Three Days In

Welcome to Paris: Come take a scenic boat tour with other awkward tourists and indulge in traditional French cuisine that can only be found at Subway.

I really should have posted a lot sooner, but I've been kind of all over the place, trying to get settled. But I'm here! And the plane didn't crash. And my apartment has an awesome little balcony. This probably makes me the epitome of the uptight American girl in Paris.

My apartment is on the sixth floor of a building constructed sometime in the early 1900's, meaning no elevator. Needless to say, lugging two 40+ pound suitcase up sixth spiral flights of stairs was quite a grueling undertaking. Upon my return, I will have the sexiest calves ever.

But the view is worth the climb. My apartment overlooks residential Montparnasse from the East and West. The above picture is the view from my bedroom/main living room. As cliched as it sounds, I can actually see the Eiffel Tower from the window in my bathroom.

I've spent the past two and a half days unpacking and getting settled. I am extremely fortunate that my mother was able to come over with me for the weekend. I've dragged her all over, securing essentials like paper towels. I'm absolutely blown away by French grocery stores. I have never seen so many bottles of wine for so little money. The French also seem to regard their dairy products as precious and luxurious commodities. My small local market has a wide selection of yogurts, mousses, pot de cremes, and puddings, all packaged in adorable glass jars. The thought of returning to Giant Eagle where such a selection is unheard of is already profoundly depressing.

There are a bunch of local markets and sales held weekly all over Paris; there are several in my area alone. Yesterday we visited the organic market by my house, which was a little disappointing. Today, however, we went to a large antique sale a few stops down from my Metro station. The tables full of glass bottles, old doorknobs, ancient plates, and strange lighting fixtures were definitely enough to leave me wanting to return at least a few more times. I actually managed to converse with the proprietors without looking like a total idiot. The image below is a market held daily near Notre Dame that specializes in small animals and plants. Should I wish to invest in a parrot or canary, this would be the place to find it.
And because I promised Eugene I would post some picture, here are some awful touristy shots of Notre Dame.

The blue copper people are supposed to be the Apostles ascending to Heaven. Apparently Heaven is located on the roof of Notre Dame.
We also saw a bunch of funny people on rollerblades. They even had a police escort, also on rollerblades.

Tomorrow I start orientation at Parsons Paris, which basically translates to a welcome session and dinner at the Bastille. More to come...

Shoving Off

My plane for France leaves tonight at 6:30. My nerves are starting to kick in- I absolutely abhor transatlantic flights. I blame this on the movie Castaway. Though I only saw it once, it was enough to leave me terrified of crossing any substantial body of water by air. My neurotic brain can not help but indulge in epic doomsday scenarios. I imagine the plane nose-diving from great heights into the ocean for reasons unknown. Pieces of the plane rip off during the descent, taking people with them. The stewardesses scream. The pilot weeps. I wonder what my last thoughts will be. I wonder what my body will look like, should they ever find it. They probably won't. My remains will rot on the ocean floor, like the Titanic people.

I've flown overseas three times now; on each previous occasion, I wrote out a will and left it on my bed, should my morbid predications actually come to pass. I think I'll forsake that ritual this time, though Eugene can have all my dishes and books if I don't make it over the ocean alive. I'm sure he'll like that.

Boats leave me equally mortified.

Oh and aren't these pants awesome?

I should be sitting in studio right about now, claiming my desk, unpacking my tools, ready to face another stressful semester. Instead, I'm sitting on my old bed in my parents house in New Jersey, in limbo.

Over the past few days, I have discovered that I am profoundly allergic to Bea's rapidly-reproducing hamsters. They have since been banished to the porch until I leave the day after tomorrow. This change of scenery seems to have had no effect on their over-active sex drives.

I have also started working on puzzles. Perhaps I am ready to leave.

Last Week

I only have a few more days to go at my parents' house before I leave for France. I'm starting to get a little restless. I love my family and all, but I need a sense of permanence, or at least a temporary semblance of permanence that I won't find here because I know that I will be leaving.

After a few days of being back in Pittsburgh, I am very excited to leave for France. Leaving and then coming back reminded me of the many reasons I have for going. Certain things, such as leaving Eugene here alone, will be most unpleasant. However, this experience will serve me well and allow me to broaden my horizons. I sound like a Hallmark card.

One more week in Pittsburgh. Let the packing begin.

Montreal and Back

It feels nice to be state-side once again. I can use my cell phone without that little black roaming triangle making me feel guilty.

I had a great time in Montreal with Jay. He took me to some interesting little neighborhoods, distinctively marked by the influx of 20-something hipsters in kefiyehs. One night we went to this bar called Saint Sulpice that had four distinctively different floors (though I only saw the first one and the bathroom of the second). We split a pitcher of beer on the accompanying outdoor terrace, surrounded by boisterous French-Canadians. A woman took a nasty spill on the stairs a few feet away from our table.

We hiked up to the top of the mountain sitting in the middle of the city. The view was incredible. All of Montreal stretched out below us and some German tourists. It just reinforced my opinion that Pittsburgh is sub-par.



I think Jay had some difficulty thinking of places to eat. He usually opts for Middle-Eastern food, which is off-limits for me. Peanut allergies just complicate things.

I'm throughly sick of traveling. I spent over 11 hours on a train up to Montreal on Monday, and close to nine hours on a bus yesterday.

The Radiohead Experience
Radiohead was absolutely phenomenal. The rest of the concert experience was not. The concert was held in a large field across the Saint-Lawrence from the rest of the city. We got there around 4:30, greeted by overcast skies. When they opened the gates, Jay and I ran as fast as we could through the mud towards the stage. We ended up pretty close, maybe 20 rows back. We then had to stand there for another two hours until the opening act, Grizzly Bear, began their set. Somewhere in those two hours, it began to rain. It was relatively light at first, evolving into a considerable rain shower. Unlike everyone else in the audience, Jay and I were totally unprepared for the weather: no umbrella, no rain gear. He found a large piece of plastic on the ground that I used to cover my head, though in retrospect it did little good. Torrents of water rolled off the raincoats surrounding me, indiscriminately flowing into my zipper-less purse. The contents of my bag are still a little soggy, though I gave each item a turn under one of those hot-air hand dryers in the bathroom of the Montreal bus station. My pants were relatively dry. The back of my tank-top was soaked; I had water running down my back. Jay seemed to be much worse off- everything he was wearing was wet. Needless to say, I was cranky.

Sometime after the rain had slowed up, Jay decided to leave to see if he could find us some food. Unfortunately, he forgot that he had left his wallet in my drenched purse. Returning empty-handed, he tried in vain to find me in the sea of 20,000 people. I watched Grizzly Bear perform, then got a text from Jay telling me to move backwards, where I eventually found him. Therefore, we were both much farther back than we had wanted; we couldn't see anything. There was an obnoxious frat-boy type behind us that kept singing along at the top of his lungs, off-key. He drowned out Thom Yorke. I'm grateful that apparently he didn't have In Rainbows because we were spared his renditions of the new songs.

The show itself was amazing. They had these long tubes suspended from the top of the stage that changed colors and patterns during the different songs. They were quite beautiful and complimented the music nicely. They played most of In Rainbows (I believe all of the first CD and "Bangers and Mash" off the second) and a selection of songs off all of their past albums except Pablo Honey. They also set off fireworks intermittently towards the end of the show from somewhere in the distance. It was the best live performance I've experienced, even though I couldn't see much.

After the show, the short journey to the Metro took about an hour of slogging through mud and puddles. 20,000 people were bottle-necked into the station; 20,000 people who had been standing for too many hours and just wanted to have a seat.