I've Got Nothing

Literally in the crypts of the Pantheon.

Okay, so I haven't posted in awhile. I could blame it on nothing interesting happening, but I'm just lazy. I would like to think that I'm slowly adjusting into a daily rhythm here. I'm very tired so this entry will be a random conglomeration of stories.

The other day I bought just a baguette and walked home with it in my hand. I felt very french. People will just walk around with baguettes over their shoulders. Seriously. No joke. Think of every french stereotype. There you go.

My roommates and I visited the Pantheon last week. It's literally a ten minute walk from where we live. The ground floor is cold and full of sculptures and 'frescoes' of French history (ie Joan d'arc etc). The crypt is where the action is though. Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, Voltaire, the Curies are all buried in the depths of the Patheon. I'm not going to lie. It's creepy. Especially since there are spaces open for new burials. In the picture above, Pierre et Marie Curie are entombed on the other side of us. Yes we were disrespectful. Yes it was awesome. We had just taken the picture and scrambled down when a gaggle of french schoolchildren walked into the room on a fieldtrip.

I have, no make that had, a french stalker. Last Tuesday, I was on the metro to buy a new weekly pass since I had lost mine in my wallet. So I realize that it's just me and this guy in the car. Merde. The following exchange (all in french): Him shoving his phone in my face. 'Give me your number!" "blah blah blah" "No, no, no, no" "Get off at this stop w/ me. Let's get coffee." "NO". So to get him to leave me alone I give him my number. NOW let me explain. I know I am stupid. 20 people have already confirmed this. BUT. I was afraid that if I gave him a fake number, he would immediately call it and figure out that it was fake, and then further harrass me. Anyway he called me about 50 times since last Tuesday. Once, 18 times in one morning. Finally, my wonderful friend Samantha, who speaks fluent French, convinced him that he had the wrong number. He hasn't called since Sunday.

I ate escargot for the first time on Sunday. It wasn't what I was anticipating. I liked it. First you dump out this green pesto/garlic sauce from the shell. And then with a prong device, you pry out the snail. Mix in sauce. Eat. It was actually good! Think of calimari. The same consistency. Fun fact: my friend said that they buy the shells and snails separately. So don't worry. I wasn't removing my poor little snail friends from their original homes.

I guess I should explain more about school. It's my official reason for being here, I guess. It's good. I'll explain more later.

A demain.

Inauguration or The Day I Danced with a 75 Year-Old Man

Today was an epic day to be an American. Especially an American abroad. One could feel the excitement teeming from the inauguration across the Atlantic. Several of us Obama ex-pats wanted to celebrate this historic occasion Paris-style. And thank goodness, Paris did not let us down.



First we popped over to The Moose Head, a Canadian bar, to watch Obama's swearing-in ceremony live. As luck would have it, we missed it by 10 minutes. Damn you, le metro! But we drowned our sorrows in 5€ beers and free shots...thanks to the super creepy bar owner. But hey, a free shot, is free shot! (Don't worry Mom, I had a boy taste it first to make sure it wasn't poisoned...I practice 'safe shots' here in Paris.)

Afterwards, we headed over the Seine to the Champs-Elysee for a bar/club event hosted by Democrats Abroad France. The bar, le Queenie, was super-swanky, but we met several other ex-pats...and one was from Plano! Sometimes I wish I had enough money to patron these super 'posh' hangouts, but that'll have to wait until I'm rich...from fashion??? Yeah, probably not going to happen...

My new boyfriend.

The real fun began at the club Queen (not to be confused with the bar le Queenie which is just around the corner). Apparently it's usually a gay bar, but tonight was decked out in its full American-loving glory. We danced the night away to a great mix of disco and oldies...and here's the best part: This old old old old old man ambled on to the dance floor to dance with us! At one point, he grabbed my hands to booty-shake with him! The old guy kept up with the pace. I'm surprised his heart could handle it! I guess everyone was in the mood to celebrate...health not withstanding.

I hope you all had a terribly exciting Inauguration Day....I wish I could have been there with all of you. You know we would have been dancing and screaming in the streets...

New friends & new sights

So many festive streets like this.

Oh man, what has not happened this week(end). I met the other int'l students at school, experienced Versailles in the low season, lost my wallet, and managed to dance the night away at three different clubs in between.

This is me at a club. Seriously.

So yes. The clubs here are uber-fun. I like that I can dance as crazily (stupid) as a want and it doesn't matter...because chances are there is someone more outrageous next to me. Dancing different if you know what I mean...

Last night some of us went to a party at a club that our school sponsored. Yeah, so apparently ESCP is, shall we say, a party school. I'm talking students working the door, coat check, the bar, and so forth. At one point the music came to a halt and a whole mass of people swarmed the stage performing this choreographed dance to a series of techno songs. It's so funny when an ancient US song randomly comes on in between the house music. It's the only time all of us Americans can sing along.


On Friday we went daytrippin' to Versailles. The palace is ginormous...and visitors could only view about half of it, I think. Sadly, the Jeff Koons installation had already ended. I would have wanted to see some giant steel sculptures resembling balloons amidst the rococo encrusted decor of the palace.



Unfortunately since it was the low season, the gardens were not as magnificently beautiful as they would be in the spring/summer. But they were majestic to see nonetheless. I could just imagine Marie Antoinette (in the form of Kirsten Dunst thanks to Sofia Coppola) strolling around aimlessly, not a care in sight...well not until later, of course. But how women "strolled" on cobblestones I have no clue. Those things would snap my ankle in no time flat. Maybe she had someone carry her on a carraige made of baguettes.



This picture cost me my wallet. That's all I have to say. It's now worth 80€, $25, 2 credit cards, and 3 ID's. Will someone FedEx me some mexican food please?

More pictures from the week.

J'adore du vin

Oui, c'est oui...I love wine. The best part so far about Paris is sitting and drinking wine aux cafés with friends. I feel my sophisitication level rises exponentially because of this.

Tonight my roommates and I are meeting some of the internationals to go to our first Parisian club. Oh my...I don't know what to expect. Techno? House? Je ne sais pas. I am looking forward to seeing these crazy Europeans get down. Hopefully it'll be better than the (under 21) clubs back home. I'm not a fan of gross randos.

Before the Sun Comes Up

Today we had the first day of orientation for incoming international students at ESCP-EAP. Which means Ecole Superiere de Commerce de Paris. We were excited to meet the other students, but we not looking forward to waking at 7 am. As le metro speed above ground, we greeted the sun rising with a fuschia haze over the rooftops of the city.

So far, I think I'll be able to keep my expenses here under control. I guess spending a summer in NYC helps this mode of rationalization a bit. But hey, any place where I can buy a freshly made crepe avec Nutella for 3€ is fine by me! I'm under a strict no-buying-clothing policy. If you have seen my closet, you know that the last thing I need is another dress. Except a girl can never have too many scarves right...? Especially in a cold environment like Austin...

Even if I had no interest in improving my French, I'm pretty sure I would have to in any case. As the token French speaker in the group, I've assumed the role of translator. That is, I preface every exchange with "Je parle francais tres mal." But I think I am improving day-by-day. When we went out the other night, I was even able to hold a semi-conversation with four Francophiles. I can't wait for the moment when I naturally think in French instead of translating from English first. I have started to develop a quasi-French/American/British(?) accent when speaking English. Um, yeah, don't even ask.

Exploration #1

Hier, my roommate Christine and I geared up for our first exploration around the city. The weather was immaculate-not a cloud in sight....thus, perfect the perfect setting to behave like a camera-wielding tourist. We walked near le champs elysee and underneath le tour eiffel. Also right as the sun rose earlier in the day, Sydney and I bought freshly baked pastries and shopped at our local grocerie store.

It was, in short, the perfect day to get to know the city a little bit better.

It's still feels slightly unreal to be living here. I experienced the same feeling this summer in New York. Though living in NYC this summer was a great test for the spring, I can already tell the cities differ greatly. This is clearly evident on the metro. Le metro in Paris is fairly clean, has a timer to let passengers know how soon the next metro will arrive, and no speaks above a murmur while riding. In New York, the stations always smell faintly of urine, one can wait up to 45 min waiting for a train, and I can always count on someone crazy to entertain me during the ride. I haven't decided which system I prefer. I think each is a summation of the city is serves.

Spotted on le metro. The most beautiful Frenchman I have ever seen. Christine agrees.

More photos from the day. I apologize for all of the gratuitous Eiffel Tower shots.

Thou Courier I Thank Thee

Guess what finally showed up at midnight last night? I got my first taste of the French concept of time: it'll happen when it happens.

How Many Times Can I Make An Ass Out of Myself in Paris?

This morning I landed in Paris after a surprisingly not-excruciating flight from Dallas to London and then a short trip across the channel to Paris. Of course when I am waiting at baggage claim, I hear a voice over the intercom:

"Weel the fowh-lo-weeng pa-sahn-gerrrrr pleez ree-porrh too thee desque: loo-wize" (Translation: Will the following passenger please report to the desk: Lewis"

Wait, what? Who is "loo-wize"? Ohhh, that's me. The arrival of my luggage has been delayed for a couple of hours. Now it's 9pm (or 21:00) and still no bags.

I have managed to make an ass out of myself atleast say 2 times in the course of 1 hour. First I, with my scarf flailing in the wind, ran down a van that parked outside of the apartment, asking the man if he was from the airport. He, very confusingly, responded "non". Then, the mailman asked if I was drunk when I asked him in broken french if he was delivering my bags.

Looking on the bright side, the apartment I am sharing with Christine, Sydney, and Jessica is charmingly French. We even have to light our stove and oven with a match each time of use. Now some of you know my aversion to all things fire. Needless to say, I will not be doing this myself. I don't want to be the one to explode the apartment.