21

So as you may or may not know, this past week was especially exciting because not only was I turning the big two-one, but also because Ms. Teagan was visiting me for the week.

            This past Sunday, I got up bright and early to pick up Teagan from Charles De Gaulle Airport. Unfortunately, Like 90 percent of my other journeys through Paris, I was a little late as I overestimated my abilities to navigate the public transportation system—one of these days I’ll get it, hopefully.  After aimlessly wandering around the metro where I needed to make a connection, climbing up and down steps with my shamelessly large suitcase, and even jumping a turnstile or two, I found the ticket booth to buy my RER two-way ticket, I was finally on my way.

            I found Teagan sitting in the terminal looking oh-so-chic in her Burberry scarf and pea coat. After a hug and some squeals and shrieks, I then told her we might have to do some walking and that we might have to do some stairs to get to the apartment we rented. She looked at me, looked down at her 3 bags and then looked back at me and replied, “how many stairs?” A little side note to this conversation—Paris is likely the worst city in terms of wheelchair accessibility meaning that there are stairs everywhere.  There are stairs often in places that really don’t make sense. Stairs taking you up a floor just to take you down a floor so you remain on the exact same floor the entire time. Apartment four floors up—who needs an elevator when you can have stairs?

            So after a train ride, two metro transfers and of course, four flights of stairs to the apartment, we finally arrived at our humble abode for the week. A quaint apartment for two in the 15th arrondisement, it was perfect.

            After decompressing, we were off to our first adventure. That Sunday we spent our day walking along the Seine throughout St. Michel and the Marais where we saw Cathedral Saint-Chappelle, Notre Dame, the Lock Bridge and much more. I was especially excited because I had yet to see the Lock Bridge since living here. So when we stumbled upon it, I was just taken aback. It was something so simple but for some strange reason, it was breathtaking. Not wanting to splurge on an overpriced lock, we instead enjoyed a nutella-banana crepe with a cappuccino for Teagan and a Café Crème for myself. We finished off the night at a local bistro and then retreated back to the apartment. While Teagan powered through a season of Mad Men, I was able to knock off some internship applications and some homework.

            The following day after my classes, Teagan and I headed to the Eiffel Tower just as the sun was setting. We brought two bakery-fresh baguettes with us because a) we knew the bakeries would be closed by the time we got home b) baguettes make for GREAT props during Eiffel tower photo-ops. After the Eiffel tower and narrowly evading some of the crazies/gypsies (some of which kept referring us to Ladies Gaga), we had some guests over and indulged in a makeshift wine & cheese night with charcuterie, fromage and twist-top merlot.

            Tuesday marked a pivotal moment in Teagan’s life—it was the first time she tried macaroons, and not just any macaroons, but world-famous Ladurée macaroons. Prior to spoiling ourselves with overpriced baked goods, we ran into a little snafu. We were supposed to head to the Louvre after my classes had finished but, as I forgot to double check the hours beforehand, we quickly learned that the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays. Making a quick game time decision, we made our way to the iconic Arc de Triomphe and then weaved our way down Champs-Elysees.

            The following day we made a second attempt at the Louvre and this time we succeeded. Our second trip to the Louvre was definitely worthwhile because with the sun out on Wednesday, the pictures were all the more worthwhile. Like every other tourist, we had one painting in mind—the Mona Lisa. I had forewarned Teagan that the Mona Lisa is well, very underwhelming, just so her expectations wouldn’t be too high for the world’s most famous painting. Upon arriving at the Mona Lisa, we quickly realized that with the throng of tourists, we needed to get aggressive in order to get our absolutely necessary selfie. After throwing an elbow or two, we were able to snap a very blurry pic in front of Ms. Mona. Mission accomplished.

            The next part of the day was something I had been waiting for ever since I first heard the phrase ‘world’s best hot chocolate.’ It was time for Café Angelina. Having a ‘little’ bit of a sweet-tooth myself, I felt as if I had been preparing for this meal my entire life. Very overwhelmed and excited, my hands became a little clammy as I awaited my hot chocolate accompanied with a vanilla meufeuille. After one sip, I instantly knew it was everything I had ever wanted.

The next stop on the itinerary was Place de la Concorde and the Tullerie Gardens. Full of extremely rich hot chocolate, we wobbled over to a park bench and sat to observe the Wednesday afternoon commotion at the gardens.  Later that day, after my late afternoon classes, we met up with some of my (American) classmates at the Great Canadian Bar to watch Canada vs. Latvia. My birthday came at midnight with a Canadian win under my belt, hot chocolate in my belly, La Seine behind me and Teagan by my side; it was the perfect way to turn 21.

            On Thursday, my crazy-rager-party-hardy birthday started like every other 21^st birthday—with some French grammar and a heated discussion on Francois Hollande’s presidency. Teagan then joined my second ‘class’, Paris Museums, in which we visited Galléries Lafayette, Printemps and the Opéra House to discuss the architecture and the aristocratic lifestyle.

That evening marked a rather eventful evening. I had been recommended to this bar called the ‘Violon Dingue’ by one of my classmates as it had a really casual atmosphere and the basement was a cave with lots of dancing, So myself, Teagan and some other friends headed downstairs to the cave bar. Five minutes pass and through continuous sneezes, Teagan looks at me through swollen eyes and murmurs that she doesn’t feel well and is having a reaction to the dust. We then leave the bar, grab a cab, and head back to our apartment. With Teagan’s face getting bigger, and after consulting her parents and her doctor at home, she looks at me and says she might need to go to a hospital. With my adrenaline in high gear I pick up my disposable French phone and find a number for doctors who make emergency house visits. Scrambling to translate ‘rash’ and ‘itchy’ I successfully called a house doctor that would be at our apartment within the next quarter hour. I escorted the doctor up to our apartment, to which he complained about the four floors without an elevator. An adrenaline shot plus a prescription note later, everything had calmed down. The doctor told us not to fret but we should still keep an eye on the situation. After he left and we had both relaxed a little bit. I then looked at Teagan’s very swollen lips and said “most people pay good money for that look” to which we both started to cry we were laughing so hard. It is definitely a 21^st birthday I will never forget.

Not wanting to jeopardize missing some of the sites we had planned for the day before (or missing the Canada-U.S. Olympic hockey game later that night) we were out of the house bright and early, ready to take advantage of our first full day in Paris. We started off the morning walking through the picturesque St. Germain-des-Près and sat down for a coffee at Café Flore. This Café is notable as it was the favorite hang out spot of literary celebrities such as existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. This café also rivaled “Les Deux Magots” café across the street, which was the watering hole of American writer Ernest Hemingway.

We then headed off to one of my favorite quartiers, Montmarte. Standing beside the beautiful Sacre-Coeur, we were able to see the entire city. And because of Teagan’s knack for bringing beautiful weather, we couldn’t have asked for a better sight. We then trekked through the cobblestone hills of Montmarte and stumbled upon a little café where we passed on the escargot and frogs legs and went for some good ol’ French onion soup.  We then finished off our day in Montmarte in front of the famous Moulin Rouge.

The following day was a little more relaxed as we had seen everything we had set out to accomplish.  We headed to the Longchamps flagship store so Teagan could get a lil somethin’ somethin’ for her sister and then headed to Les Halles and Centre Pompidou. I really enjoyed Saturday, as we didn’t really have an end goal, we just kept strolling through, going from quartier to quartier. After ending up in Bastille, I realized that it was still very early in the afternoon—and Teagan needed to add at least one more museum to her accomplishment list, so off to the Musée D’Orsay we went! After skimming by some paintings by esteemed artists such as Monet, Degas and Van Gogh, we looked at each other mid-yawn, and then decided we needed a little breather. Let is also be noted that we were both in running shoes and cotton t-shirts. Visiting Paris is hard work!

We ended our very long, memorable, exciting and jam-packed week at a hip little sushi restaurant called ‘Blueberry”, where we had a calm birthday dinner with some of my Lehigh friends and some really really good sushi. After the meal I had the sudden realization that Teagan had yet to try speculose. How could I let her leave Paris without trying speculose?! (Even though it sounds like some skin disease—speculose is actually a very popular graham-cracker spread similar in consistency to peanut butter.) We arrived at a grocery store that was supposed to close at 10:00pm—perfect—we had 17 minutes to spare. Looking down at my watch, I proudly try to open the door. The manager looked at me through the window and pointed to the sign saying that the store closes at 22h (10:00pm) to which I made a gesture towards my watch saying that the store doesn’t close for another 15 minutes, to which he points back at the store hours and shoos us away—ah the French.

I was sad to see Teagan go but I couldn’t have asked for a better and more eventful week! As the saying goes, you only turn 21 once—so why not do it in Paris with your best friend?

                                                               Lovelock Bridge

                                                     Lovelock bridge & Notre Dame

                                                    Jardin de Tulleries (photo credit: T.T.)

Hot Chocolate and Vanilla Meuillefeuille

so so overwhelmed/excited

                                                                   21!

Barthelona

Buenos dias todos!

I apologize for the hiatus from posting in this blog, but the above Spanish is a wee bit of a clue as to why I have been a little absent.

However, before I explain the Spanish, I thought that I would give you (dedicated blog reader slash my Mom) a little more insight into la vie quotdienne of Parisiens. Prior to my cross-Europe exchange, I experienced my first ever ‘manifestation’ or rally. It is a common saying here that manifestations are the Parisians’ favorite past time. Lord knows what these massive group of people were hooting and hollering about in front of my apartment building, but it was still neat to get to experience something authentically Parisian that goes beyond trying fois grae for the first time. Let it be noted that I also saw a man walking a cat in the park that very same day—yes, a completely irrelevant tangent—but made my day nonetheless.

This past weekend I made a hop, skip and a jump down to Barcelona, Spain for a quick 48-hour visit. This trip was especially memorable as I was surprising my good friend Marni for her 21^st birthday. I had several friends helping me organize my well-executed surprise, which made the final reveal run without a hitch. After checking into my hostel, I walked to Las Ramblas open-air market, (which I highly recommend, but be cognizant of pickpockets), with several Lehigh friends to meet Marni and her friends.  As I hid behind a pole, Marni greeted the rest of the group. Finally it was showtime and I popped out from behind the pole—and her reaction was PRICELESS. After surviving a football tackle hug and a whole lot of shrieking, we finished walking through Las Ramblas and headed to La Playa, Barcelona’s beach.

Our trip to the beach was accompanied with a stop at a beach restaurant where we indulged in sangria and paella. After trying to order my meal in what seemed like a unusual combination of English-French-and-Spanish (or Frangnish as I like to call it) I came to the realization that I was having a very very tough time transitioning between languages. While trying to locate my hostel earlier that day, I began asking a local in French, then tried to spit out what I remembered from high school Spanish, to which the man replied to me in Catalan, to which I just replied to in English—only to figure out he spoke English the whole time, oy vey.

After the beach we bussed to an old bunker the overlooks the entire city. The following day (after imbibing in the Barcelona culture the previous night) we treated ourselves to brunch at a place called ‘Brunch & Cake’ where they served, you guessed it, brunch and cake. After brunch we explored a little bit more but, unfortunately, I was off to Paris on an early evening flight. That's all for now--adios!

                                       Candy stand from Las Ramblas open-air market

                                             Reunited for Marni's (right) birthday!
                                     

                                             
                                                                    La Playa

                                                 
                                                 View of Barcelona from up top

                                          Much needed cappuccino from Brunch & Cake

To Bizou Or Not Bizou?

Bon Dimanche à tous!

This past week marked the first week of real classes and it seems I have to do some schoolwork while here after all, womp. I am taking the following classes: French in Language Context, French Women’s Literature, Maghreb and Islamic Culture Studies, Paris French Cinema and Paris Museums. So far I am enjoying all of my classes, some a wee bit more than others, but I think I am taking course work that manages to include all aspects of Parisian life. One class in particular that I am looking forward to is the ‘Paris Museums’ class where we will be doing exactly what the course title says—going to museums in Paris during class time.

During my women’s literature class, the professor asked the class what we would ultimately like to accomplish in the course. So, in my very best French I replied that I would love to be able to discuss the imagery, character developments and overarching themes with not only my peers, but also teachers alike. The teacher looked around, looked at me and then said oh-so-matter-of-factly, ‘the French don’t discuss literature.’ Not wanting to cause further annoyance, I smiled, then ducked my head my notebook—oh mon dieu.

Life in my homestay has been wonderful and Chantal has been more than accommodating throughout my past three weeks here. Earlier this week, while eating hard-boiled eggs and potatoes for dinner, I said to Chantal ‘this is just like breakfast for dinner’, to which she replied, ‘you eat potatoes for dinner?’ I then went on to explain what one would typically get at a Denny’s or a local diner: eggs, potatoes, ham, toast, bacon—all the essentials you need especially after a late night of…studying. I then told her that this was a traditional North American breakfast but not very common every single morning of the week. The following day, Chantal brought me to the fridge to show me thought she bought me a huge slab of ham so I can enjoy a North American breakfast every morning. So, if anyone has any innovative ways to use ham, do not hesitate to let me know!

This past weekend I was able to play tourist yet again (seems to be quite the reoccurring theme) as one of my Lehigh friends had a friend visiting from Barcelona. On our way to see the sites, a man in his late-30s approached me in the metro. He looked at me and asked me if I would like to be his wife, I then said, no thank you…and off he went on his merry way. C’est la vie I guess?

Later that evening, my friend Sara and I embarked on a rendez-vous with a group of Parisiens that were all college students as well. The evening started out a little rough with the greetings. I froze and didn’t know whether to give a bizou (kiss on either cheek) or a handshake…so I compromised and gave everyone a hug, which wasn’t really well received. The students later told me that no one really hugs and generally a bizou is customary amongst kids our age. Looks like I have quite a ways to go in becoming a real Parisienne.

 They took us to a local dive bar which was great because unfortunately most of the bars I have been frequenting have some ‘anglophone’ aspect. In other words, there are a lot of places to eat and hang out where one doesn’t have to speak a word of French—so going to this local favorite was a great way for us to step out of our comforts zones and experience a true Parisien evening. After a drink, all eight of us went to a local apartment where they made us some crepes and showed us some of their preferred wines. After everyone was well fed—and about 6 cigarettes later for some--they then showed us some authentic French music. Rather than just sipping away and chatting with one another, all eight of the French students started to dance. It wasn’t just the typical swaying back and forth dancing that you generally see at any North American establishment, everyone, especially the boys, was throwing their heart and soul into every song. Sara and I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling because everyone was just dancing with so much...je ne sais quoi! They then showed us a set of elaborate partner dances that they had learned during primary school. After one last 1664, Sara and I gave a quick bizou to everyone, thanked them for the evening and headed home before the metro closed. It was a great night as I got to meet some locals, learn some slang and profanities and really see what a typical weekend is like for young twenty-somethings.

A bientôt!

                                                       first time at Louvre!

                                                      Fondue restaurant in Montmatre

                                                           Montmarte at night

                                                                 La Marais

Foggy London Town

Ello ello!

So I just came back from my first weekend trip of my semester in Europe, and everything went without a hitch.  Myself and two other Lehigh girls left for foggy London Town after our last language intensive course on Friday morning. Now that I think of it, it wasn’t ‘foggy’ London town at all; we were fortunate enough to have bright sunny skies for the entirety of our trip, which was a very nice break from the ever-so-gloomy Paris weather.

We stayed in an apartment in a very ‘hipster-chic’ area called Shoreditch. Saturday morning we got up with the crack of dawn and started our first euro adventure. Other than some very close calls with the local traffic, as I kept looking the wrong way while crossing the street, we are able to see everything on our list. We saw the London Eye, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey (where ma homegirl Kate Middleton got married), Buckingham Palace and much more. Because of our strenuous day of sightseeing, we treated ourselves to a pint before heading to afternoon tea. We had a traditional afternoon tea complete with finger sandwiches, scones, cakes, cookies, jam and of course…some good ol’ English Breakfast.

            We finished the day by taking advantage of the semi-annual sales on Oxford Street and visiting the not-overwhelming-in-the-slightest six-story ‘Top Shop’ store.

            The following day we got our thirft-shop on and visited one of London’s largest open-air markets, the Camden Market.  The market had everything from scarves, to shirts, to bags, to knock-off marc jacobs watches, (currently feeling a little remorseful about not getting one), and food. Sweet baby jesus—the amount of food at this market was incredible! Every ethnicity, every palate and every preference was just three pounds away. I chose to eat the finer things and steered clear of the deep fried Oreos. Instead, I chose the lighter fare of a brownie-filled-toffee-dipped-doughnut

            After many pounds added up (and not just the British currency—ha), we then visited the renowned Rosetta stone and the British Museum. On the trip home back to Paris, I had a feigning sense of nostalgia—I felt that I was missing out a little bit on Paris by going away for the weekend. Even though I had a great weekend in London, as I sit here with Julienne, all I can think is that it’s good to be home.