Hell Must Have Frozen Over

We were finally issued our ID cards- two months after school started.

"We took Spanish together, remember?"

I need to get out there and take some more photos. I have also decided that tonight's dinner will consist of bread and cheese, perhaps paired with some wine. I think I am finally completely sick of pasta (I say this now, but we all know what I'll be having for dinner tomorrow).

I ran into someone from my graduating class of high school in a little fondue restaurant (they serve wine in baby bottles- legit ones with a nipple) in Montmartre the other day. It was a weird, surreal experience to look up from our pot of molten cheese and see a familiar face. I don't think he really knew who I was right away (I mean, who doesn't want to look like they never left high school?). Or what to say to me, as any past communication between us probably either related to Spanish homework or my ex-boyfriend. I sincerely hope that there aren't people from Mendham and Chester lurking around corners all over the world, waiting just to remind me that I grew up in a bubble. A bubble filled with Ugg boots and the Dave Matthews Band. And expensive cars. And girls that will marry a man they met in college, so they can come back and raise their kids right up the street from where they grew up. Girls who can't wait for their kids to play with the kids of their high school best friends, who will also have come home to Mendham, never to leave ever again, except to go on vacation. Girls that probably have got the agendas all laid out for their future PTA meetings, knowing full well years in advance what sort of budget modifications they want. Little Susie just has to have the latest computer equipment, you know?

Also, the fondue was good.

Midnight Lullaby

I just returned home from my friend's house, only to find that there is a party going on in one of the buildings across the street from mine. Apparently, when young French people get drunk, they like to sing. These young drunk French people were attempting to sing "Hey Jude", although it seems most of them forgot the words. And the tune.

It seems that I have a new mission:
10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris

I'm also dying to try the legendary Parisian salted butter caramel sauce I've been hearing so much about lately.

I'm currently listening to the Dresden Dolls' cover of "New Year's Day" by U2, which never ceases to remind me of driving home from Eugene's house on New Year's Day two years ago. Route 80 was absolutely empty and light rain was falling. Ethel's symphony of unpleasant noises (my decrepit 1990 Volvo 240 with almost 200,000 miles on her) were competing with the music, as usual. Whenever I hear this song, I immeditely imagine myself merging onto 80 from Denville. This is in no way related to anything, in case you were wondering.

Dead People Know How to Party

So after neglecting it for the past 2 months, I finally made it over to Cimetière Montparnasse. I didn't even see half the cemetery- it proved to be much larger than I had anticipated. There are a ton of people buried there, including some famous people such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, Serge Gainsbourg, Man Ray, and Baudelaire. It has a very distinctively different feel from cemeteries in the US. There is very little space between each individual grave, thus making it difficult to get around once you step off the main paths. None of the graves consist of just a headstone, with the coffin laying six feet under dirt and grass. Instead, many people rest in sarcophagus- type things, or little dead-people houses (this is probably not their proper name). I also saw a few graves bearing fairly recent dates (like 2007), which caught me off guard- for some reason I had assumed that the cemetery was full and that they were no longer burying people there.


The graves themselves ranged from pretty normal (meaning bor-ing) to sort of odd. I think my favorites were the older little dead-people houses with ornate iron doors.


While I was walking around, I saw some people jogging and a few women pushing their kids along in strollers. Perhaps to the Parisians, cemeteries are just public parks that happen to have a bunch of dead people. I was also amazed how quiet it was. I visited during rush hour, and the cemetery is bordered by several main thorough-fares filled with cars, buses, and bicycles. One would have thought some of the noise would have penetrated the walls.


This tower is apparently the remnants of a 17th century windmill.


As I was leaving, a guard emerged from his little guard-shack and started blowing on his whistle. Apparently, this is the cue for people to get the hell out of the cemetery. I am fortunate that I happened to be right next to where he was, because if I had been on the other end of the cemetery, I probably would have ignored it, having no idea who on earth was obnoxiously whistling. I'm definitely planning on going back with my nice camera sometime in the very near future, before the leaves all fall off and things get super-depressing.

Rue Daguerre

Most grocery stores and markets are closed on Sundays, thus forcing me to make sure I buy a baguette on Saturday so that I can eat lunch on Sunday- I usually forget and end up eating just yogurt. However, I finally made it over to rue Daguerre this morning and found there to be several boulangeries open, thus concluding my Saturday-baguette panic. Rue Daguerre is about a 10 minute walk from my apartment. The end of the street has a bunch of little food shops- one for cheese (fromagerie), several butchers (boucherie), a few chocolate shops (chocolaterie), and several places to buy fresh produce. The shops extend onto the sidewalk, creating a sort of market-like atmosphere. My mother and I visited it when I first arrived in Paris, and I've been back once or twice to run to the post office, but aside from that, I had yet to capitalize on all that the street has to offer. Since I usually try to catch up on work on Sundays, I generally don't leave the apartment, which is sort of pathetic. But I've become so sick of eating pasta every night (I alternate between meat sauce and pesto- so exciting) that I figured it couldn't hurt to actually leave my place and buy some real food that isn't cheese or yogurt.

I bought a roast chicken. I've always associated pre-roasted chickens with Kings, the supermarket back home, as once in a while my mother would bring one home for dinner. The one that's currently sitting in my tiny fridge is a little baby one. The grocery stores over here must have decided that it was morally wrong to sell chicken broth or something, so I bought it to use the leftovers to make broth so I can make myself some soup. Also some protein wouldn't kill me. I also bought a leek, or I think it's a leek (not quite sure what they look like, but the sign had the French word for leek, so I'm assuming it's not something). Whenever I finish the chicken I will attempt to make potato leek soup. I'm really hoping it doesn't turn out icky.

I very much enjoy food shopping here, more so than at school. It's a little like going to the Strip District in Pittsburgh, but different. I have a fresh baguette on my table, a baby roast chicken and a leek in my fridge. These things probably make me far happier than they should.

Happy Sunshine Rainbow KITTIES!!!!

It's a funny thing, coming to live in a foreign country. There are so many things about life over here that are different, yet so many things that are the same. Lately I've been experiencing some pretty intense normal-life withdrawal. Perhaps that's all part of the deal. I mean, in actuality, this is a temporary arrangement- regularly scheduled programming will resume in January. That's not all that far away, though my brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I almost feel guilty even saying anything. I mean, how many people would kill to have an opportunity like this? To have the chance to live in Paris in an apartment with a righteous view is probably something many people dream about, but few ever get the chance to do. I feel sort of ridiculous admitting that I'm not 100% happy all the time, and that is hasn't been one non-stop party. But it's true. This past month and a half has been rough at times- I think in a lot of ways I'm still trying to figure out what it means to live in Paris. Fortunately, it's getting easier. I'm still not satisfied with many aspects of my present academic situation, but that shouldn't kill this experience for me.

I really enjoy living here. I love the fact that I can buy tiramisu-flavored yogurt in little terracotta pots. I love being surrounded by historically significant places and beautiful old buildings that exude that certain Parisian charm. I love living on bread, butter, and cheese, and the fact that real croissants are only a block away at any given moment or location. I love finding new places to explore and people to explore them with. I love walking past my local boulangerie and smelling fresh bread every time I walk to my Metro stop. I love being able to say I have a Metro stop. I love that there are a ton of drunk people singing outside right now, for the second night in a row. I love going for walks by myself, especially now that the leaves have begun to turn.

I suppose the point of all this is to tell you (all 3 of you) that I feel like I'm nearing the end of the adjustment phase. I'm here in a city I love. My time is running out and it's time to embrace the things that will make this experience truly unforgettable.

That being said, I do miss my friends back home. It's sort of pathetic how much I miss studio (I feel like such a loser). I miss having that rapport with people that I care about, that bond that can only come from not sleeping, working too hard, and pushing type around for hours on end.

Also

This window featuring chickens comes from one of the buildings across from mine; everytime I descend my 7 flights of stairs I pass the chicken window. It makes me happy.

Autumn in Paris

So its been ions since I updated- sorry! I really meant to post a bit sooner; I'm not sure what happened. My long gaps between posts have probably alienated the 3 people that read this thing. Anyway, as it's been a little while, I have some catching up to do.

In the past few weeks, school has really gotten underway- we're approaching mid-semester already, which seems a little silly, considering we've only been in class for less than a month and a half. When I'm in school, I feel like I'm a little kid, playing make-believe. Things don't seem real there. At this point, I'm over feeling inferior to the fashion bitches that dominate Parsons Paris's social scape. Now I simply do not care. They can prance around with their Miu Miu bags, thinking about how awesome they are- I just think they look foolish. Half the "ensembles" they put together each day are hideous, thus forcing me to speculate how the hell they are going to make decent looking garments for other people. Perhaps I just don't understand "ironic" dressing (you know, wearing obviously ugly clothing in an attempt to be hip and fashionable. I mean, come on- there was a girl walking around school yesterday in high-wasted black and bright red stripped pants. It was not a pretty picture). Being a student at Parsons Paris is like being back in middle school again- what with all the cattiness and the obviously faked confidence. Except my middle school was bigger.

Outside of school, I've gone to a few new bars and seen a few new parts of the city. I met a girl last weekend that lives near the rue Mouffetard, which is actually quite close to the part of Paris we stayed in while we visited Paris on the Euro trip. Rue Mouffetard is something special. Wikipedia indicates that the street was a Roman road- even today, many of the buildings that line the street are centuries old. There are numerous food stores and vendors, many selling the most incredible-looking seafood and cheese. We also ate at this cute little restaurant that focuses on quiche (is quicherie a word?). It's an incredibly charming little section of the city that most likely I would not have discovered on my own. There's a part of me that wishes my apartment was situated over there.

I've spent a good deal of time lately walking around the St. Germain- Odéon- St. Michel area. While it's a nice section of Paris to see and experience, there's something about it that always leaves me a tad disappointed- I can't figure out quite what it is. There are always an abundance of middle-aged American tourists, mostly couples, over there wandering around, trying to find Notre Dame or a decently-priced café so that they can return home to tell Bobby and Susan down the street that they had the "Paris experience."


The legendary Pont-Neuf from another bridge. Notre Dame is directly behind where I was standing. While I was taking this picture, a random girl came up to me and asked if she could take my picture for a school project requiring her to shoot strangers wearing sunglasses.

It's beginning to really feel like autumn. Two days ago I walked to the Monoprix (kind of like Target, but with a much better grocery section) over by the Tour Montparnasse, in the process passing by the Cimetière Montparnasse. I'm kind of ashamed that I haven't taken a walk through there yet with my camera, especially since it's like, two blocks from my apartment. I'm going to try to force myself to go on Sunday. From the outside, it looked quite beautiful with the leaves beginning to change.

This man's blazer is awesome.

I'll shall try to be more diligent about posting regularly.