Day 19: September 2, 2013

It has arrived!!! The First Day of School!! Practically a holiday, as each family has their own quirky traditions. My mom, what a wonderful woman, always had fresh-baked home-made chocolate chip cookies sitting out for us kids on the first day. We would come banging in the front door, usually with two or three friends each, jabbering about who was in our classes and which teachers we liked best. I often forget what a blessing it was to have a stay-at-home mother, but coming home to an empty room on the First Day of School is a cold reminder. I've decided to share a few throwback photos before telling the story of today :)

First off, the beginning of my freshman experience at Hays High School.

Secondly, the first day of my senior year at Wilson High School, with Grayson & Brooklyn.

Followed by my first day as a Wichita State Shocker!!!

I have to include my little brother and little sister's first day just last year.

And finally, here we are, my first day of school in PARIS.

It is a whole new experience, taking the metro to school. On the one hand it is cool because I can make use of the 45+ minutes I have to spend sitting. For instance, I can have my breakfast on the way to school! A sugary crepe and an Orangina soda :) Plenty of nutrition to start off the day...... okay, so maybe not, but it was delicious!

This is the woman that made me my crepe for the first day of school!! These creperie stands are scattered all over Paris - and it makes for an all-too convenient breakfast or snack :)

When I finally arrived at school, I was about fifteen minutes early for my first class; International Contract Negotiation. And, thank goodness I was! If there is one thing I have learned in France, it is to NEVER be late. I am often reminded of the phrase that Ms. Elise Peterson, former music director at Hays High, always said to us. "If you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late. And if you're late, it's completely unacceptable." Ten minutes until the class was scheduled to begin, my professor began calling roll. Jeesh! She is pretty ruthless for the very first day! Students continued to pour in the room, and the agitation in her voice began to grow. At 7:57 she announced, "Okay, it appears you're all here, let's begin." Half the room is empty, clearly everyone is NOT here.

My professor started a powerpoint about how tardiness will not be accepted, and students will find the door locked promptly at 8:00am. Wow, she isn't joking around. Of course, as the words were exiting her mouth, more and more kids were entering the classroom. The look in her eyes was enough to make a statement, even if they had missed the first few slides. At 8:02, she finally lost it, and practically screamed that "8:00 MEANS 8:00!" I was scared for my life, and I had arrived 15 minutes early.

As the class continued, her strict authority hung in the air. She explained that all attendance, assessments, and exams would be taken seriously and graded harshly. I was curious if this was a facad to scare away lazy students, or if this level of severity would continue all semester. Either way, we pushed on, finally making it past her list of rules and on to the class material. Now this is the part of school I have NOT missed!

Now, I've debated on whether or not it is appropriate to include this next part in my blog. But I have decided for you to truly understand what it is like as an American student in a French university, I should. As she was explaining the process of international negotiation, she proposed the following scenario:

"If you are a manufacturer in France, exporting products to South Korea, what would be the three transportation set-ups? What is your ideal situation, your bottom line, and a potential compromise?"

Because of her intensity, students were scared to answer, but slowly we were able to come up with a few solutions. We decided the ideal situation would be to have South Korea receive the product in France, leaving us with minimal liability. Our bottom line, and basically a "no no" would be to go all the way to South Korea, where the transit of goods rests entirely upon us. But when it came to the compromise, we were completely unfamiliar with what our professor was looking for. She demanded a response.

"Come on. Tell me. What is the compromise? What are we going to do?"

(Silence.)

"They aren't coming to France, we aren't going to Korea. What do we do?"

(More silence.)

"Don't you know anything? What will we do. Are you all mute? Give me an answer."

I scanned the room, swallowed hard, and looked back to my teacher. With each inch that my hand raised higher, the stronger the urge to jerk it back down grew. What am I doing, she's going to kill me. But it was too late, she caught my eye, I was past the point of no return. Her bark at me to answer brought sweat to my forehead and underarms; never in my life have I been afraid to answer a teacher, yet here I was.

I answered, "What if we used a consolidator in the United States?"

My suggestion had no more than left my lips before she was calling me an idiot. Why would we do that? Why do we need America's help? That is preposterous, it makes no sense. That solution is not possible.

I debated whether or not to explain my response, using the limited amount of knowledge I had of international supply chains, and eventually swore to never speak in this class again. Never, ever, ever. This woman is downright mean.

I couldn't decide if her anger came from the idea of calling upon a third party, or if it was that the third party was the USA. Even more so, I wondered if my suggestion was truly stupid, or if my professor had an already-existing bias. My curiosity was soon answered, by another student's response. The scholar was a male, of Asian decent, and instead he suggested that we hire a middleman in Singapore - only to be answered by exclamations of praise. Dammit. Looks like I will lose 10% of my grade, because I refuse to participate.

I only halfway listened to the remainder of the discussion, and minutes later we were halfway through the class. My professor pulled up a power point slide to inform us:

"!!!! 10 MINUTE BREACKS!!!!"
It took every ounce of my ornery soul not to inform her of her mistake. And, though I consider myself to be an incredibly respectful, attentive student, at this moment I had no desire to listen to her another hour and a half. C'est la vie.

As nearly all the students in the building exited to the courtyard, the cloud of smoke formed itself yet again. I found myself lingering at the end of a hallway, paying 40 cents for a shot of espresso, and pondering whether or not to drop the class. I'm going to get an A. I'm going to stay in this class, attend every single lecture, get an A, and show her who's boss. That's what I'm going to do. Her belittling manner only fueled my fire to succeed in her class.

Here is a picture I took of David, from Madrid, and I. Thank goodness I had friends to help make the class bearable!

Upon our return, we were given an entry exam and our semester project was explained. As each question on the quiz was reviewed and answer provided, I started to get a complete picture of my professor's hatred of the states. 

"Incoterms don't exist in America, you won't know what I'm talking about."
"What does FOB mean? As long as you aren't from the states you should know."
"Customs processes are similar world-wide, except in America, they make their own rules."
"Canada is the only country that really enjoys doing business with the US."

And finally, my iPhone said 11:00 and the condescending remarks were over. I grabbed my bag without being dismissed and walked out the back door. Honestly, I was straight pissed.

I had made plans earlier with all of my friends to cook them a big, American breakfast. They were intrigued by our fluffy pancakes, as they are accustomed to French crepes or the Swedish version of pancakes. I told them of my incredible recipe, coming straight from the Trego County cookbook. It is the same home-made recipe my dad has been using since before I was born, although it originally belongs to the Griffith family. I pulled the photo of the recipe up on my iPhone, and made a note of all the ingredients I lacked. When I reached the station with a giant Monoprix, I walked off the metro and into the store. Still slightly irritated, I grabbed a shopping basket and hoped that this would only take a few minutes. I was sorely mistaken.

I had found everything I needed, except for baking powder. In fact, I had even found the precise location of the baking powder, but I was unable to identify it. Nearly every single grocery item in France is made my a different brand than the ones we are used to in America. Of course, you can still find Pringles and Oreos and iconic snacks - but beyond that it gets really tricky. I know what baking powder looks like back home, it's Clabber Girl; a white cylinder with big red font and an antique photograph on the front. In Quebec, it is a plastic yellow cylinder with a brown screw-top lid that reads "Poudre à Pâte," produced by KRAFT. But in France, I had absolutely no clue where to start. After scanning the baking section for a solid fifteen minutes, I finally surrendered, deciding there was no poudre à pâte to be found. I should also mention that, if you make the mistake of using baking soda rather than baking powder, the pancakes taste like a mouthful of salt. I was not about to make such an error!!!

I marched over to the nearest Monoprix employee, who was stationed behind the deli meat station. I politely asked the middle-aged woman if she was familiar with poudre à pâte, to be met with a blank stare. I repeated the words slowly, and with as French of an accent as I could muster, "poudre à pâte, s'il vous plaît." She shook her head, not understanding my request. This day, is impossible. The idea hit me - I whipped out my phone and pulled up the notepad before typing that familiar phrase; a surefire solution. Only for more disappointment! The woman only frowned and shook her head, this time more violently, before asking for my understanding. I nodded back, slouched my shoulders, and turned back to go search for an alternate ingredient.

"Miss! Miss! Madamemoiselle! Mon collègue arrive dans 15 minutes, il parle anglais." My colleague arrives in 15 minutes, and he speaks English." Without another option, I perched my elbows on the counter and waited.

A teenage boy came strutting in, throwing his head around with his Beats by Dre, and threw his jacket down on the employee desk. The woman began explaining, and had to begin a second time after he finally removed his headphones, before pointing him in my direction. He walked over and, in true American fashion, greeted me with a "What's up."

I told him what I wanted, in English, and he started laughing. "Levure, you want levure." And there it was, right in front of my face, in little pink pouches that look like salt packets. How could I ever be expected to recognize that this weird type of packaging contains backing powder?! I grabbed what I thought would be plenty and thanked the boy, he was amused to say the least.

That evening I gathered all the ingredients in a plastic tub, and hustled over to the Cambodian building where my friends were waiting. All of us were starving and I couldn't wait to get started. I mixed up the pancake batter as they all stared attentively - so much pressure! And when the burners were hot, I fried the sausage and eggs. The pictures below will do a better job of explaining so I will stop here. Enjoy!

Needless to say, it was a success!!! Everyone loved my cooking - including me :)

When our bellies were full, everyone pitched in to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. The conversation was a steady stream, in English, French and Spanish, and we each vowed to cook one big meal that represented our culture before the semester was over. I am absolutely giddy for fish and chips, poutine, curry, and more!

Finally, it was time to go our separate ways and prepare for day two at university. A few of us girls acted silly in the stairwell while Felix took pictures before we were ready to leave :)

From left to right: Francesca, Kate, me, Persia, & Isabelle. I love them all!

And the most important lesson of all - great friends can make up for anything.

Bonne nuit :)

Day 18: September 1, 2013

Whew! What a day.

I started off in my room, just reading and relaxing and tidying up. Around lunchtime, Persia and Francesca invited me to join them on the lawn for a study session. As I was (am) behind on my blogs, I decided to join them and knock a couple of posts out. Not to mention, it was absolutely gorgeous weather and I was able to tan - multitasking! It was a relatively slow afternoon, and being unable to get a secure wifi connection, I did a little more of the tanning and a little less of the typing. Either way, I was happy to be out of my room and enjoying the weather. It is Paris, after all!

Somehow during the afternoon, our conversation led us to confessing how guilty we felt for not yet attending a church service in Paris. Francesca, being the British hipster that she is, suggested we attend an upbeat, nondenominational church intended for a young audience. Apparently "Hillsong" is becoming the new thing in Australia, London, several other European cities, and of course NYC. After doing more research, I've learned that it is an international phenomenon. It is a mega-church, determined to become the largest church in the world. As they are exempt from taxes, the $55 million dollars they are making has raised several questions - and eyebrows. Being the traditional Lutheran girl that I am, I was hesitant to attend, but finally I decided it was a church service nonetheless and I should participate. Boy, was I in for a surprise!

We all split up and hurried to our rooms, realizing we had less than an hour to shower and get ready. I quickly showered, chose a sundress and sandals, and left my hair in a curly mess. Moments later, we were meeting up in the courtyard and agreeing upon our mixed feelings of anticipation and curiosity. The subway carried us along toward the exit, and my anxiety multiplied. I have never been comfortable in a religious setting that lacks structure, and I was struggling to maintain an open mind. The pep-talk I had with myself could never have prepared me for what was coming.

We arrived, and I was immediately forced to adapt: we were not at a church, but instead a theater. This venue was nothing like the Zion Lutheran Church I had grown up in, the Immanuel Lutheran Church my family attends now, or the Reformation Lutheran Church I go to in Wichita. Instead, this building resembled a place where I would see a concert. Open mind, open mind, open mind... I told myself.

Once inside, things really started to seem bizarre. [I do not use the term "bizarre" to degrade non-denominational churches, or to offend any of you that are reading this. Only to describe how unusual of an experiences this was for me, coming from a strict religious background.] It was not the traditional organ hymns that welcomed us to our pews, rather, it was alternative Christian rock that lured a screaming herd of people into a mosh pit. Rather than joining the enthusiastic crowd below, Persia, Francesca and I filed upstairs to somewhat calmer seating.

At this point, I wasn't quite sure how to feel. I had been to Acquire the Fire and other youth rallies, attended several non-denominational and "contemporary" services, but never had I encountered something quite like this. Not to mention, the entire experience was taking place in French. Keep an open mind, Sheradin.




Here is a glimpse at what was happening.

There are a few things I learned today from attending this church service. First and foremost, Australia knows how to party. Secondly, I am much more comfortable with my "boring" traditional Sunday mornings. And lastly, there are translators in this world that will blow your mind with their capabilities.

The main sermon was given by an Australian man who was more like a motivational speaker than a priest, and whom was more focused on instructing us to tithe than sharing the Word of God. Although he expressed several encouraging words in his speech, I was less than impressed with the overall message. What was more entertaining than the speech he delivered, was the woman who was translating it. It amazed me how he could tell entire paragraphs in English, and the instant he paused, we were hearing them in French. She spoke with such speed and accuracy, fluidly converting the words in her head while they poured out of her mouth. The way she followed him as he moved from left to right on stage really added to her presence. Her facial expressions, body movements, and tone of voice were a perfect replica of her predecessor's.

Although I will never return to a service at Hillsong, it was an incredible experience and truly entertaining. If you ever get the chance to go, I would highly recommend it, if for no other reason than to see a contrary form of worship than that of rural Kansas. (Although, I will forewarn you, it lasted a full two and a half hours.)

Now, I'm home, and spending the evening FaceTiming Matthew. Of course. He is in Colorado taking family pictures, and I would kill to be standing in wide open spaces! The weather here is getting cold and it is much less enjoyable to be hiking metro stairs than rugged trails in the mountains. The smell of cedar and pumpkin candles are familiar aromas of fall; and if I close my eyes I can almost imagine what Estes Park looks like right now. Although, I have to admit, autumn in Paris is proving to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth :)

Serious....




and silly :O)












And as the phone call concludes, so does my night. See you tomorrow!

Day 17: August 31, 2013

Last night was fun! Quite possibly, a little too much fun. Which is why I couldn't pull myself out of last night's clothes until 4pm this afternoon.

But if I'm going to tell the truth, the whole truth... I'll start a little farther back.

We arrived home at 3am and, with exhuasted legs, I climbed the stairs up to my room. I kicked my shoes off and headed for bed, before realizing my overwhelming desire for sleep was paralleled with an uncontrollable desire for food. Luckily I had over-calculated my pasta portion the day before, and still had a tupperware container full of spaghetti waiting in my mini fridge. I considered the amount of time it would take to walk back down to the kitchen and warm it in the microwave. As we say nowadays, "Ain't NOBODY got time for that." I took the container, grabbed a fork, and slid under my covers. With each bite, the amount of time that the spaghetti lingered on my fork before entering my mouth continued to grow. Eventually, it never made it to the final destination.

When I woke up sometime in the late afternoon, I found noodles in my hair and sauce all over my sheets. It was honestly one of the most embarrassing, yet hilarious moments of my life. I can't accurately describe how pathetic I looked with the remainder of my cold spaghetti mashed all over myself and my sheets. After hiding the evidence as best I could, I gingerly picked up my shower caddy and smiled my way down the hall. As horrible as I felt, I was halfway proud of what a success my first night out in Paris had been. Here is another picture of our group before Wanderlust.

After vegging out for a couple of hours, my phone started buzzing with the greatest news I had received since my journey in Paris begun. Persia was cooking hamburgers, and invited me to dinner! Never in my life did I expect to have TWO red-meat meals for two consecutive days in Europe! Within thirty seconds my motivation went from being non-existent to sky high; I jumped out of bed and put my shoes on.

Immediately when I entered the kitchen in Fondation du Cambodge (Cambodian Foundation) my mouth started watering. The burgers had just a couple of minutes left and I could barely contain myself. I hugged Persia, probably seeming a little bit insane, but unable to accurately describe my appreciation in any other way. I am so thankful for the friends I have made here at Cite Universitaire, and the support system we have created together.

Our substitute grill consisted of a cake pan lined with aluminum foil, placed in a less-than commercial grade microwave oven. When the spicy, hand-made patties were finished simmering in their juices - with light pink centers and cheese on top - Persia pulled them out and we stared in awe. There were freshly sliced cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, and lettuce, along with mayonnaise and ketchup to dress them with. I was having it "my way" and I wasn't even at Burger King!

So so so so sooooo DELICIOUS.

Afterwards, Persia, Isabelle and I decided to get our laundry done. Since I still had spaghetti sauce on my sheets, it seemed like the best way to spend my evening anyways. We made our way from room to room and filled our laundry totes before piling it all into the washers. As the loads tumbled in circles, so did our words; the conversation continued late into the night. Finally we were folding the last of our clothes and saying our goodbyes.

There wasn't much to report today, but I have to admit it was one of my best days yet. Each morning I wake up and look out my window, I am reminded how fortunate I am to be here. The friends I have made and the experiences we have shared are irreplaceable, and I am forever gracious.

Merci beaucoup, mon Dieu.

ONE MONTH MARK

Exactly one month ago today I arrived in Paris. I can't believe how much I have learned and how far I have come since then.

For instance:
Light switches flip on/off backwards.
Peanut butter is impossible to find.
Monoprix is NOT the cheapest option.
Street vendors are sneeeeaky salesmen.
White shoes become black shoes.
Architecture has no limits.
Make sure your purse has a zipper.
The metro is a smelly smelly place.
If blind people can make it here, so can I.
Wine is cheaper than water.
EVERYBODY SMOKES; CHAINSMOKES.
Carry tennis shoes at all times.
You need three totes for groceries.
Electricity is unreliable.
Convenience is not an option.
Banks do not exchange money - what??
All romance is public, without an ounce of shame.
No one has a job.
Instead they day-drink in the park.
Picnics are acceptable everywhere.
The padlock bridge (Pont des Arts) has no more room.
The Kings lived like Gods.
The gardens never end.
Churches here are Heaven on Earth.
Allocate three weeks to see the whole Louvre.
Roy Lichtenstein was a badass.
Everything is free for students.
Except Starbucks, those lattes will break the bank.
$2,000 seems more like $200 here.
Coffee comes in dixie cups, and it tastes like tar, yummy tar.
Get used to walking, and LOTS of stairs.
Red meat is a privilege, not a part of every meal.
Cafeterias are gold mines - 3euros and you feel full afterwards.
Teachers DO NOT tolerate tardiness.
Be there 15 til, attendance taken 10 til, doors are locked at 5 til.
Seriously, don't be on time, be EARLY everywhere.
Even church starts 10 minutes early.
And some churches are like rock concerts.
The speed at which some people translate blows my mind.
I will always be responded to in English.
Quebekkers are so much friendlier.
Tipping is unnecessary.
Receipts cannot be split.
Smoking, smoking, smoking everywhere.
Wine with breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner.
Mexican food reminds me of home.
Burgers don't.
Beer does.
I love Carlsberg and Stella more than before.
My French has improved! Hooray! (Thanks Felix & Isabelle.)
Classes are impossible to add or drop.
Schedules can never be changed, just show up when you're told.
Nope, 15 minutes earlier, remember.
You need every document translated to French.
Get an "Attestation de Residence" the first day.
KEEP ALL YOUR COINS to do laundry.
My mattress is smaller than a twin.
And so incredibly uncomfortable.
But a topper will cost 60euros or more.
So I bought some cheap pillows and lounge on those instead!
I love my room! I have the biggest one :)
We have to be QUIET at night time, our guardian doesn't like noise.
But we can reserve the Grand Foyer for 50 people to party!
Today is Mexican Independence Day.
Mexicans like to party - with tequila, lots of tequila.
French keyboards are difficult to type on.
I LOVE going to the movies! They have the coolest candy.
Crepes are amazing, for any meal of the day.
Sandwiches are everywhere.
Baguettes are everywhere.
You will eat a LOT of bread in Paris.
Buy bottled water, it comes in 1L, 1.5L, and 2L.
Evian is my favorite brand.
My converter from America isn't as good as the French ones.
So wait and buy that here, to avoid computer problems.
Buy a raincoat here - they are SO COOL.
There are so many options for fashion, you won't know what to do.
I can't decide if I want to be "mod" or "prep" or "hipster."
So I think I will be all three, and confuse my peers.
High heels = no bueno.
Hold the railing on the metro - you WILL lose your balance.
Lights are on timers.
If you go to the bathroom at night time, it will be dark before you finish.
So bring your cell phone or a flashlight or you will be scared.
French girls prefer epilators, so bring razor blades from home.
Threading HURTS. I mean IT HURTS.
You can't FaceTime friends 7 hours behind, and expect a normal sleep schedule.
However, long distance relationships are absolutely possible.
Matthew, thank you for your patience. :)
You listen to my never-ending stories with attentive eyes and ears.
You send me sarcastic books in the mail when my week is getting rough.
And you make me feel less guilty about my impulsive shopping habits.
You are such a supplemental part of this whole experience.
True gentlemen do exist in this world.
Matthew and Felix are living proof.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Isabelle is a riot, I love her, she is hilarious.
If we start speaking in French, inevitably it turns to English.
Persia, she is something else.
Craziest, most impatient girl I have ever met and I LOVE IT.
Andrea is so level-headed, and so kind.
Kate is a lightweight, we have a great time together.
Francesca is boy crazy, and I love hearing about her handsome gents.
Honestly, gossiping in a British accent is so much more fun!
Although, Flora and her Irish accent are just as entertaining.
The boys, I wouldn't trade them for the world.
Felix, I would be dead in an alley if it weren't for you.
Or spending my Sundays being bored, instead of out in the city!
Rikin, Alvaro, Mario, Joaquin; so many memories --and more to make.
One day, I will be tri-lingual.
But my Spanish is pathetic thus far.
I can't wait to see what the next 4 months bring!!!
And this list has basically become a forum for me to ramble so I'm going to stop here.

You can expect me to catch up on my regular blog posts this week. I have been slacking, as I have been doing a LOT of exploring the past couple weeks, and adjusting to my school schedule! Starting now, I plan to get on top of things and be on date. And, a sneak peak, you guys are in for such a treat :)

Thank you for taking part in my crazy adventure, and I am sorry if there is anything you don't like! As always, feel free to comment on the posts, contact me via Facebook, or email me at sheradin.fabrizius@yahoo.com

Bizou xoxo

Day 16: August 30, 2013

Today was our third and final day of orientation, and I went with every intention of staying the whole time... Unfortunately that is not quite what happened.

The first session on my schedule for the day was to finalize the CAF details, so of course I slept right through that one and headed to campus an hour later. My second session was regarding our French classes and skill levels. After ten minutes in the classroom, I learned that it was for students who had not previously taken the online placement tests. Being the paranoid student that I am, I had completed all of the necessary vocabulary and grammar quizzes, along with an essay portion, the day that the link had been emailed to us. Knowing that my current French level was B1, and I was already enrolled in the respective course, I left the classroom to get a coffee. I sat outside enjoying the beautiful weather and my 40 cent "cafe au lait" before Isabelle and Felix arrived. We sat on the benches and waited as students continued to pour out of the classrooms, obviously bored with the expired information.

Forty-five minutes later it was time to report to our third sessions. Isabelle, Felix, and I all were expected at "Des Informations Multimédia" (Multi-Media Information) and we slid in the back door just in time. We sat in the last row, half expecting the same presentation as our former sessions. And, our preconceived notions were spot on. In ten minutes we had learned how to type the web address of our university in a web browser search bar, and had the definition of each link fully explained. I hate to be rude, but apparently our instructor wasn't aware of the vast amount of information we comb through daily on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Reddit. What kind of college student in the twenty-first century can't figure out that "Admissions" is where you apply, "Programmes" will outline the various degrees offered, and "Vie Etudiante" is the home of all things extra-curricular. Isabelle and I found ourselves annoyed, hungry, and underestimated. It is one of my biggest pet peeves when we are constantly preached at to "never waste the professor's time," because they are "busy, working people." Meanwhile, I was being forced to sit through a lecture that was prepared for someone unfamiliar with all things digital. I'm so done.

I looked at Isabelle, she smiled, and we quietly exited the back door. It was only after I saw about 90% of the classroom attendees follow suit that I felt guilty. Oops!

Just seconds outside the building and our stomachs began to growl. Isabelle was bound and determined to find herself a crepe, and I would settle for nothing less than a huge chunk of red meat. We walked, and walked, and walked, and walked. Down the street, around the corner, through a farmer's market, and there was nothing desirable to our tastes. After saying, "Okay, the next street has to have a creperie." about 18 times, we decided to give up. It was an hour later, we were absolutely starving, and sooo tired of walking. Pathetically, we sunk down into two chairs outside a cafe. Lucky for me, and not so much for Isabelle, "Bacon Cheeseburger" was one of the menu items. My mouth literally started watering the instant I read those majestic words, it was a dream come true!

We both ordered a burger, fries, and treated ourselves to a beer as it was the end of our orientation. There was a "surprise cultural activity" planned for the afternoon, but we had three hours before reporting back. In no rush, we ate, drank, and gossiped the afternoon away :)

As you can see, their idea of a "bacon cheeseburger" is not exactly what we're used to in Kansas... but it was the biggest portion of protein I had had in a week! Sometimes, in Paris, you just have to learn to deal.

When we returned to the school, we learned that the activity for the afternoon was a boat ride on La Seine! Although I had done it once before with my host family, it was a perfect way to spend the afternoon with my up-and-coming best friend Isabelle!! We met up with our other friends and climbed aboard :)

It's the back side of Le Louvre, leading to "Palais des Arts." (Above)

It's the Notre Dame Cathedral! (Above)

It's l'Institute de France! (Above) Just across La Seine from Le Louvre!

ET LE TOUR EIFFEL, OF COURSE!!!

We even got to see a few "extras" on our riverboat tour! (Some risque sun-bathing...)

 

And then our afternoon was over, as quickly as it had begun, and I was getting ready for our night time activities! Which consisted of pre-gaming on the Cite-Universitaire lawn before heading to Wanderlust. It was my first night out on the town in Paris, and an absolutely unforgettable one! Boy, do I have some amazing friends, delicious wine, and endless opportunities in "Le Ville d'Amour."

From left to right:
Rikin, from London
Isabelle, from Quebec
Alvaro, from Spain/London
Andrea, from Switzerland
Me, All-American
Angela, from Spain
and Felix, from Quebec

I love this girl! SO MUCH.

















And, last but not least, Club Wanderlust.

Goodnight to all, and to all a good night!!