Orleans, Where I Live Part 2

SO, I'm kinda behind on posting pictures and such. I'll try not to make this post too overwhelming.

Last Friday, I finally left Paris for the first time by taking a train down to Orleans with two friends. Orleans is a fairly small city/town with a long history. It was about an hour away by train. This was my first time seeing France as it exists outside of l'Ile de France, as all of my previous trips to France have been confined to Paris.


The day we went was one of those raw, grey days where the sky sort of mists on you for hours on end. I think we still had a good time. We were able to see a good portion of the city in only a few hours. They were putting up Christmas decorations and lights in the main square and on some of the side streets; unfortunately, we didn't really get a chance to see everything all lit up and pretty. What we did get to see was a pretty wicked cathedral.

Usually, when you go to one of these really old cathedrals (I've only been to ones in Italy and France, maybe it's different elsewhere), they're always packed. There are tons of other tourists wandering around, trying to find significant stained glass windows, or reading aloud from a guidebook. Going inside one of these cathedrals usually necessitates a lengthy weight in line, only to be herded into whatever church with a bunch of other people like sheep being guided onto a truck or something. It's never quite an entirely pleasant experience. While it's great to see the building and "experience the history", the whole endeavor is often frustrating and exhausting. Visiting the cathedral at Orleans was the exact opposite.

The only people in the church were me and my two friends, and a few old people. The temperature inside was the same as the outside, which isn't really all that mind-blowing in retrospect. The church was built in pieces and at different times (again, not surprising). I mean, in thinking about it, nothing was really all that shocking. It makes perfect sense that there weren't a ton of people, since it was a grey November day in a small town. But there was something so mesmerizing about the whole thing. I think it's one of the first times that I've actually been blown away by a cathedral. And the thing is, it wasn't all that different from Notre Dame. It was just that is was quiet—you had a chance to really absorb the space and explore every little twist and turn unhindered by crowds. They also had music playing—it was that sort of ethereal, eerie chanting/ singing that monks probably did a lot of in the Middle Ages. It totally added to the whole ambiance.

After the cathedral, we walked around a bit, exploring some of the side streets and the like.


These little side alleys remind me a lot of Volterra.


I think one of the biggest reasons we went to Orleans was to see the Joan d'Arc museum, which is located in a house she lived in at one point. Unfortunately, it was closed for the day in order to prepare for some exhibition or something. However, there was no sign to indicate that this was the case. The door was just locked; Chloe rang the little doorbell like, 5 times before a woman came out and apologetically refused to grant us admission. It was disappointing. Instead, we wandered into this random exhibition about some famous French author's World War 1 postcards. The whole exhibit was comprised of either postcards written to or by him. The odd thing was, the images on the front of the postcards look like they'd been colored on with a highlighter or something. Maybe it wasn't actually a highlighter—whatever it was, it was neon.

The "closed" museum. Le sigh. I'll just have to visit some other time, perhaps (but probably not).


Ok, so it doesn't look very neon here. But it is. I swear. Many apologies for the flash.

So we wandered around some more. We went to go look at the Loire river, which runs through the town.


Chloe and Sunanna by a store that sold guns. And knives. We passed another store that looked exactly the same, with the same sort of merchandise on display in the window. Maybe there's a large community of rednecks—or the French equivalent—in Orleans.


If only my hair were this artificially luxurious.


We had a good time, despite the dismal weather. Definitely one of the more exciting Fridays I've had since coming over here.

And now, more epic photos from my neighborhood, as promised. I can just feel your anticipation mounting.


They still haven't lit up these Christmas decorations. I wish they would.

This is the Metro stop before mine.


Oh look I live here.


Part 3 to be posted sometime soon. Also, as I am going to Barcelona this weekend, expect another post with an obnoxious number of pictures in the next few days.

I owe whoever reads this thing a ton of pictures, and another riveting installment of "Where I Live" (I know all three of you are on edges of your respective seats. Please don't fall over). I should have some time tomorrow to post. I'm off to Barcelona this weekend, and then Eugene comes to visit, and then Chloe and I are going to try to bounce off to Avignon, and then the parents and sisters come, and then done- wham bam thank you ma'am.

It's 2AM. I swear I'll be more coherent and less idiotic tomorrow.

More Dead People, Where I Live Part 1

Time is beginning to move quickly. It dawned on me yesterday that I only have a couple more "normal" weekends here in Paris before my family comes over to do the whole Parisian-Christmas thing.

Even still, home seems so far away. I must admit that I was a bad little girl today- I finally broke down and bought myself a chai at Starbucks, which I'm sure some people would consider blasphemous. But whatever. Sitting in one of the comfy-ish chairs with my piping-hot paper cup full of spicy goodness, I fooled myself into thinking I was at school for a second. I almost told myself to hurry up so I could get into studio, wondering if Caryn had beat me there. I also thought I saw Forbes Ave outside the window instead of the Grande Arche.

The Starbucks I visited is located at the Quatre Temps, which is a huge mall out at la Defense. La Defense is a little outside of Paris, providing a number of tall buildings that the city-center doesn't want with a home. In order to keep the Parisian skyline relatively low, tall buildings (or anything that would stick out) are constructed on the edges of the city. But yes, there are two exceptions: the Eiffel Tower, and Montparnasse Tower (Tour Montparnasse). I happen to live extremely close to the Tour Montparnasse (it's the big black building in one of the pictures I posted previously from the cemetery). It's a convenient landmark, kind of like the classier Parisian version of the Cathedral of Learning in Pittsburgh. It also makes it easy to describe where I live when meeting new people without having to be too specific.

Anyway, one of the things that catches me off guard whenever I go out to la Defense is how totally different it is from Paris. While this should be astoundingly obvious, it never ceases to surprise me how stark the contrast is. It's especially noticeable standing on the steps that lead up to the Grande Arche- from there you have a slightly crooked line of sight to the Arc de Triomphe, forcing you to consider how different the shiny new arch you happen to be standing under is from the old one off a little bit in the distance.

As you can see, this is not Forbes Ave. Or Craig Street.

Happy French children playing soccer. This is the view from Starbucks, except I was standing outside, in front of the old French people smoking while drinking their afternoon coffee. They probably did not appreciate my American bum blocking the view.

As promised, I returned to the Cimetière Montparnasse (not yet with the nice camera, sorry). Because one post about dead people is never enough, you have another opportunity to look at more pictures of creepy looking little death houses. Today is most definitely your lucky day. No need to thank me.

This image needs snow. And a bent old lady wearing a black shawl.

So many dead people, so little space.

I hope that when I die, I am cool enough to have an old, cranky, scowling man-bust on my grave.

Door to Moria?

I'm sure the dead love truck-noise.

I have decided to start taking pictures of my neighborhood. I've probably mentioned this before, but I'm quite fond of my 'hood. I really like living in Montparnasse. It's relatively quiet, which is nice. It's also filled with Parisians, as opposed to other areas that ooze tourism. I find it comforting to walk down the streets, knowing that the people I'm passing actually live here. I think it's allowed me to get a nice sense of what life is like for 30-50 year-old Parisians with kids and a little bit of money. I'm going to post a few pictures at a time, so as not to overwhelm you with the awesomeness that is my quartier.

Two views from the spiral staircase in my building.

The alleyway I use to get to the street. The red awning is a restaurant/bar. The smell of slightly rancid salmon often wafts out the door to greet me on my way to the metro. This is especially pleasant in the morning.

Christmas decorations on one of the bigger streets by my place.

Stay tuned: more to come.