Day 12: August 26, 2013

It was 11am when I woke up to a long list of Facebook friend requests. I was so excited to accept each and every one of them and let the memory-making begin. Within minutes I had received a message from Mari, a girl from Finland, inquiring about my plans for the day. She's a beautiful girl, with piercing blue eyes and fair skin, and hair so blonde it is almost white. Not to mention her personality, so outspoken and full of life - not afraid to strike up a conversation just as she was doing now!

I explained to her that I needed to open a bank account in order for my scholarship to be deposited. It just so happened that she needed to do the same, so we made plans to meet at her room and go to BNP together. At 12:15 we gathered all our necessary documents and headed out the door. Banque Nationale de Paris is located here on our campus, and they have special offers for student-residents, so we figured it was the most convenient option. However, when we arrived at the entrance, we discovered a huge INconvenience; the bank closes for the lunch hour from 12:30 to 1:30.

As all the tellers were taking their lunch, we decided it was an opportune time to do the same. Just across the hall is the cafeteria, again with special offers for us to take advantage of, so we stepped in line and began studying the menu. I decided on a "Box Lunch" carbonara pasta, and Mari took a sandwich. Our trays had barely rested on the table before our conversation began, I could already tell this was going to be an excellent day!

Within minutes we had a... much older visitor. Although he first spoke in French, I could tell he wasn't a Paris native. Just as his accent was a dead give away, so was mine. His first guess, proposed in English, was spot on. He excitedly told me of his American nationality, economics degree from the University of Chicago, and career with American Airlines. It was one of those many many times in life, where you find yourself torn between being cold or cordial. On the one hand, I felt sorry for the old man and his lack of an audience, while on the other I absolutely preferred learning about Mari. We did out best to maintain interest, but as his sob stories about how he is ostracized by his colleagues grew longer and longer, we had to bail. Poor guy..

When we returned our trays and checked the time, we still had a solid thirty minutes before the bank reopened. I asked Mari if she had wandered over to Parc Montsouris yet, and her lack of familiarity was a clear no. I was instantly overjoyed with the thought of showing her my recently-discovered slice of Heaven! We gingerly walked in that direction before our second admirer approached us. Not again!!

This guy was quite a bit younger, but still old enough to be our dad, and for the second time we were totally not interested. As we were exiting the gates of campus he made eye contact, but instead of continuing along on his afternoon jog, he practically skipped up beside us and came to a complete stop. We didn't have much choice but to acknowledge his existence but we continued to walk. Yet again we got to hear a full life story, this time from Benoit, born and raised in Paris. He proceeded to try to get our numbers and invite us for drinks. Thank goodness we don't have French cell phones and were saved from and further awkwardness. I rudely interrupted as he began with alternative methods of communication, before we quickly turned and resumed our walking. If only the males we attracted were not creepy old men!

After a full loop through the park, accompanied by some rather entertaining girl-talk, we were back at the bank in front of open doors. Unfortunately, when we presented all the necessary documents for opening an account, they still didn't meet all the requirements. We needed yet another proof of residence to be obtained from our administrator's office. As it was our only option, we shuffled our way out of the bank and across campus to our halls.  Rita, our "secretariate," greeted us with a distracted half-smile, sweaty hairline, and frustrated aura. More great news!! The electricity was out. This meant that she was unable to access our documents or print the "Attestation du Résidence." Seriously! I hope my milk doesn't spoil.

At this point, Mari and I were done for the day. We both agreed our to-do list was finished - not because the tasks were complete but because we were too frustrated to continue. Complaining our way back to the building we reside in, we bumped into two of the British girls from the night before. Odd as it is, they were on their way to go open bank accounts! We quickly explained the elusive document and the electrical situation before they, too, were filled with frustration. I can't quite remember who said it out loud, but a drink seemed to be the most appropriate solution.

The four of us, plus another girl, sat on the terrace of an Italian restaurant, complimenting the beautiful weather and the outstanding food. Our waiter, along with the people around us, were obviously intrigued by the combination of skin tones and accents. But they appeared to be even more confused by Mari's request for ketchup with her spaghetti. As soon as we had finished eating, we took the metro to a shopping district where thrift shops and boutiques dazzled our eyes. The sad part is, our wallets were not half as impressed.

I think they meant, "Wood-Fired Pizzas" and we're still debating on the shoulder.

Maybe it's the "Chef's Selection"?

A few hours and coffees later, we were absolutely exhausted and out of our daily allowances. It was time to return to Cité-U! I got back just in time to remember I had scheduled a dinner with Emilie, an existing friend, at 7pm. The metro pulled up at nearly 6:50 before I re-routed and took off again. Place d'Italie and one of my favorite people were patiently waiting as I ascended the stairs up to ground level. I gave her the trading French greeting - two kisses - before my overbearing American self wrapped her in a hug. It had only been a couple of months since I saw Emilie, but it was such a different experience to be standing with her in PARIS! I could barely keep myself from jumping and squealing :)

We stopped by an electronics store to buy my French track phone, before walking to a nice, outside table for two. Our conversation picked up right where it had left off and before long an hour had passed. It was so great to be with a beautiful, old friend, in a beautiful, old city. When our yawns kicked in we decided it was best to call it a night and save the remaining stories for the next time. Another hug and kiss goodbye and I was descending the same staircase mentioned earlier.

I feel absolutely amazing, when I look back on this day. God blessed me with the opportunity to grow closer to some incredible new girls, and grow fonder of one whom I already adored. I try to imagine what would have taken place if only the bank account had been opened. In the end, I am reminded of what a funny thing life is, and how intricately intertwined each of our experiences are. The cliché brings a smile to my face, as I would much rather go to bed having plans for tomorrow than a bank account for next month. It is simple, but true..

Everything happens for a reason...

Tout arrive pour une raison.

Day 11: August 25, 2013

Last night, Marion and one of the boys walked me home to Cité-U. When I got here, I was too overjoyed and excited to even think about sleeping. Instead I ended up on FaceTime until the wee hours of the morning. It was 5am when I couldn't keep my eyelids open any longer and finally decided to go to bed.

I woke up in the late afternoon to the sound of several conversations in my hallway, but unfortunately I couldn't understand any of them! Spanish, Portugese, Swedish, Mandarin.. and the list goes on. FINALLY there were people for me to meet, which is exactly what I did. There are girls from London, Finland, Mexico City, Peru, Philly, Italy, Guyana, Rotterdam, and more. We represent every shade of every skin tone from the blackest night to the fairest cream. Our families, our schools, our lives are so different.. but in the end we are all the same. We are young women, taking a leap of faith, to gain both the education and the experience of a lifetime in Paris.

There isn't really a way to describe what it feels like to be immersed in such a variety of culture, but it is incredible. I came here expecting to learn the French language and culture, nothing more and nothing less. But within the last 12 hours, my eyes have been opened to a smorgasbord of nationalities. It is an opportunity you can't replace with textbooks, pictures, documentaries, or YouTube videos. And how blessed I am to be a native English speaker and able to communicate with all of them!! I wouldn't trade it for the world.

As a group, we decided to have a drink together and really get the conversation flowing. We all layered on our sweaters and jackets, of all different styles, and took off down the street. I couldn't help but smile as I scanned the group and saw mod fashion, edgy styles, girly girls, chic handbags, sneakers and flats and pumps - all walking side by side down the street. Our representation is so dynamic, and I'm loving every minute of it.

When we arrived at a small, Parisian, corner cafe-bar we were merely stared at by a server. His facial expression and cold attitude was typical, but he seemed especially baffled at such an odd mix of young women. Within minutes we had pushed together every 2-person table that decorated the terrace. Each of us squeezed in the circle and grabbed a menu, before discussing all the details of each drink offered. The conversation continued as each girl took her turn explaining the most popular drinks of their region and their own personal preferences. Of course, the 19-year-old girl from Philly and I are the least experienced as to ordering drinks, as we are the only two remaining that aren't yet legal in our home country. But, needless to say, "Blue Mountain State," "Real World," "Jersey Shore" and so many others have already explained the drinking habits of Americans. And so the questions came!

"Do you really drink in red plastic cups?"
"What does 'Solo cup' even mean?"
"What is that game with the ping pong balls?"
"Are fraternities real? Do they really throw parties like that?"
"Have you ever heard of flip-cup?"
"Do you drink at football games?"

But my favorite comment has to be, "Do you realize your beer is piss and water?" I'll let you guess which country that may have came from. :)

The conversation continued, in English of course, but with such a variety of accents it sounded like a song. Our laughs all resonated through the night, crescendoing and decrescendoing as the topics changed. I could feel an overwhelming sense of unity, and right then I knew that this will be the most unforgettable semester of my life.

After three hours of sharing our drinks and stories, we walked our way back through the night and into our building. I think I speak for all of us when I say I went to bed with a smile :)

Day 10: August 24, 2013

Since I hadn't been feeling well the day before, and the cleaning crew doesn't come on weekends, I found myself waking up at nearly 2:00pm! I have got to quit closing my dark green curtains. I started down the hall to take a shower before making myself another egg sandwich.

After my 3pm "brunch", I decided to be productive and start working on the laundry list of things I had to do. First up, was getting a metro/train/bus pass. There happens to be a full-service station here at Cite Universitaire, and it was only a half-mile walk from my building. When I arrived it appeared that every other student on campus had the same idea! I stood in line, surrounded by conversations in various languages, and began to practice my speech as usual. Soon enough, I found myself directly in front of a less-than-friendly woman perched behind a glass window. I explained, in French, that I was a student here in Paris and would be staying for six months. I continued to ask what was the most suitable public transportation option for me. I nodded and smiled as she answered, in French, with a lengthy and incomprehensible explanation. Apparently she had overestimated my communication skills!

The kiosk that she had pointed to was right in front of me, and fully-equipped with English as a language option! But when I tried to follow the bits and pieces of instructions that I had actually understood, it got me no where. I sighed, slumped my shoulders, and practically stomped back over to the line. This time, when I reached the same woman, I diverted my eyes and asked for her to assist me in English. For those of you that don't know, the French are extremely proud people. They expect that anyone who steps foot in their country should be fluent in the French language and educated in French culture. Without hesitation, she came from behind the counter and accompanied me to the kiosk. She willingly explained the somewhat difficult process of crediting the metro pass for weeks or months at a time. Unfortunately, not a single process in all of France was created with convenience in mind. With one day left before the new week started, I loaded my card for the following Sunday through Monday and returned to my room feeling defeated. There were so many errands I needed to run, but I couldn't justify buying a single ticket right before my all-access pass would go valid.

As I was fully rested and had already eaten, I found myself alone in my room with nothing to do. I resorted to spending the last couple hours of the afternoon on FaceTime with my family and friends :) Just as I was about to crawl under my covers and call it a night, I began receiving messages from Marion with an invitation to a party. If I haven't mentioned this before, Marion lives halfway between my subway stop and the very next one on the same line! Basically, this means that if I walk out my front door I will be arriving at hers in a matter of three or four minutes. My bed stared at me, inviting me back for another long, deep, wonderful sleep. But as I was determined to make friends and do something worthwhile for the day, I thought it best to begin getting ready! I pulled my hair back with one of my new scarves, and quickly brushed on a quick layer of make-up. Suddenly, I was wide awake and ready for whatever kind of party was awaiting me.

As I skipped my way down the front stairs, I began to notice the ridiculous, familiar tapping sound. It was raining, and not just a sprinkle, but literally a torrential downpour. A huge part of me saw it as an easy way out; a logical reason to go back to bed. But unfortunately, as usual, the adventuresome spirit that makes my decisions urged me to brave the weather and walk out the door.

It was about an hour later when I found myself totally, completely, and utterly lost in Paris. When I had left my building to go to Marion's, I knew exactly where hers was, but the structure seemed to have gotten up and moved. The "closer" I got to Marion's front door, the less familiar I became with my surroundings. Between the rain and the reflection of the street lamps, it was nearly impossible to identify which "boulangerie" or "coiffure" or "dépanneur" was which. I found myself ducking under every overhang of the sidewalk to try and get a glimpse of building numbers. But, unfortunately, almost every building in France looks the same. Not to mention, the streets are set up in a manner that make it nearly impossible to orient yourself. Instead of the grid system that I am used to in America, it seems that Paris is composed of several pinwheels throughout the city, and the spokes within the pinwheels have the option of bending and breaking in any direction. The point where I was standing was one of eight spokes that jutted out from a totally unfamiliar location. Directly across from me was a dark, lonely, Lebanese restaurant that had recently provided a kebab for a homeless man. The man was sitting on the curb in front of the restaurant, gnawing each bite with his limited teeth, and enjoying this meal as if it was going to be his last. Such a dramatic scene was the perfect sight I needed to serve as a location marker. If only I had some bread crumbs...

After memorizing the names of a few of the spokes, and waiting for the pelting rain to back off a little, I started back in the direction that I was certain would take me to Marion's apartment. The longer I walked the more confident I became in the fact that I knew EXACTLY where I was going. It was such a sense of pride and accomplishment I felt as all the buildings began to feel familiar again!! I was practically running to the place I thought I knew, when I stopped absolutely dead in my tracks: On my left, was the same exact Lebanese restaurant, although the hungry stranger seemed to have wandered off. The only reason I thought I recognized these particular cafes and laundromats was because I had seem them not more than ten minutes before. Filled with frustration and a miniscule amount of fear, I was on the verge of switching on my cellular data. Dang, an hour and a half PLUS outrageous data charges.

It was then that I noticed the gradient of the slope I was on, and it felt right. After a quick perimeter check and a thorough look down each direction, I decided based on the steepness and direction of one hill absolutely had to be the right one. This was, unfortunately, about the fifteenth time within the hour that I had told myself, "This is definitely it." After a mental promise that this was the last try before turning to my iPhone, I started trekking up the hill. Sure as the world, as I reached the top I saw a sign and arrow for "Parc Montsouris" which is directly across from my campus. I almost cried when I could see my clock tower, then my building, and eventually the light shining through the window of my room. I  was home, I was safe, I was soaked and exhausted... but I was home.

The tragedy doesn't end there, unfortunately, because when I finally reached the gate - it was locked. My building is on the West end as far as you can go, and it is most convenient to access campus through the side gate. I wasn't getting past the thick metal chain and padlock, and the idea of climbing over left my mind as quickly as it entered. This only meant more rain and more walking for me. Dreadfully I slouched my way along to the front, grand entrance, before dragging my feet all the way back down to my front door.

I immediately messaged Marion to inform her I wasn't coming, and slipped into my Wichita State hoodie. I was just about to press "marche" (start) on my coffee machine when my phone began blowing up with disappointment. Marion was so upset by my failed adventure and lack of appearance, they she agreed to walk up to my building. Even with her assistance, I decided to take a more logical and safer approach. I sent my Apple ID and Password to my American friends, so that in the event I would be lost or (Heaven forbid) taken they can track my GPS signal online. I also decided to Google Map the exact route to her apartment before screen-shotting myself a picture. The last of my preparation included changing back to my other blouse and wiping off my runny mascara.

This time, when I walked out my door, I was greated with an absolutely amazing time and several new French friends! There are way too many stories and details to explain, so I will leave you with several pictures of our silliness. But maybe in a future post I will have to explain the songs we sang and games we played - as I would love to share my recently-discovered French identity with you :)

And we danced in the rain...et nous avons dansé sous la pluie.

Day 9: August 23, 2013

Yesterday started out similarly to the one before, with the cleaning crew coming bright and early, but this time I was ready! I was already showered and out of bed when the two African American women came knocking. I quickly opened the door and greeted them with a smile, "Bon matin!" Again they breezed past me and began dusting my shelves, my windows, and my desk. In my head I practiced, What are your names? How are you?

When they finally paused to change out their cleaning supplies, I went for it,  "Quels sont vos noms? Comment allez-vous?" They smiled, and I learned that the older woman is Annie while the younger one is Vivienne. We had a slow-but-sure conversation in French before the vacuum cleaner went on the they were back to work. I have to admit I felt accomplished, both for getting their attention and being able to keep it. I am looking really forward to continuing this relationship! And then they were gone, wishing me a lovely weekend and leaving me with two new rolls of toilet paper. I don't think even the Hilton has better room-service :)

It was not much later when I heard the second knock. This time I was totally unaware of who could be at my door, but it was turned out to be the same brave soul who had confronted me the day before! With his Mexican accent, he asked me if I wanted to come to the supermarket. Although I should have been working on my translated birth certificate, I shut my laptop, grabbed my purse, and followed closely behind him to the courtyard. Much to my surprise there were fourteen, yes fourteen other students waiting for us. I had to smile, thankful that it crossed his mind to ask me to tag along.

Before long I found myself in a Dutch version of Target, and this time even the prices matched! It was both exciting to find a store with necessities as such low cost, and a letdown as I had already purchased most of those things for twice as much. As I walked about the store, listening to the constant buzz of French, Spanish, Italian, German, and whichever language the Malaysian girls communicate with, I began to feel nauseous. My legs had been tired from all the walking, but it wasn't until that moment that the weariness hit me. Paired with a headache and tiny, crowded shopping aisles; I was feeling overwhelmed. I made my way outside the store to find one, lonely student waiting. We stood together and I briefly explained that I needed to find a bathroom soon. Gradually the other students exited the store, fully equipped with their new silverware, laundry detergent, potato chips, and pillow cases. When all sixteen of us were present, the journey continued.

A few meters into it, my confidant announced, "Hey there is a bathroom there and Sherry really needs to go." Awesome, so now I get to be "that girl." I made my way inside the building marked "Toilettes" and was nearly to the stalls when I heard, "Madame, madame" and realized it was for me. Confused, I walked back towards the desk where the voice was coming from; and there it was. "1,50€." Only in Paris would you have to pay to use a public restroom, but without much choice I handed her my coins and wandered back to the stalls. I didn't use this time to get sick, rather, I used this time to come up with my exit strategy from the anxiously awaiting students. Our plan for the afternoon was to have a picnic on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower, and who in their right mind would pass up that opportunity?! I didn't want to seem like a flake, but there was no way I could consume a bite of cheese or a sip of wine. When I had finally gathered myself, I went back to face my peers and explain (like a wimp) that I wasn't feeling very well. What a sad day it was watching them all turn away as I stood there trying not to vomit.

"PHARMACIE" - I had seen that flashing green sign a million times throughout the city but the one time I needed it, I couldn't find a single one. I managed to hurry through Centre Pompidou and back to Chatelet - Les Halles where I finally saw my beacon of hope. I rushed inside to be greeted with a ridiculously long line to one of three assisting pharmacists. As I stood there I Google-translated the few words I thought I might need to describe my symptoms; then it was my turn. It was a guy. Just my luck.

"Avez-vous quelque chose pour les femmes pour le menstruation."
Do you have something for women during menstruation.
He stared at me blankly.
"Menstruation" with a French accent.
Deer in the headlights.
"Men-struh-ah-scion."
And he still wasn't getting it.
I pulled out my phone again, Google-searched my symptoms in French, and handed him a full-blown Wikipedia explanation of the female reproductive cycle. FINALLY, he got the picture. The meds were on the counter in front of me, for a low price of 7 euros and something cents, but when I pulled out my credit card he shook his head no. Is this some kind of sick joke. "No cards," he said.

My life was in a downward spiral, and it was only getting worse until I found an ATM; I couldn't even consider trying another pharmacy after that charade! I pushed my way back through the line and out the door. I remembered seeing a set of ATMs during my frantic search for the pharmacy, and started back in that direction. Now, there are a few reputable banks here in Paris that I prefer to withdraw money from, but the logo on these machines was one I had never seen before. What made it even worse was their dimly lit location, and lack of "finger shield" on the keypad. I was being forced to choose between my radiating muscle spasms and potential identity theft. Of course, all women reading this would know that I took 100 euros cash as quick as I could and literally ran back to the escalators.

I was welcomed back with a nice surprise, the line had grown longer; and yet my medicine was still visible sitting on the counter in front of the same guy. If I was a better communicator in French, I would have considered marching right up to the front and handing him my 8 euros cash, but unfortunately I was stuck "faire la queue." When it was finally my turn, a female pharmacist two stations down was waving me over. I hadn't planned for this, and was totally at a loss for words. I tried pointing at the guy, my drugs perched there on the counter, but there was not the slightest sign of comprehension. I try to imagine this entire scenario from their standpoint: some crazy teenage girl comes and stands in line, and refuses to speak to anyone but the male pharmacist, yet even he doesn't understand her. I think I will begin writing silent romantic-comedy skits based on my daily Parisian adventures.

Finally, with my pills in hand, I was on my way again. However, I'm not one of those few people that are capable of dry swallowing, and it was imperative that I find a water bottle pronto. Halfway between where I had started and the RER entrance I came across and Monoprix and decided it was my best bet. Of course I couldn't forget my mom's advice, "Don't take medicine on an empty stomach" so I also grabbed an over-priced meal-replacement smoothie and chugged it in the check-out line. A few minutes later I found myself on a jerky, swaying train-car somewhere below the Paris streets. Ah, it felt good to finally be heading home. If only I didn't have these stinky, sweaty, unfamiliar bodies pressed up against me.

When I got home I refilled my evian bottle and proceeded to drink an entire sixteen ounces of water before lying down and sleeping clear through until morning.

* * * * *

I would be lying if I didn't mention that I woke up a few times throughout the night to toss and turn, feeling sorry for myself. For the first time since I boarded the plane in Kansas City, I wanted nothing more than to hug my mom and have her baby me. I know this is bound to happen every so often while I'm on another continent, but why did it have to be so soon :(

This morning I woke up the first time around 11am when the sun was literally baking me under my covers. Drenched in sweat but feeling much better than the night before, I got up and drank my daily glass of Tropicana Essentials. Complete with the nutrients of 12 different fruits and veggies! I could tell it wasn't going to do the trick, and grabbed my shower caddy and my oh-so-beloved bath towel.

After my shower, I was feeling refreshed yet exhausted. There is something about standing under a steady stream of warm water that truly soothes the soul. As I entered my room again and saw how high the sun was rising, I knew it was necessary to pull my curtains to get a good nap; which is exactly what I did.

The second time I woke up, it was 5pm and my stomache was angry. I realized in the past thirty-six hours I had only drank a smoothie and a glass of juice; no wonder I had felt so weak earlier. In my mind I began to plan a feast! But first, it would require a trip back to Monoprix.
They say it is a bad idea to go shopping on an empty stomach, but believe me, the prices here will keep you in check even on the most tempting of items. 7 euros for an eight ounce jar of Skippy? It's not even Jiff, and they still want to charge me an arm and a leg! My basket was filled with mushrooms, onions, two small potatoes, a loaf of bread, and "pork chops." My friend Matthew has coined the phrase "pork snippets," please see below for the explanation.

Look at that! My sauteed mushroom is over half the width of my fried pork chop!

I have to take a brief minute now to highlight a major difference between American lifestyle and European lifestyle. In Wichita, I often complain about how much of a hassle it is to get in my car, drive less than a mile to SuperTarget, and bring all of my groceries back home. If any food item is over $3, I usually scrunch up my face and go for whatever generic brand is offered. I even hate pushing my cart the ten feet from the trunk of my car to those cart stations in the parking lot. But after one week of taking the metro back and forth with a sack full of produce, laundry detergent, and cartons of milk, (all at three times the price) only to arrive on campus where I have another half mile and three flights of stairs to climb, I will gladly return to my Pontiac Grand Prix and attached garage. I will cry the day I return to Sam's club, staring at the gallon tubs of Jiff extra crunchy and thirty-six pack ramen at dirt-cheap prices. You see, for the past twenty years I have completed overlooked the "Convenience Utopia" we live in, if you will. I have heard endless complaints of how "lazy" and "unappreciative" we Americans are. But for the first time in my life, I truly understand where these derogatory jabs are coming from. I am proud to live in America, Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, and home to 24-hour drive thrus; but I will tip my hat to those who reside in overpopulated cities, the people that have never been introduced to full-sized fridges or light switches without timers.

Until tomorrow, Bonne nuit!

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?

"Wilson!!!"

Something seems to be wrong with my computer, or my outlet converter I presume. Tomorrow I will be checking the voltage, buying whatever is necessary, and getting the last two days posted. Please bear with me and check back for my haphazard updates :)

Thank you!!!

Day 7: August 21, 2013

I was dead asleep when I heard the latch to my door slowly turn and bolted upright in my bed. Who had a key to my room, and why were they coming in unannounced!!! Two African American women in aprons swiftly entered without saying a word and made their way to the mirror. One began to spray and wipe while the other proceeded to take out my trash. I was completely motionless until the older woman turned to me and ordered me to get out of bed. Out of shock, I obeyed. In a matter of seconds they had stripped my bed, re-dressed it with precision, and quietly locked my door behind them. The warm, crinkled sheets I crawled out of had been replaced with clean, crisp new ones; I slid under the covers and fell back asleep without caring.

The second time I woke up it was nearly 1:00 and I was starving. I ate the second half of a sandwich I had made, brewed two cups of coffee, and started getting ready for the day. When I had finished the coffee and cleaned up my room, I skipped downstairs to check my mailbox.  Just as I was opening the front door of my building, a boy from the other side was about to enter. We had barely made eye contact when his "Hi" interrupted my "Bonjour." Both of us looked somewhat confused, but I awkwardly turned and continued on my way. There was my first real chance to make a friend, one that spoke English and appeared to be sane, and I blew it. Damn.

What I found when I reached my mailbox was a checklist, to note the condition of all the items in my room. Unfortunately for me, it was more like a vocabulary pop-quiz. Where is my French-English dictionary.....

After returning the completed document, I grabbed my laptop and wandered my way over to the recently-discovered courtyard. Like yesterday, there were people casually drinking wine and leisurely playing frisbee. But today there were a few new surprises... I'm not sure how vividly I want to describe what stood (or laid) before me, but you should be aware that the couples here know no shame. I used to think that scene in Top Gun, where Maverick makes a romantic visit to his teacher, was the definition of "inappropriate"... Not anymore.

I wasn't far along in my afternoon playlist when a silhouette figure approached me. When it broke through the shadows, I recognized the person to be the same boy from my awkward morning encounter. I looked back to my computer screen, thinking maybe he was headed for something behind me. But nope, he was definitely focused on me.

"You speak English," he said.

I chuckled, "Yeah I do," while removing my headphones.

"Then why did you say Bonjour?"

"Maybe because we're in France?" Is this a serious question...

After a couple of seconds of thought, he must have decided my answer was valid because he invited me to come sit with his group of friends. I glanced where he was pointing to find a semi-circle of about eight students watching our entire interaction. Luckily I had my Ray Bans to hide the dumb expression on my face, which would have revealed just how uncomfortable I was with the situation. But, eager to make friends, I closed my laptop and followed meekly behind their pack leader.

I tell the story as if they were a bunch of blood-thirsty vampires about to suck me dry, because that's how I somewhat felt at the time. But in all reality, I ended up spending a good three hours of my afternoon visiting with a variety of Mexican, Peruvian, and Dutch students - all enrolled at the same school as I am. It turns out we will all attend the same orientation and have most of the same classes this semester. The only disadvantage that came with our meeting, is their desire to practice English with a native speaker. It looks like my French won't be improving so long as I'm hanging out with this group!

It was almost 7:00 when we walked back to our building, which happens to be the same one for all of us. Coincidentally we each had a pizza in our freezers, and we decided to eat all together in the kitchen. I tried their spicy Mexican sauce and learned a couple of Spanish phrases, before promising to cook them a Thanksgiving feast. I can already tell that our relationships here are going to revolve heavily around food.

So now that dinner is over and people are settling down for the night, I'm back in my room blogging my daily adventures. I forgot to mention earlier that I FaceTimed both my favorite mom and my favorite puppy today, but I'll slip it in here at the end with a picture. My mom would fly to Europe and beat me with a stick if I posted her candid screenshot, so instead I'll just introduce you to my baby Vizsla named Timber. Isn't he precious??

À bientôt.

Day 6: August 20, 2013

This morning started off with a trip to the supermarket. All I needed was some fresh bread and a carton of juice, but I ended up with a new friend and good laugh! It went something like this..

My first stop was Franprix, where they carry my absolute favorite Tropicana Essentials juice. After being asked if I was Polynesian and paying for my groceries, I was out the door. My headphones were in and I was halfway to my destination when an oddly-dressed woman jumped into my peripheral vision. She was waving a hand at me, fully clad in gaudy, over-sized rings. Her mouth was moving but I couldn't hear the words over my Lil Wayne. I reluctantly pulled out my headphones to hear a slew of French words I didn't understand. As usual, I kindly explained "Je parle anglais," trying to get back to my jam session, but she obnoxiously interrupted again. "I SPEAK ENGLISH TOO!" It was 8:30am and I was not in the mood for a full-blown discussion, but there I was with no alternatives.

We continued walking toward the boulangerie where my fresh bread was waiting.

"So you're American?"

"Yes."

"You're from New York?"

"Yes." - Like I said, I was not in the mood to share my life story.

And she proceeded to tell me how it has been 20 years since she's visited New York.

It was about this time that I lost all attention to her story and directed it on her attire. Black and white checkered pants that flared at the bottom, definitely 70's style. Her t-shirt was a burnt orange color, peeking out from underneath a purple blazer that was made for someone a solid three sizes bigger. The gaudy jewelry didn't stop at her hands and I caught myself counting the layered necklaces that bejeweled her entire torso. But, ahhh, there it was - the glass jar in her right hand that she had obviously been pulling off of for quite some time. I had smelled the alcohol on her breath and there was the evidence.

Her story ended and it was back to interrogation.

"Why are you in Paris?"

"For school."

"Do you know why I'm in Paris?" - Was she being serious?

"No, actually, I don't know why," I answered, trying not to be coy.

"Well, I work for Swarovski. In Austria. That's where I'm from, you know Swarovski?"

Of course I know Swarovski, but she didn't give me time to answer. Instead she proceeded to describe the demanding sales quotas that Swarovski jewelers are expected to meet. And then, how she was entirely unable to meet their expectations, which eventually led to clinical depression.

"So I moved to France and checked myself into that mental hospital down the street."

I was flabberghasted. Why me?! I thought. All I wanted was a loaf of bread and at this point I would never make it to the boulangerie. It was time to take action.

I politely ended her monologue and took a turn down a random sidestreet. It was there that I stopped dead in my tracks in front of a giant Monoprix, completely heartbroken. You mean to say that I had trekked across the city in search of a bath towel, for three days straight, and all along there was one within a mile of my apartment. You have got to be kidding me. But seeing that it was my getaway option, I wandered inside. My disappointment grew as I saw twice the selection of bath towels I was offered the day before. In frustration I turned to the kitchenware, only to confirm my suspicions about there being several additional dish sets to choose from. Dammit.

I picked up a coffee maker and continued to browse before I heard an oddly familiar, "Yoooo-hoooo!" You have got to be kidding me. She was back, and thoroughly interested in what I was doing.

"Let me see that. Is that a coffee maker? Oh! That's a good one, good brand, nice size." 

She literally took it out of my hands and studied all the features on the box. Finally, I decided to shift my attitude towards her in a more positive direction and began making small talk about "how cool it is that you can pour water in a machine and have coffee in minutes." I wonder what she thinks of iPads.

When the conversation came to a lull about 17 minutes later, I bee-lined for the register and paid for the coffee maker. I glanced over my shoulder, slipped out the door, and took a rather complicated route back towards the boulangerie. I stared through the glass at all the freshly-baked options before deciding upon a baguette and a pizza. About to pay, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Those pizzas are really good." She said. And I was thoroughly relieved to have her approval of my lunch.

Finally I made it back to my apartment and I felt like doing some exploring. I had heard we had excellent student services at Cité Universitaire and I wanted to see for myself; what I found was more than I had expected! Tennis courts, a pool, gymnasium with sports equipment, dance studios. We have a library, tutoring rooms, art studios, conservatories - you name it! Unfortunately everything is still closed for summer so I wasn't able to take pictures, but come September I will share it with you! After thoroughly searching the building, certain that I had seen it all, I exited through the back door. I had NOT seen it all! There before me was a huge stretch of lawn where students were enjoying the warm weather. Drinking wine, throwing frisbees, playing guitar - there is even a stage for shows in the evening! This awesome hangout spot was right in my backyard and I had completely overlooked it. Well, you all know where to find me tomorrow. :)

After my curiosity satisfied, I returned to my room to eat the pizza. It was, in fact, absolutely delicious.

The rest of the afternoon I spent relaxing in my room, organizing my groceries, and showering before dinner with my friend Marion. Marion studied at Wichita State on exchange last semester and I had the pleasure of showing her around. Luckily, now I have her to do the same for me in Paris! We met up at the metro station in Place Carée and made our way to "Les Philosophes," a traditional, old, Parisian restaurant on Rue de Temple. Of course our waiter was a complete snob, but it didn't stop me from enjoying a crisp blonde beer and a cured ham sandwich.

 Eventually it grew late and we headed back to the RER. As I was anxious to try my fantastic new coffee machine, but was in dire need of a can opener I accompanied Marion back to her studio in hopes of finding an "ouvre-boîte". I knew her train station was near mine, so I was sure it wouldn't take too long. In fact, I didn't realize just how close it actually was! The further we walked the more familiar the area became; even in the dark I recognized the street names and store fronts. Marion was just pointing out her window when I hollered, "STOP! VENIR!" I was standing in awe, staring at the clock tower of my building! Of the million zillion apartments in Paris, hers was a quarter mile from mine, just on the other side of Parc Montsouris.

With no success on the can opener front, I decided to use scissors when I got back to my room. I had done this once before and stabbed clear through the cartilage in my hand, so no worries, I was extra careful. Soon I could smell my friends and family in Ste-Julie: Early morning stops with my host family before our road trips, mid-afternoon runs with Cami for ice capps, late-night coffees with David - Tim Horton's had become my addiction. I squeezed back tears and dumped a couple of scoops.... and my coffee maker works!

This evening ended with my two cups of coffee and a FaceTime call to my dear friend Cami, which is why I'm just now getting to this blog post. But, it was worth it. I love and miss her, so so much, thank goodness for the technology we have these days... Au revoir from the both of us!

Day 5: August 19, 2013

Day five, here we go. I'm posting from my phone so I'm not sure what the font or format will be, but bear with me.

I woke up this morning with no other thought in my mind than to buy a bath towel. I was willing to settle with a wash cloth, hand towel, tea towel - but it HAD to be better than my measly t-shirt. Last night as I took the train home I had seen a store called "Monoprix," which translates to "one price." I once again turned to Google, and found out it was the same thing as Target. Considering the previously suggested store had failed me twice, I decided to go after this newfound alternative.

I tied my hair up in a scarf, coated my lips in red, and put my playlist on Ellie Goulding before heading out the door. When I stepped out onto the front porch of my building, I froze. There are a few moments in life that truly take your breath away, and this was definitely one of them. The temperature was perfect, the clouds were those giant, billowy white ones, and the space between was one of the purest baby blues I've ever seen. I giggled to myself before letting out a full-blown laugh. "I can't believe it!! This is my life!" I threw my arms up in the air and squealed like a school girl at recess. This was all before I noticed the groundskeepers working just a few feet away in the bushes. 

While my initial reaction was to be embarrassed, I rationally chose not to be. I am happy here, and I don't care who knows it! Maybe it is the newness of it all, or maybe the spring weather has me in good spirits, but regardless I hope that the bliss I've found the past few days never simmers. I want to live each day here as if it was the first, with an innocent appreciation. 

Finally I was sitting on the RER-B, still listening to Ellie Goulding, and going over my shopping list in my head. Across from me sat a tired-looking mother with her child clinging to her arm. She was a baby girl, between 12 and 18 months, and she was perfect. Her skin tone was black as night and her eyes were stunning, but the best part was her smile. She stared at me the whole way, through all six stops, and then it was time for me to get off. I hadn't even purchased my bath towel and it was already a great day!

After navigating though the underground maze of subway tunnels and exits, I found the street I wanted and made my way up the stairs. There it was, right at the top, like the golden gates of Heaven; "Monoprix." I went inside and headed straight for bathroom décor; alas, there were the soft fluffy towels I had hoped to find!!!

I had a long, rigorous, mental debate with myself before I decide on an baby blue and grey color scheme. I won't bore you to death with details but here are the pictures of my goodies!

First and foremost, the towels.

Secondly, I needed dishes to eat.

And of course, cooking utensils.

But the winning item of the day, hands down, has to be my brand new banana protector!! Lame as it sounds, I've always wanted one of these. You can't put a banana in your purse without it getting smashed and nasty. But finally, I don't have to worry about that! Haha.

I made my way to the check-out counter and reluctantly paid the 198€. Overstuffed tote bag in hand, I climbed back aboard the RER and returned home for the day. It was perfect timing, too; just as I was walking across campus it started to rain! I ran inside and excitedly began to clip all the tags off my new belongings. It felt like Christmas morning as I folded my new towels, washed all my dishes, and hung my dress shirts on my new hangers.

The rest of my day was spent wandering around the park across the street, followed by nice long nap. I woke up just in time to Skype some of my friends and family, and have my first real bowl of Frosted Flakes. Those of you that didn't know, I've been eating them by the handfuls, straight out the box, as I didn't have a bowl or spoon! Now that I had both of those utensils, I was faced with another issue... my milk had frozen in the fridge. Thankfully, all it needed was a few minutes on the windowsill and I was back in business! Yum, yum, yum.

So here I am now, wrapping up my blog, about to go take a long, relaxing shower. Part of me wants to skip right past the showering part, and wrap up in fuzzy warmth of my towels! I think instead, I will sing to them, and what better song than... "Bring back, that lovin' feeling'"

Bonne nuit :)

Day 4: August 18, 2013

Here we are on day four, and I have to apologize in advance. Today was not that exciting and I am extremely exhausted so I'm going to make this short and sweet..... Who am I kidding; I am about as physically capable of running a marathon as I am of summarizing. That being said, you might want to go to the restroom and get a snack before you continue.

I didn't sleep very well last night, I can't decide if it is still the jet lag or if I'm just so creeped out being in this giant old castle by myself that I don't want to shut my eyes. I'll leave that one to you. Thankfully the US is a full seven hours behind so all my Facebook/Twitter activity can keep me entertained throughout the dark and mysterious hours. For those of you who don't follow me, I tweeted a huge thanks to Jesus for preventing me from seeing "The Conjuring." #ClapClap

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning I finally passed out. The only reason I remember this is because I still hadn't shut my eyes when the sun was coming up, birds were chirping, and horns were honking. I made my way over to the window, without any chances of the boogeyman getting me, and shut the curtains. Finally at 2:30 this afternoon I woke up as a sweaty mess. My first thought,

"I have got to get that stinking bath towel."

Within minutes I had brushed my teeth, washed my face, and successfully hidden my glistening strands of hair beneath a scarf and a knotted bun. I contemplated the ultimate move of the true French woman: no bra. But needless to say I'm not ready for that "tout naturelle." After grabbing my headphones and putting my iPhone on shuffle, I walked back down to the RER. This trip was going to be successful.

And guess what, that store was closed AGAIN!

So I found the best alternative known to man: a Starbucks grande mocha.

After wasting approximately two hours cleaning out my email inbox and sipping my coffee, I wandered back towards those thrift stores. I have only been in the city four days and I can already tell resistance is going to be a problem. This time I made out like a bandit with a chic leather satchel by Marc Chantal and yet another scarf.

What started out as another ordinary walk back to the metro quickly became the most electrifying experience of my trip thus far...

I was in the middle of an Egyptian protest!!! And the best part? I didn't have a clue what everyone was screaming. Either way, it was my first time witnessing a true riot in the streets and the police were going crazy. I stared for a few minutes before it dawned on me that it might not be exactly "safe" for me to be standing in the middle of such chaos.

I took an alternative, less-exciting route back to the metro and slumped down in my seat. During the ride, one of my favorite songs of all time came across my shuffle, "This is the Life" by Amy MacDonald. (So catchy) 

All of a sudden, I was in the mood to party! 

So here I am in my apartment, sipping wine and eating Frosted Flakes by the handful, while I blog. When I go, I go hard.

Until tomorrow.. Bonne nuit.

Day 3: August 17, 2013

Last night I stayed at my host family's apartment, and for the last time in a long time I got to squeeze between my two pretty little princesses and snuggle them to sleep. There is nothing I love more than feeling their tiny hands in mine and their soft cheeks on my shoulders. Of course, I woke up a few times throughout the night as I was drenched it sweat; but it only brought a smile to my face when I remembered who was dreaming just beside me. I couldn't describe in a thousand words how deeply I love those girls.

Before I knew it Marjolaine was waking us up; all three of her sleeping daughters. It was hard not to cry as we changed out of our jammies, brushed our teeth, and packed up our suitcases. I took the girls down to the courtyard and played a few silly games while Marjo and Visal finished the cleaning.

 

Daphnee was such a helper, offering to hold the door or carry my bag or look after her little sister. Next year she'll be going to "high school," the Canadian equivalent of middle school. I can't help but grin when I think of how onery she is. She will put all the boys through hell, along with her parents. But I am so incredibly proud of how she has grown from a child to a young adolescent. 

Flavie surprised me. It was only a year ago that she was afraid to speak English, too proud to make any errors. I remember a time when I thought it was hopeless, I thought she would never have the desire to learn. But this morning, she blossomed; telling me several jokes and stories, engaging in entire conversations.

It breaks my heart that I won't get to continue watching them grow, but I leave knowing that I have impacted them greatly. I am not only their nanny, their teacher, their "guardienne anglais." I am their big sister.

After bidding "adieu" to Marjolaine, Visal, Daphnee and Flavie, I was once again gawking at all the interesting people. A few tears were shed on the metro as "Only Time" by Enya played on repeat in my mind.

Who can say where the road goes,

where the day flows,

only time.

And who can say if your love grows,

as your heart chose,

only time.

I unlocked my apartment door and dramatically flung myself down on my bed before crying myself into a deep sleep.

Six hours later, I woke up.

By this point I was starving, and I needed another shower, but unfortunately I STILL hadn't packed a bath towel. While the first night I had improvised by drying off with a t-shirt, I wasn't really keen on doing that again. The second night I was lucky enough to shower at my host family's. Tonight, I was bound and determined to find a Target "Room Essentials" equivalent. As always, I turned to Google, "Where to buy a bath towel in Paris." Guess what came up? The blog of an American student that studied abroad a while before me.. funny how that turned out. He suggested a store on Rue de Temple so it looked like I was taking the metro across town. I proceeded to text my parents in detail of where I was going and how long it should take, as always, before leaving my apartment. Soon enough I was at Hotel de Ville and within a kilometer of the store. Annnnnnd it was closed.

Totally bummed out and still starving, I walked down the street until the words "PIZZERIA" caught my attention. I stepped inside to find Antonio Banderas' twin brother manning the host station.

"Juste moi."

"Juste toi?"

"Oui, je sais."

"Venir avec moi, sur la terrasse."

And there I was with an entire pizza and a pint of Stella all to myself. I was in the city of love, surrounded by couples publicly displaying much more than their affection, looking absolutely pathetic all by my lonesome. This is about the moment I wanted to buy a pet fish, or an orchid, or something, dammit! But I casually ate my pizza and brushed up on my French via a conversation with myself. Ok, the last part is a joke.

At the end of my meal, Antonio-look-alike (yes ladies; with the illustrious black hair, striking facial features, and dazzling accent) asked if I wanted a to-go box. If any of you have been in Europe, and especially in Paris, you know that this is absolutely and positively unacceptable behavior. He must have seriously felt sorry for me and the last 1/4 of my pizza..... sympathy accepted!

I urge all of you to go visit him at:

Le Second Empire

62 Rue Verrerie

Paris, France 75004

During my meal I couldn't help but notice a tiny french girl, no more than 100 pounds, crouched on the cobblestone outside of a pharmacie across the street. I had studied her as much as I could without being a creep and officially decided she wasn't into drinking, drugs, or serial killing. I proceeded to go over and ask, "Voulez-vous mon pizza?" She smiled.

On the way back to the metro station I saw this really weird store, and what really intrigued me is that the clothes are sold by weight. Each item could range anywhere from 2€/kilo to 20€/kilo. It was definitely a THRIFT SHOP!!!

And by the way, Paris takes thrift-shopping to a level that even Macklemore couldn't touch. After wandering around for close to an hour I decided to buy just one thing that I couldn't resist; a printed scarf. I'm subconsciously becoming French.

I skipped out of the store, proud of my purchase, and saw yet another mind-blowing sight. A beach in the middle of the city, fully equipped with a giant TV. Apparently this is the way to catch up on your favorite shows, and I have to admit I'm jealous!!!

Finally, I ventured onto the RER-B Sud back to CIUP towel-less so I could skip my shower and write this blog post for all of you. Looks like I will get up first thing tomorrow morning and trek back across the city to the same recommended home furnishings store.

C'est la vie.