PARIS - le dernier jour

I woke up this morning thinking today would be uneventful; a lazy day without much to do.

Apparently I forgot I was in Paris.

One thing I've learned about this city is that there is always something interesting to explore. I began the day my trying to visit the art exhibit of a French cousin, only to find out that the invitation lied and it was closed until mid-afternoon. So instead I took a walk - a very, very long walk.


I stumbled upon this plaza (still am not sure of the name) but found it full of beautiful modern sculptures. Each represents something or someone - like the Olympic Spirit (left) and Europe (on the right).


Walking toward the Ile de Cité, I came across this stunning statue that, as it turns out, is the famous end of pilgramiges for French Nationalists. I thought it was interesting because it was Joan of Arc, and she is always interesting...


I then walked to the Jardin des Tuilleres. Certainly my favorite garden in the city. Beautiful flowers, sculptures, monuments and fountains. And of course, it is part of the axis from the Louvre to La Défense.


Also in the Jardin des Tuilleres I had my first anti-American experience. I was having a lovely conversation with a rather handsome waiter when he asked me what country I was from. Of course I told him, and he made a face and began to walk away (honesstly though, I think it's pretty damn obvious I'm from America, but whatrever). I aint no fool, though. I quickley told him that I hated Bush and he was back to chatting and loving me. At least these frogs can differenciate between hating Americans and hating Bush?

We then had a conversation about how most of my countrymen must be fools to hate Bush yet still elect him for four more years... and then he admitted French politics weren't much better!

Did some other things today (including buying a visa), but I wont bore you with the details. I'm dreading my crazy day of travel tomorrow (I must fly from Paris to London Luton, take a bus to Heatherow to collect my luggage, and then somehow get to Gatwick for my flight to Nice, all of which is followed by an horu and a half car-ride with a man who doesn't speak English and has a provençal accent that is so thick even my French family from Paris cant understand him...) but am psyched to be at the house - and in a truly familiar place. Finally I can unpack and start to settle in!

The incident on the Metro

I left my hotel this morning to return to my dear cousin Laurences. I was on ligne 7, sitting by myself in a seat near the door to the train, minding my own business when... a young boy of color (to be PC) boarded the metro. He was hunched over, and I was lost in a day dream about how wonderful living in the beautiful town of Ramatuelle will be and what it would be like if some of my friends could visit...

All of a sudden, I was jolted back to reality with this young boy screaming at me in French. Quoi? Je ne parle pas français! I was very flustered - and unnverved (yesterday a young boy of color - same age and all - screamed "plutount/bitch" at me as I walked down the street). He continued to scream at me, now slowly, even though I told him that I did not understand and I didn't speak French. Meanwhile, everyone on the train is staring at me expectantly...

It really was horrific. I began to sweat and I felt embarrassed, confused - and sure, a little frightened. Finally some nice young man walked toward me from the other side of the car and said, "He wants to sit down. He has a back ache."

Well duh. He had been loudly, slowly screaming "J'ai mal à dos."

Of course, being embarrassed and grateful somebody saved me, I jumped out of my seat immidiately. But then I thought about it - this 16 year old boy had a bag half as large and heavy as mine. I grew slightly perterbed; but what was I going to do? Obviously I suck at French. I couldn't say anything... I didn't even know what he was saying when he spoke loudly and slowly, even simple phrases like "my back hurts." I mean really, here I was hoping to work in France and I couldn't even understand a phrase I learned freshmen year of highschool?

It... well, it broke my spirit.

Temporarily. (What can I say? I'm resiliant.)

You know how it goes, something like, "When you fall off the horse you gotta get back on and RIDE it!"
So I went to the marcé to buy some mile for the cereal I purchased before boarding the metro. I successfully explained to the guard at the door that I was bringing a plastic bag of food into a grocery store because the first grocery store was out of milk. I asked several people where I could find "le lait pour boire" because "milk" to them comes in a can. I even could flirt a bit with the cute boy behind me in the check-out line...

I guess that's how learning a language is: lots of highs and lows. Sometimes you're on, you can do it, and you feel like you could talk to anyone in the world. And sometimes you speak and listen so poorly you feel like you want to curl up and die because clearly you can't do anything right...

Yea, I suck at French. I've spent my whole life trying to learn it and I'm still pitiful. Sorry kids, I'm not coming home until I'm fluent.

My Favorite Place in Paris

Again, the tiny quirks of a city are what I love most (just check out my favorite place in Boston). I love the secrets that fade into the background that most living nearby don’t even know about. This is mine for Paris:

I had stumbled upon this building with a boyfriend years ago in Paris and it left such an impression that this time around I had to see it again. So I embarked upon an adventure, armed with a camera and what little French I know, and headed to the 13th arrodisimant, near the 6th. I knew it was somewhere nearby, so I walked block by block, speaking with whatever old lady I could find (it was Mother’s Day here so they were all out… and they speak slow enough for me to understand…), trying to describe this building with no name or import. No one knew. After roaming the area for hours, I gave up and began to walk toward the metro station – only to walk right up to it. : D So here are the three engravings in this building, tucked away on a tree-lined street in Montparnasse, that I adore:

PARIS - Day IV

Today was the first day without beating sunshine since I’ve arrived, and I welcomed the cooler air. Thick gray clouds hung in the air threatening to rain but never did. I forgot to pack an umbrella.


To go along with the gloomy skies, I decided to fill my day with death and sorrow (I know, it’s pitiful). I went to see the maze of catacombs hidden under Paris’s city streets, but – as always – they were closed. (Every single time I visit Paris I try to see these damn catacombs and never – not once – have they been open at the time/day/month I want to go. Some things just aren’t meant to be, I guess…) Instead I walked through the cemetery of Montparnasse, where such famous Parisians as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir are buried, and then the cemetery of Montmartre, where the greatest artistic luminaries lay.

(I found this tomb the most striking – it reads, “MY friend Jean-Jacques, a bird who flew away too soon”)


I’m beginning to lose my fervor. Saw the Sacré-Coeur. My favorite part was the statue of Joan d’Arc in the front. Montmarte is fun. I think I need a nap…

All by me onesies!

I LOVE people. I could not survive without my friends and having tons of people to talk to and share everything with. I am NOT a loner. I hate being alone, in fact.

But I am having a damn good time by myself on this vacation in Paris. Does that make me a loser?

PARIS - Day III

I have one thing to say to Ernie Caso right now: “… you were right.”

When I first told him I was going to France for some time, he told me that I would be in a whole lot of trouble. “Cute little American girl like you with an accent – oh they’ll eat you right up.” (And then, like the good person he is, he plagued me with warnings of BE CAREFUL. Those European men know each other’s sleezy antics well, I guess… ; )

But everywhere I go, I can’t be left alone. While at first I considered being hit on by gross French men a great way to practice the language, it’s getting old… fast. Most are sleezy and just want to pick it up, many want to take me out on some ridiculous date, some just wont take no for an answer, and very few are actually interesting. All encounters leave me feeling extremely proud of myself that I struggled through yet another embarrassingly terrible conversation en français.

One of the more interesting I met today was an older man and his young son at La Défense. Upon discovering that I was an American, he insisted that we continue our conversation in French so that I can learn. He spoke English when I lost him in his quick sentences and corrected ALL of my mistakes. And sitting on the far side of La Grande Arche, looking toward the city, he told me (in French) this charming little story of Paris that I love (mostly because I love discovering the little secrets of cities that most do not know…):

“If you could see forever, you would have quite the view standing at La Grande Arche. On a direct axis, perfectly lined up with this colossal arc, the Arc de Triomphe stands some 50m high and some odd number of kilometers away. Still closer to the heart of the city directly in the center of the Napoleonic arc, on that same straight axis, stands the 3,200 year old obelisk in the 18th century Place du Concorde. Directly beyond that stands yet another arc, the Arc du Carrousel, on the far side of the Tuileries gardens. And looking directly through the centre of that arc, the perfectly straight line ends with the Louvre’s Pyramid. Interesting quirk, n’est pas?”

Aww, neat!

And rather than bore you with photos of all les autres choses que j’ai vu aujourd’hui, here are my favorite du jour:

(yes that is a statue of a thumb in La Défense)

I thought this was fun, to. It reads (en français):
"All men are created without knowledge as he breathes, but the artist yearns to create his deed, encouraging all of his being, his beloved sorrow, strengthening him."

HEAVEN! AT LAST!

Never before in my life have I been SO happy to walk into a hotel room and see that not only does it have its own bathroom (door and everything!) BUT it even has a shower! ALL FOR ME! And I don’t even have to pay for it! Yea!


So now I’m at the noisy, little but just-perfect-for-me Hotel Terminus Nation in the 12th. Life is good again! And maybe I’ll even get to wash my hair…

Oh dear God

"I laugh at what I cannot change..." - Dave Matthews Band


Oh my. I had to write again – just made my first trip to the bathroom (yes, I brought my camera… and every other valuable thing I own). There is only one toilet for the entire hotel and it is located in a deep dark corner underneath the stairs. Here you can see the sketchy tiny door to enter and the disgusting toilet, but let me tell you what you cannot see. The entire room is probably two square feet. The toilet, sink and all piping are entirely exposed. The little roll of cheap pink toilet paper is resting, lying down on one of the exposed pipes (apparently they were too cheap to invest in a roll holder) and the lock on the door is mismatched. On top of all this disrepair, there is not a single light or window in the closet (certainly cannot be called a room) so you have to pee in the dark. Yuck.

What is this place?

… I’m dying of heat … must go outside for dinner … (and must bring all my precious belongings!)

PARIS - Day II

Laurence said the good weather came with me. That’s great; I prefer clear blue skies and bright sunshine to the cold, gray rainy days in Boston. But it’s f---in hot. Today I actually had to buy a slinky linen tank top and peel off my sweat-soaked cotton tee and bra in order to survive (lovely image, huh?). Thank God Parisians don’t mind much attention to boobs, cuz I’ve got a lot of ‘em!


Today I visited the Louvre. Wow. There are so many amazing pieces of artwork flooding the gorgeous halls of that ancient building that it really would require days to properly examine each one. Me, I’m not really much of an art person. There are some things I can really, really appreciate though:


This is actually why I went to the Louvre in the first place. Flipping through the photo album of my dear friend Lisa’s, I saw this sculpture and fell in love. I think it may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen – quite possibly because I firmly believe that a person’s back is the most attractive part of his or her body (or in the case of this “Hermaphrodite endormi,” it’s both sexes). I had to see it out for myself. And as I neared the many great halls of the museum for four hours, I feared I would never find it. But, as Lisa had years ago, I went to leave and just stumbled upon it in the Greek Antiquities. Lovely.


This one is for all the men out there. And larger women. Do you see this old Italian sculpture? See her rolls? Yea, she’s fat. And that’s Aphrodite. Yea fat women. Rock on.

Like I said, I’m not an art-lover. But I absolutely adore Italian sculpture – I just think they portray women to be so real and so stunningly beautiful. And they make love look so romantic, and let’s face it – I am a hopeless romantic. But here are some other objets d’art that I saw today:





















I have something to say about this last one, the “Sarcophagus of a Married Couple.” I never, ever feared or thought of death – until I fell in love. Once I had found the man of my dreams and realized how excited you could become to spend rest of your life with someone, I realized I never wanted that life together to end. I was truly happy, and when you’re truly happy, you want to be awake – and a live – to cherish every single second of it. And when you are in love, despite the wedding vows, you do not want death to be what tears you apart. So why not follow this ancient Etruscan couple – and be buried together? Then you truly do get to spend eternity with ton amour… aaaawwww how cute, huh?

After spending all morning at the museum, I walked over to Notre Dame to see the ruins of Paris underneath. It was really quite interesting; it is a guided tour of ancient artifacts and building structures exactly as found when excavated (in the same location and everything) from the Gallo tribes to the 18th century. Neat.


And afterwards I thought I was going to die of heat, so I got lost (again) and walked to my hotel du soir. Usually called Hotel Richard on Rue Richard Lenoir, I like to call it Sketchball Motel. My room is ridiculous – with plywood coming out of the wall, an exposed sing in the corner, two plastic chairs, and a large bed that is melting in the heat (no AC). I even had to rent my own sheets.













As for worries? Yes, I have a few… so much for a hotel room tomorrow night – my hostel is closing down. Not that I mind, giving the sketchiness. It does have wireless Internet though, which is always fun… Ok – I’m off to find myself a place to sleep for the next few nights (not to mention I’m allergic to something in this damn hotel and am dying). Otherwise I’m catching a plane and going who-the-hell-knows-where.

PARIS - Day I

“trying to fit the world inside a picture frame…” - John Mayer


Thank God for digital cameras. There is so much beauty to capture I would have run out of film in a 35mm – and I’ve been here for one day. Paris is just too amazing not to explore armed with a camera…


This is Paris to me:


Honestly, here’s a little girl dancing on a bridge to an accordion player’s typically French music, while her mother watches holding two baguettes. The background is none-other than the typically Parisian Haussmann style architecture reminiscent of the 19th century buildings littered around the city.


I must have watched this dog for hours, just aimlessly chasing ducks in the Seine. (Awww… I miss my puppy!)


And of course, what would Paris be without sleazy men? To me though, this is simply one of the city’s favorite pastimes – drinking some beers by the river after a short day at work…

Speaking of men, I’ve found the best way to practice French is to just sit somewhere in the city. Men will flock to you (and believe me, I did not look good today) and want to have your number, give you theirs, take you out to dinner, bring you home afterwards… While in Boston I would be disgusted and would just up and run away, rejecting men here makes for good linguist practice…

Haha, I love this. Another day in this amazing city tomorrow…

When in Paris, do as the Parisians do

Ahh… Les Jardins du Luxembourg.


Green everywhere. It is very hot here in Paris and there isn’t a cloud in the sky – quite the contrast from the cold, rainy week I escaped in Boston. This city is absolutely amazing – people everywhere, but not too crowded like New York. Long history, ancient buildings, and late nights – a world away from Boston. And culture like nowhere in the States.


So far, I’ve helped myself to a breakfast of fresh strawberries and raspberries and cheese, followed by a lunch of coca-cola (in a bottle!) et un saussion-sec (baguette with cheese and sausage). So don’t worry Ma, I’m eating…


As I write this, I’m watching a model (who must be 6 feet tall, not including the 5 inch heels) do a photo shoot in a Gucci suit with a red rose (keep an eye out for me in the background when you see it in the magazines). She’s so skinny they had to pin the size 0 skirt in the back to make it look fitted. Tell me that’s not sad.
- Speaking of, did you know that if a mannequin were alive she would be too underweight to menstruate? Aside from the fact that she had once been a mannequin, of course… I’d imagine that that would cause some problems as well…

So aside from getting a visa to work in France (and leaning the language), I seem to be living without a care in the world. However, I have no place to sleep Sunday night and that is a worry I will have to deal with. For now I have a nice little hotel in the 11th (which I should go check out, now that I think of it), but Sunday night I may just not sleep. Or I might find a hostel. Or something. But really, for my anxious little self I’m doing just fine with this. For now.

Eh, don’t worry too much. Takes the fun away : )

Pour les gens qui je connais aux États-Unis

Ugh. I am absolutely and utterly exhausted. But I’m here none-the-less.

Paris is an amazing city; already I’ve found myself a cell phone, gotten lost navigating the city and metro, and spent the greater portion of an hour exploring a cheese shop down the street. And I’ve spoken quite a bit of French. Maybe I can do this after all…

I decided, though, as I was struggling to stay awake on the RER (think commuter rail) from Charles de Gaulle to the metro, that if I have some sort of opportunity in Paris I don’t think I’d like to live directly in the city. Just outside of the 20 diverse arrondissements stand quaint little houses, covered in ivy vines, blessed with backyards. I’d rather live there and commute to the city than live in some gorgeous apartment overlooking an alley that emanates with the aroma of piss 24/7. Unless, of course, I was ridiculously wealthy – in that case I’d move to the first or second (think of it like the best sections of Beacon Hill and the South End – ridiculously overpriced but historic and gorgeous). Eh, we’ll see… I have a whole summer to figure out what comes next. I mean, I already miss my friends & family, I’m not sure I can stay longer than anticipated, no matter how much of an adventure that would be.

But really, last week I was a student. Now, I’m moving to France. Hopefully by next week, I’ll be working in the Riviera. I get to spend a significant amount of time in Paris, St. Tropez, Ramatuelle – and who the hell knows where else (I’ve got mini vacations stirring up in my head… peut être Galway or Dublin, London, Malaga & Madrid, Italy, Greece, Cairo?). What more could I really want?

Thinking of you all tous les temps ~

traveling blues

I am currently hiding in a corner, stashed away behind a bookstand of travel guides, sitting on the dirty, dusty, disgusting floor in London Luton’s airport waiting for my 5am flight to Paris. Yum.

I’m desperate for a place to plug my laptop in because I want to take advantage of the wireless internet here. I've got lots to add to my site. New adventure, new life in France, new language. And lots and lots of photos.

So this is for my family and friends I left back home, and for anyone else who may be slightly curious as to what it’s like to be young, wreckless, foreign, and moving to le midi de France (with little French speaking skills). For all who meet those requirements, just keep in mind – there are lots of relevant ads to the right of the page that would be lovely for you to click on… ; )

Keep in touch, kids. I’m about to start living my dream.