask how long i’ve been in paris. i say 4 days. yadda yadda, small talk, boston, yadda, CELTICS, yadda. every french boy that asked me where i was from proceeded to yell celtics after i said boston. yes, boston. yes, the home of the celtics. cue louis. louis tries to convince me he knows the us because he did an exchange program and lived in north carolina. no offense to ely. living in north for 8 weeks does not mean you have experienced the united states.

whatever. i linger outside, the crowd of french boys seems to be doubling and getting more wasted, i go in, find dana, and soon we are off. the group of us is good sized, 5 girls, 2 guys. we walk back towards the main boulevard, we have a visitor. louis. for real? the first night out i find the one creepy french guy who wants to “take” us. (sorry mom, i know i wasn’t supposed to watch it the night before i left, but it is good background knowledge to have).

dana and i find a cab, dana slides in, i slide in next. door closes. knock on window, cab driver rolls down window, LOUIS. for real? like I am so confused. “no” i say to the cab driver. “go”. louis is asking the cab driver where he is taking us. i am borderline tears (drama is not a regular emotion for me, but it shines through when nec). dana, naïve dana, has never seen taken, she doesn’t know better. as nearly hyperventilate, dana is shouting our address at the cab driver, louis is at the window. bye louis. leave louis.

bleh. finally, we go. ten euros later we are home. i have caught my breath, bbm’d everyone important to notify them i was almost taken, and we make it into bed.

#2: L’GPS

cab drivers here love the gps. oye. dana and live on a major boulevard, and they love love love to plug that bad boy in. what this leads to is the most round-about way of getting to our lovely residence right near the buffalo grill. dana and i have caught on however, being the saavy duo we are. we decided to do some research and find an address on the actual circle we live on, rather than our boulevard, so this is avoided. yes, we have made the plan. no, we have not executed it. but, one day. one day we will.

GPS whoa round deux occurred when dana and i went to buddha bar. it was froid and we cabbed it over to avoid exposure to the harsh elements. the cab driver plugs in to his GPS and 8 euros later we arrive at a construction site outside a hotel. news flash mister cab driver, this may be numero huit. but this is not buddha bar. confused on how to proceed. dana and i pay, get out, and wander a few feet. we are yelled at by guards to get on the side walk. duh. then we arrive at the hotel, where the men outside point us around the corner to number 8. thanks for almost getting us there GPS.

#3: navigating home.

while dana can speak french, we have established i cannot. i am learning. i have learned numbers one through ten. parfait. i live at number 116.

have no fear, in my trusty bberry is a memo that reads address. in it, it says my street number AS WELL AS the name of the boulevard i cannot pronounce for the life of me.

the other night i went out sans dana, and when it came time to get home fear struck. i snipe a cab. pop in and freeze. do i even try to speak french? no.

me: hello, err. i don’t speak french.
cab: okay
me: i have my address written down (show blackberry)
cab: okay

we pull away. two minutes later MIKA “love today” plays on the radio.

me: do you like MIKA. i love MIKA

pause.

cab: I LOVE MIKA. YOU LIKE MIKA? I LOVE MIKA

turns it up.

i would declare that success, if I do say so myself.

adjusting. per usual.

okay, so i apologize for the delay. much has been going on this past week.

wifi in my room failed. oops. stuff in the states. bleh. and adjusting. per usual. JOY.

starbucks.

lets chat about it. oye. so you would assume that the sbucks basically on AUP campus would cut me some slack when speaking le francais. but no. all i wanted was a grande cafe de la semaine. i know i know. that's ALL. a simple coffee of the week. wah. i eventually got it. proceeded to find a chic spot to sit. drank my DARKEST ROAST POSSIBLE coffee. enjoyed the one place in all of paris that has splenda and then the real fun began.

as i sat fake reading my architecture book really reading my bbms, wallstreet breakfast from... yesterday, and facebookin' up a storm, a new bbm comes in. Dana. can you grab some coffee while at starbucks, get it ground for the french press. IS SHE L'SERIOUS. i can't order a cup of coffee. how do i buy a bag of coffee beans get them ground correctly and not act a fool. oh. but i did. i walked up to the bags of coffee beans, found a mild roast with a hue of chocolate. and looked to the sign that had a picture of a french press and the word grosse.

i marched right over to l'counter. handed the bag over, smiled, and said: eh, le grosse, He laughed at me, took the bag, and 5 euros later we had coffee for our french press. BOOM. mission accomplished.

next topic of discussion. art class AUP style.

since i can remember, art has been an interpretive subject. while in math there is one answer, english they expect you to believe there are all different interpretations but when push come to shove your paper got a B, lets face it, your interpretation was wrong. but art. art was always safe.

well folks. you did not grow up in paris. my art professor, if that is what you call her, defies all definitions of the american art teacher. she erases your paper, draws lines over yours, informs you that is not right, "you should erase that". eek. she walks by and i cringe. let me tell you. next week is nude model #1 and i am DYING thinking about her leaning over my paper and shouting "no, that is not how you draw that _________! erase it!" if you are wondering, i will be sticking to feet and hands. duh.

lastly i would like to discuss red wine.

i have never, ever, ever been a fan of red wine. i am my mother's daughter. i like white wine, if it has bubbles, i like it more. the only red wine i enjoy is manischewitz. my dad on the other hand enjoys a nice BITTER red. ew. always telling me i can try it. thanks but no thanks padre, i'm sticking to my white wine. THEN this little italian place by the louvre happened. and my world changed.

if you are lucky enough to have made my email list, then you receive obscure non-relevant emails daily and often find yourself wondering if i have any friends. but if you are on the email list, you got an email about this great, SWEET, red wine. yummmm. its called:

Bellamarsilia--Morellino di Scansano DOCG.

i hope that is enough info for all you wine lovers. find it. love it. invite me over to drink it. duh.

those are the tid bits i jotted down in my blackberry memo under BLOG!

so until later, enjoy my vino rec. don't take for granted how easy it is to order your coffee. and appreciate the fact your art teacher supported your... err... creativity.

trial and error.

so. today was a day of trial and error.

stage one. wake up early. alarm set for 9:30. snooze snooze snooze. get up at 10:15. trial. error.

stages two and three. quick breakfast at the royal pereire before metro-ing over to the gran palais to see the monet exhibit. quick breakfast turned into two hours. i ordered "un peu," dana ordered eggs. my peu came. no eggs. no eggs. no eggs. my peu went. no eggs. EGGS. eggs come eggs go. our waiter sits down to dine himself. waiting waiting waiting. bill. pay and leave. its 12:30. oye.

arrive at

gran palais. pretty. pretty long line. long line. group of elderly scoot on by. advanced tickets... buzzkill. we wait in line. do some reading. take a picture. attempt to get wifi on itouch. wait. wait. over hear "bleh bleh french french cinq huere" yes.... five hours. FIVE HOUR WAIT. trial. error.

but do not fear. we saved the day obvi. we strolled the champs elysees. shopped. ate. walked. bus'd it home. and thats when the real fun began.

relaxed by our discovery of sparkling italian wine at lunch.... we decided to hit up the laverie. yes. the laundromat. get. ready.

first carmen informed us we had purchased fabric softener, not detergent. oops. she gave us detergent. TG for carmen.

we arrive at the laverie, pretty poppin' spot on a sunday afternoon. we divide into lights-ish. and darker. i pay for machine numero uno. 7 euros. gag. dana pays for machine dos. 4.20 euros, smaller gag.

then comes the detergent aspect. what does one do with powdered detergent

. ummm. no idea. we dumped it in dishwasher style. eye-balled it with no frame of reference,

but a large fear that suds may explode from the machine if we f'd it up. we were modest with our powder-pour.

let those spin, rinse, wash, whatever. DRY TIME.

by this time french hw has been done, bberry is on the yellow battery level, and reading my book for leisure is not happenening in the icebox the french call a laverie.

we dump all our ish into two driers. and proceed to dump 8 euros total into drying it all. towels putting a damper on the drying sitch. but whatever. it happens.

24 mins later we have mostly dry belongings. a new life experience under our belts. and a mutual understanding that laundry is to be avoided at all costs, and attempts to go 2-3 weeks between visits would be highly appreciated.

post laundry was chill time, dinner, and february break planning sesh.

all in all i left the day with a pair of much needed black jeans from l'gap (on sale for super cheap). a hamper of clean folded clothes. and plane/train tickets from paris-madrid-barcelona-london-paris for a glorious ten day trip.

not tooooo shabby.

technology. and overall confusion slash coping.

so i have been placed into culture shock by MANY things since my touch down in paris.

if you recall, on of those things was AUP course registration. my next encounter was drop/add. (known everywhere ELSE as add/drop, in case there was confusion). today i went early to french class so i could drop napoleon. byyyyyyyyye. i went in. walked up the stairs of the "main building" and entered the registrar. there i filled out a PAPER form. checked "drop". wrote the course number. course name. my name. my id number. waited in LINE. not online, as in computer, but on line, as in i am a new yorker i say wait on line when i am standing IN a line. regardless. then i handed my paper to the ONE woman in the office. who pulled up my schedule on her ONE computer. and then dropped my course peoplesoft style and stamped my paper. i'll let that soak in a move on to culture shock part deux.

while i have played off that i dropped napoleon for credit-based reasons, which is largely true. i must also add that professor englund, from the states, declared that the american revolution was not a revolution. which is fine. he's a historian. he is entitled to his opinion. he can write a book on it. he can publish it. he can do whatever. that doesn't throw me. what made me realize i was lost was when he noted the battle of lexington and concord. or should i say conCHORD. no. that's where i draw the line. lexington is my home, the battle green is my neighbor, the people in bonnets came into my place of work. no. its concord. no e. like conquered. concord. NO. bye napoleon. by englund. bye.

wifi. wee-fee. wireless internet. the interwebs. whatevah. it lacks here. i'm dealing. it takes years to download my shows days after the US has watched them. #thisismylife. i'm coping.

music. baha. i am not even going to pretend i am hip or with it. i have been out of the loop for 2 weeks. i am no longer down with the 4-1-1. send me an email with some new tunes if you feel bad. haha. my ipod plays a playlist on repeat that abby made in the form of mix cd before i left the states. if P!NK has gone out of style i am f'd.

blackberry. it is a different relationship now. it is only relevant at certain hours in the day when the US is up and functioning. otherwise i use the internet on it cause that is usually faster than my current sitch. and while i am not glued to it as much here, if i lost it... i. would. die. so. yep i have physically grown a part from it, emotionally connected on a whole NEW level.

as i pull myself away from technology i can focus on french culture. i have spoken two phrases to carmen, my french mommy. one of which was repeat-after-me style where carmen said my sentence, then i said it. the other was butchered to say the least but made broken sense.

i have also embraced l'nap. as well as the prefix l'.... haha. so i nap often, and enjoy it thoroughly. as well as say l'everything when communicating with people at home. i think it makes me appear french by confusing them. overall a good plan while buying more time to learn french.

les cours.

classes have officially begun for students of AUP. as i mentioned before, i am enrolled in four. by the end of le semaine i will be enrolled in 3. byeee french revolution and napoleon.

those lucky few that have made the cut are: french, introduction to drawing, and history of france through architecture.

french. oye.

edith thaib. oye.

it should be interesting, to say the least. i spend one hour and twenty minutes tues through thurs sitting there, understanding 20% of what is said, and copying down french phrases. on mondays i spend a double period doing the same. joy.

thus far i have learned valuable phrases. i can conjugate -er verbs, entre, and avoir. i cannot count, cannot express myself at all well, and cannot order food. but one day.... hopefully sooner rather than later.

the extent of my french is the following:

je m'appelle hayley. comment vous appelez vous?

je suis etudiante, et toi?

j'habite a paris dans le 17 arrondissement. dans quel arrondissement habites tu?

quel age as-tu? j'ai 20 ans.

the sole problem with this knowledge, is i can ONLY respond to you if you say exactly what she taught me... and you speak at a glacial pace. f it. whatevverrr. its something. woo.

for now i have stuck with my key phrase: je ne parle pas francais. (smile, shrug, smile)

on to drawing.

interesting... 3 hours every tuesday. i need to buy random art supplies that she is incapable of telling me ahead of time, so we shall see. and in two weeks i will be sketching a male nude model. a dancer to be exact.

yes. i will be THAT kid. giggling.

yes. i will be THAT kid lugging my portfolio around.

yes. i am just as confused as you... why did i choose this.

whatever... studying abroad is all about going outside of your comfort zone right? i have taken a FLYING leap out of mine, so lets hope all ends well.

lastly, history of france through architecture.

i will explain more, when i understand more.

i currently have a list of architectural terms, several books on architecture, and whole lot of grey area.

i will say, that while i am sad to bid farewell to napoleon and the french revolution, i do thank professor englund for knowing what the hotel school was, commending me for getting in and going, and not responding like professor thaib.

on day one in french class we were asked to say what we majored in:

j'etude ______________.

me: j'etude... ummm... hotel administration.

prof. thaib: no

me: oui, j'etude hotel administration.

prof thaib: mmm no translation, tu etudes what?

me: never mind, j'etude l'commerce

prof thaib: ohhhhhhhh oui oui.

no professor thaib. no oui oui. you have no idea what i study, you cannot pronounce my name, and you make so many sound effects, i can't even explain. meh.

metro.

as in any city, public transportation has become my bff. wooo. i live on a bus line, l'92, that takes me directly to school, and i live just one transfer away on the metro. i have become accustomed to taking the metro, and have a similar enough schedule to dana that we took it together to class on monday. tuesday, today, i was on my own.

while i have had NO difficulty thus far... today, of course, the day i was alone... it began. as i boarded the metro i was relieved to see it was not jam packed, per usual. as i caught up on messages from the night before, as i slept those in the us ate dinner, and carried on their nights regularly. then the announcement came.

bleh bleh--solid string of french--bleh bleh... opera... bleh bleh... ligne ##... bleh... un accident.

f it.

some announcement, about some metro line, due to some accident. MY STOP. opera is where i transfer lines! lskfjskldjf. you can imagine my stress level. i know NO other way to get to school, especially once ON the metro. in my intensive elementary french... we have not covered numbers yet. all i knew was some line, coming from my transfer stop... was closed (maybe??) due to un accident. with nothing else i could possibley do. i ignored it. continued to catch up on messages and proceeded to get off at opera.

as i walked to the ligne 8, i was relieved to see a train pull up. i arrived at french class 125 A on time and sat down to find myself with this message written on the white board:

le trafic est interrompu entre stalingrad et chaussee d'antun suite a un accident grave de voyageur a la station poissousiere.

on day one of french 125A we had been told that if we see any signs or hear anything in french we should jot it down and bring it to class so we can learn. as you can see from the french she wrote, and the french i heard... i would not have been very helpful.

however, she had taken the metro as well, from a different line, and the message translates:

the traffic is interrupted between stalingrad and chassee d'antun following a bad accident of one of the travelers at the poissousiere station.

these stops are on the 7 line, a line that you CAN transfer to from my transfer stop: opera.

TG i figured that out in time... not. but no harm no foul. just another day of being reminded how useful any education in french would have been before i arrived in paris. you win some you lose some.

parc de monceau.

after week one, i have realized that it is very hard to relax here. i am constantly worrying about not understanding people, constantly looking up how to do the simplest things (grocery shop), and i am constantly trying to communicate with people at home while attempting to meet people abroad.

today i discovered a way to escape it all. dana decided to go for a run (how noble) i decided to go for a walk. we both headed towards parc de monceau. the same walk we take to the gym, however instead of turning we follow rue de prony until the end and find ourselves at parc de monceau.

described by wikipedia as:

The park is unusual in France due to its "English" style: its informal layout, curved walkways and randomly-placed statues distinguish it from the more traditional, French-style garden. It also includes a collection of scaled-down architectural features, or follies — including an Egyptian pyramid, a Chinese fort, a Dutch windmill, and Corinthian pillars. A number of these are masonic references, reflecting the fact that Philippe d'Orléans was a leadingfreemason. The park includes statues of famous French figures including Guy de Maupassant, Frédéric Chopin, Charles Gounod, Ambroise Thomas, Alfred de Musset, and Edouard Pailleron.

Today, the park has play areas for children, and remains very popular with local residents and their families. The site is also an active free Wi-Fi area, for computer users looking forInternet access.

i found myself a nice empty bench, and relaxed. turns out the park is the universal area of rest. couples of all ages strolled by. the park was full of groups of friends, families, etc. all just enjoying their parisian sunday (when nothing is open).

i was able to catch up with friends back home, chat with my dad, read my book. tres relaxing.

tonight i will meet kids from my school to go on a bateau mouche, an open boat that allows you to see paris from the river siene.

while this week has been hectic and frustrating to say the least, often feeling lost in translation when dealing with people at home, and practically going mute and resorting to pointing with people here, soon it will all fall into place, classes begin monday and hopefully some routine will make paris feel more like home.

until later, bonne journee.

drop/add.

first of all. here it is called drop/add. why it is not called add/drop... i cannot tell you. but it is disorienting to say the least, just add it to the list of things i don't understand slash choose not to.

as an independent visiting student at AUP (when i told cornell i was applying their response was "oh, we don't send many there"... clearly i ignored them), i was unable to pre-enroll in courses. while students visiting from northeastern and GW could simply show up at course enroll and state they were there, placing them officially in the classes they pre-enrolled in, i had to do it the old school way.

and by old school i mean: no computers. one-on-one advising. waiting in line after line. receiving a red stamp declaring i was "REGISTERED" and receiving my AUP id, which resembles a bad fake with a grainy photo taken moments after i landed in paris.

after my meeting with geoff gilbert, my advisor, a professor in comparative literature at AUP, i created a hand written list of 6 classes i would be willing to take, 4 top choices, 2 alternatives. as i sat in the vacant chair in his office, he extended his arm and declared "cornell, eh? i spent two of the worst winters of my life working on my doctorate there, no wonder so many jump, eh?" to which i smiled (so un-french of me, i know!) and responded "you should visit again, we have fences." with no obviously appropriate response available, he smiled, told me he'd be lecturing there in march, and we began to search for available courses.

as i scooted out of geoff's door, he remarked "young american women often are too embarassed and self-conscious to truly embrace the french language, don't be afraid to sound stupid." sorry geoff, i am a young american woman... but thank you for the advice.

after all my lines had been waited in, all my papers stamped, all my tuition payments approved, i found myself with these lovely 18 credits:

French I (6 credits)

History of France Through Architecture (4 credits)

The French Revolution and Napoleon (4 credits)

Drawing I (4 credits)

two unanswered-emails later i am still unsure if drawing I or napoleon will get me any credit at cornell, but once again i am reminded that while i have maintained my connection with cornell via their $5,000 tuition charge, they actually could not care less about me seeing as i am no longer attending their institution.

one step forward. eight steps back.

this morning i woke up early to meet my roommate for breakfast near the school, i pulled money out of the bank to pay my rent (after the money was wired on friday it arrived in paris six day later and i am surprised i had access to it that quickly considering lunch breaks here last 3 hours making it difficult to complete business on schedule). then i registered for the gym, got my membership, metro'd home to find the monoprix, and bought our first round of groceries.

while joining the gym was a step in the positive direction for my sure-to-be overall physical decline while i live on this side of the atlantic, there are some forces i simply cannot fight.

i have come to the conclusion that in the recent book-turned-movie eat.pray.love, the main character's first foreign destination was her time to "eat" and i should honor her noble personal journey/transformation and do the same. unfortunately my "spiritual journey" has only one destination, which means i will be eat[ing] my way to happiness and self-acceptance for the next 5 months. no praying. no loving. as i have found with many things recently, it is what it is. so i'll deal.

to clarify: GYM MEMBERSHIP was my one step forward

my eight gazillion steps back, however, come in the form of these french short-comings:

beurre (butter) is on everything. it is the french's mayo. any baguette avec fromage comes with beurre. butter butter butter. my lack of french slash attempt to eat.pray.love has left me unable to decline the beurre, and rather, i've embraced it. [interesting tid bit, beurre does not come with bread when bread is brought to the table... hmmm]

croissants and pan au chocolat (croissants and pan au chocolat?) this requires no explanation. its a problem.

le sucre (sugar) splenda, equal, sweet'n'low? oh no, your options are: sugar, sugar, or sugar.

lait (milk) skim, 1%, 2%? wrong, its: whole milk or half and half. and yes, i am lactose intolerant. and no, they do not sell lactaid milk, lactaid pills, soy milk, or almond milk. its whole or half and half.

bonbons (candy) its everywhere, its so good. recent discovery: kinder bars. bad news.

so wish me luck. club med (gym) membership in hand and outfitted in dg apparel, i will enjoy my thousands of steps backwards as i take my one step forward.

let the exploration begin.

in the midst of the jet lag, the housing fiasco, and the overall shock of not understanding ANYONE around me, i have found time to enjoy my surroundings, explore, and absorb some culture.

i have visited the eiffel tower and place vendôme. i have experienced the metro, the bus, and cabs. i have walked through the streets of the 7th arr for hours on end as i waited for housing. i have dined in many cafes, taken out from many boulangeries, admired many windows of countless patisseries.

but what happens now, starting today, are the state-regulated winter sales in paris. and yes. staying true to myself, i have successfully ventured into many shops and examined the sales. while the exchange rates hurt, and the prices are not the prettiest... i finally feel at home.

after leaving the apartment at 9:30 am, i have finally arrived home. showered. put on pjs. and placed my bottle of white wine in the fridge to chill.

french lessons.

the homestay has proved to be a blessing in disguise because i feel comfortable not living completely alone in a new city, i am with a girl i like from my program, and i MAY actually learn french.

as i followed the cell phone man from his post at AUP to his store several blocks away we exchanged tid bits on our lives. one tid bit he gave me was this: AUP students do not necessarily learn french, they easily go four years speaking english to one another. determined to not come out of 5 months in france with no knowledge of french i have enrolled in a french class and am learning day by day.

and so let the lessons begin.

french words/phrases i have learned thus far:

un sandwich avec jambon et fromage (a sandwich with ham and cheese--how i order lunch... EVERYDAY)

j'suis désolé (i am sorry-- how i apologized to little french landlady when i declined her independent room)

bonjour (hello-- how i greet people everywhere, giving them the false hope that i may know more french)

merci (thank you-- what i say even after we have clearly established i know NO french, but they have been kind of enough to deal with me anyway)

Je ne parle pas français (i dont speak french-- what i say to people in case my looks of fear and confusion are not enough)

cafe au lait (coffe with milk-- how i order breakfast... EVERY MORNING)

french culture differences i have experienced thus far:

urgency does not exist (self explanatory.)

until later, au revoir.

orientation, adaptation, frustration.

my adventure began friday afternoon in lexington. snow was hitting the north east like whoa (a not so rare occurrence these days, my apologies to anna). i boarded for DC at 2, boarded for paris at 5:25, and arrived in foggy paris at a lovely 6:00 am local time.

the organized mayhem began. i exit the plane in attempt not to let my lack of french skills overwhelm me, i followed signs with pictures of baggage.

lesson one: when in doubt follow pictures.

i received an email that an AUP representative would most likely meet me at baggage claim. no AUP representative. just me. my free luggage cart. and my ridiculous amount of luggage for 5 months. at this point i am feeling as though i can conquer anything. i have made it through customs. i have claimed my baggage. i have loaded baggage onto cart.

eventually i find AUP. i find that 3 other girls were on my flight. together we begin the voyage to the fiap. bags are loaded onto carts, taken off carts, loaded onto shuttles, taken off shuttles, loaded into vans, taken off vans. and roughly 1.5 hours later i arrive at the fiap.

fiap (noun) convention center meets hostel meets all around confusion and general lack of comfort.

lesson two: not all of paris is gorgeous. the fiap is in a part of paris that is not gorgeous.

saturday, sunday, and monday night are spent in the lovely fiap. however the real fun did not begin until monday morning at 9:10 am. the housing process began.

i was lucky. i had been granted an early housing slot. 9:30 am on monday morning. i arrive. i have planned to stay in a chic IR, independent room. formerly servants quarters, these rooms are small studio apartments located on the top floor of lavish apartment buildings. sounds glamorous and rugged all at once. right?

WRONG. these small studio apartments are 11 square meters on a good day. yes we all lived in freshman dorms. no these are not the same. my electric toilet was hidden snuggly behind my door. next to it was my kitchen, a meter long counter top with a sink and two hot plates built over a mini fridge. directly adjacent was my shower stall followed by my bed. at the head of my bed was small window, overlooking the river, across from my bed a desk. this was not a studio apartment, this was a large bathroom with a bed and a hotplate. regardless, the independence, the view, and the city were enough reason to take it. so i accepted.

long story short. no immediate internet access (apparently this is a luxury, not the norm in paris) led to panic, led to a housing frenzy, led to frantic bbms to father, led to phone calls with mother, led to housing department hating me, led to a blessing in disguise.

i have found myself in a lofted room above a girl from my program in a homestay in the lovely 17th arr. a bus/metro ride from class and any other cultural excursion i deem necessary.

(explanation of homestay: dana and i live at one end of an older single woman's very nice apartment. dana lives on the main floor, i live in a room lofted above hers. the two of us share a full bathroom, and have access to the woman's fridge and kitchen. )