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!!

Day 15: August 29, 2013

When I entered the kitchen he was already there: Roberto, everybody's favorite Italian. He had some kind of metal contraption resting on one of the burners, and I was intrigued by what he was making. Roberto is known for being the chef of the building, always offering to share his homemade carbonara, manicotti, ravioli, etc. The few times I have taken a bite of his gourmet meals, I have been blown away. I'm not entirely sure if it is my desperation for real food, or his incredible talent - but either way it is delicious every time. This morning, however, it wasn't food - and it was only by the aroma that I could tell he was making coffee.

I tried to contain my buzzing questions. What is that thing? How does it work? Where do you put the coffee and the water? But the one that got me most of all was "Why are you still in pajamas Roberto, you know we will be leaving in about 15 minutes?" He explained that he is an engineering student, and although he attends the same school as the rest of us, he has a separate orientation. That's when it hit me - my host father, Visal, from Montreal. There were so many undeniable similarities between the engineer standing in front of me, and the engineer who had been my father figure for a few months. The most obvious -- the willingness to wake up early and wait patiently for a complicated cup of coffee, brewed with perfected care, just to obtain a specific taste. The remaining 200 students in our building are studying business, so of course our priority is leveraging our resources and using our time up until the very last minute. That's why I bought myself a cheap, basic, coffee machine that sits in my room on auto and brews a mediocre-tasting two cups every morning on a timer.

I fried my eggs, drank my juice, and walked to the bus stop.

When I arrived at school, it was day two of orientation, and the conversations continued. Today we were being split up into various sessions, based on the requirements of our home universities and the French government. My schedule directed me to the CAF session, followed by "Setting up a French Bank Account" and "Buying a Cell Phone." As I had already completed two of the three tasks, it was only necessary I attend one of the classes!

I walked into the CAF (Caisses d'Allocations Familiales) module feeling totally confident. The CAF is a housing subsidy for international students on exchange in France. You can earn up to 300 euros a month to help cover rent, which can make a huge difference for those of us pinching pennies! Before you can apply, there are about a million steps that have to be completed, and I was grinning as I looked over the checklist. I was proud to say that I had had my birth certificate translated to French, opened a bank account at BNP, made copies of every identification document, and provided all the necessary "attestations." I sat in the second row, towards the center of the room, hoping to make the best impression possible. It takes a lot of work as an American student to break the crazy-lazy stereotypes! When the woman-in-charge entered the room, I was absolutely giddy to get started on the application process and have a check in the mail. She took the marker, and in fluid cursive handwriting, wrote "DISPENSE TEMPORAIRE DE CARTE DE SEJOUR" on the board. As prepared as I was, I could never have been ready for what happened next.

"If your French VISA has this line printed on it, you are free to go."

I scrambled to find the copies of my passport, flipped to the necessary page, and began scanning. There it was, in clear, bolded, typeface. What was this awful phrase and what did it mean for me? No scholarship. Regardless of all the work I had completed, I was totally and completely ineligible for the CAF. The students around me darted their eyes at one another, looking to see who would sigh in relief or frown in confusion. My face was a dead give-away - I was upset. One other girl, also from the United States, meekly raised her hand, and, when called upon, requested an explanation.

"That's just how it goes for some of you; you don't qualify, I'm sorry." And that was that.

I gathered my things, trying to process the amount of money I was walking away from: 300 euros, five months, that was 1,500 euros total. A grand amount of $1,967.85 in American dollars. My face felt hot and I swallowed hard; all that running around and paper chasing for nothing.

I ran down the stairs, skipping every other one, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone. I hit the ground floor, then through the lobby, and halfway to the metro before the anger set in. I wanted an explanation for why they could cheat me out of this opportunity; what had I done any differently than the other students that made me ineligible for financial aid?! I was not mad, or sad, or disappointed - I was absolutely livid.

When I got back to my room it was all I could do not to cry, and I was so over my second day of orientation. With a monstrous pile of laundry and time to kill, I separated by color and packed it up into grocery totes. In the basement of the main building I found four empty washing machines, and for the first time that day I felt at ease. Unfortunately, the moment didn't last long before I was back in a state of total frustration. I had my whites, blacks, cold colors and warm colors, separated out and placed in the bins. The appropriate detergents and softeners had been poured in, and cycles selected. But there I was, with a single 2-Euro piece in my hand. Each load requires 3.50 in coins, and while the amount was not a problem, the form of currency was. At Wichita State, and virtually every laundromat in America, there is this nifty little machine on the wall where you insert your bills and out come the quarters. Once again, I was reminded of the convenience of our lifestyle in the US, and lack thereof in France.. or at least Paris.

Knowing there was a reception desk in the lobby upstairs, I left my clothes and went to ask for change. There were two girls ahead of me, with complaints regarding their living arrangements, so of course it was going to take a while. I waited as patiently as I could in line, watching the stairs for any potential students wanting to start their laundry, and finally it was my turn. I explained to Rita, the secretary of Fondation Deutsch, that I needed coins to use the washing machines.

"Je dois les pièces, pas les billets, pour faire ma lessive."

As usual, she answered me in English, and explained that they don't have a cash drawer on hand in that office. Determined to continue our conversation in French, I inquired where I should go instead.

"La poste" is all she said.

I walked to the post office located on campus, and 800 meters later I was met with more frustration. The hours on the door said 14h00 to 18h00 and it was only 10am. Luckily it is just beside the main building and my bank is inside! Why had I not thought of going to BNP sooner. I climbed the steps and arrived at the sliding glass windows with a smile. Again, there was a line, and I patiently waited as one person opened an account and another made a deposit. When it was my turn I approached the teller and again, explained my situation.

"Je dois les pièces, pas les billets, pour faire ma lessive."

Again, in English, and much to my surprise, "We do not do cash exchanges here." The look on my face had to have been priceless. I couldn't contain my shock, and exclaimed with a little too much force, "You are a bank and you don't exchange cash?!" She proceeded to tell me that they were a service-only bank, and it took every ounce of my body to hold my tongue. You only provide services, but you don't exchange cash. If that is not a freaking financial service then I don't know WHAT it is! I thanked her anyways and left abruptly.

Just across from me, the doors to Heaven opened. The cafeteria was there and I knew for a fact it had a cash drawer. I marched ahead and stood in line, halfway paranoid about my unattended clothes and halfway giddy about this full-proof solution. When it was my turn, I ordered a coffee and handed over a 20 euro bill. For the third and final time, I explained my situation - and she refused. She rudely told me the cafeteria is "not a bank," and how funny it was she said that, considered I had just come from the bank. I nearly begged, pleading with her to give a paying customer their change in coins, but she handed me bills and only the necessary coins. I stared at my hand, debating on buying three more coffees to break it down even further, but I was too sad to persevere.

With my coffee, that I didn't even want in the first place, I walked back to the main building and went downstairs. I stood pathetically in front of the washing machines, staring at my clothes that (Thank Goodness) remained there. I calculated in my head the amount of money I had wasted on detergent and softener for the next lucky person to find. At this point, I didn't have the energy to be angry anymore, and sulked my way from one washer to the next, dragging my dirty clothes out. Looking back, I think it has to be one of the most pathetic moments of my life, and I can't help but laugh.

Then I heard it, Italian opera being belted out from the hallway, a sound I have grown to both love and hate. It was Roberto! You can add opera singing to his list of talents, and although it is not usually appreciated at 7am, I was glad to hear it at that moment. He pushed through the door with a big bag of laundry, and went mute when he saw me pulling dry clothes out of the washer. Utterly confused, just as I was at his coffee contraption, he began to pry. "What are you doing?"  in his broken Italian accent.

I nearly cried as I recounted my story, including the fact that my CAF was rejected that same morning, and the corners of his lips began to spread. He kindly handed over the coins that he had, and would not take them back when I refused. Roberto; the chef, the singer, and my own personal coin machine. I didn't know how to thank him! I dropped in the change and started each load, as I should have done two hours before, and sunk down in a chair with my laptop. Finally, I could relax!

It wasn't 30 minutes later that Roberto returned and asked me to come to the kitchen. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, but I was obviously at his mercy. Between my washing and drying, I walked back to my building and found him, singing, again. He ordered me to get two espresso cups from my room and report to the kitchen immediately, so I did just that. When I arrived he had the water, coffee grounds, and small metal paraphernalia set out on the counter.  I laughed, out loud, as he began the detailed infomercial. And when the espresso was finished, I took a sip of some of the most delicious coffee I had ever had.

That afternoon, when all my laundry was folded and put away, I was invited to a movie with Marion and Emilie; two French girls that had studied at Wichita State the semester before. I had originally been assigned as their "mentor" or "hostess." I was required to meet with them once a month to ask about their classes, living arrangement, and any issues they were having. Little did I know that we would become best friends, having bi-weekly coffee dates and going skiing at Keystone! They were two of the coolest girls I had ever met, and I couldn't wait to be the one utilizing their expertises in their country. It just so happened that both of them accepted internships in Paris, as they graduated in May, and will be living here at least for the year if not longer. So here we are now, all stationed in Paris within three miles of each other, and ecstatic to continue our friendship.

 

The movie we chose was called "Jeune et Jolie" and was set to commence at 8:20. We met up before for a quick cup of coffee in Place d'Italie, then walked a short ways to the theater. The film was about as French as they come, and contained more graphic nudity than I could ever want to view in a room full of strangers. As uncomfortable as it was, the whole experience was truly unforgettable. I grinned with pride as I squeezed my way out of my row with an empty candy dish and soda cup. The film had been shown in French, and without subtitles, yet I understood a vast majority of the content. Of course, there were times I found myself whispering questions to my friends, especially during the longest dialogue scenes. But nonetheless I had watched a film in French without being forced - and actually enjoyed it!

We kissed each others' cheeks goodbye and went our separate ways, and a moments later I was brushing my teeth before bed. Of course I couldn't go to sleep until I shared a FaceTime call with my biggest sister and her baby girl :) I asked Chasey about her first day of school, and wished my sister a good evening at work, before finally shutting my eyelids for the night.

 

Day 14: August 28, 2013

I waited by the gate with Kate and Francesca, giggling to myself over their British accents and bitter attitudes. No one was happy about being up at 7am, but there is just something about their whining in proper English that I find especially hilarious. It's okay that I am saying this, because we have come to the conclusion as a group that the English are never happy. In fact, they are rarely even satisfied. So there I was, smirking to myself, as Kate described in violent detail how badly she wanted to punch someone in the face, and Francesca complained about not knowing whether a jacket would be necessary or not. Because, as they tell it, the weather is always either "too nippy" or "hot as bloody hell."

As the conversation continued, we began to question where Persia (the person not the country) could be. She is another charming Brit, incapable of keeping her opinions to herself, and always adding a rebellious spark to the mundane routine of things. Moments later I heard her unmistakable voice coming down the sidewalk and turned to see her with an additional two people. I didn't actually recognize the strangers, but assumed them to be the two Canadians Persia had described the day before. The boy, a flawless "model" with a seductive accent; and the girl, a shy but funny person you couldn't help but adore. The closer they got, the more I was able to confirm my suspicions. They were Isabelle and Felix, both from Quebec, and as French-Canadian as I could have imagined. The accents and the "tabarnak"s were too much to handle, and I found myself diving into memories of my summers in Montreal.

A few minutes later we were swaying on the metro, and giggling over all the experiences we could have shared. Summer days at Calypso, educational visits to the capital in Quebec City, and unspeakable nights at Foufounes Electriques. I could tell within minutes that we would have a lot to talk about! It was difficult, however, to get on any kind of a personal level being crammed in the middle of the morning commuters. I had been on the metro several times, but never had there been even half as many riders as there were this morning. Orientation started at nine and we were told to allow an hour to travel, and it is a good thing we did! When we finally arrived at Bir Hakeim, which happens to be Le Tour Eiffel station, we pushed our way out of the crowd and onto the platform. Luckily it is only an additional half-mile walk to school from this point, and we were there with five minutes to spare.

It was lonely, for me, being on a campus I couldn't call my own. I am not an ambassador of this university; I am not capable of giving tours or explaining the history or spouting off the quirky facts that you come to know as a student. But as I looked around me at so many new faces, I reminded myself they were all thinking the same. It was cool, when I had this epiphany, to imagine all the backgrounds and cultures being represented there in the courtyard, and realize that each student was sharing the same thoughts as me. However, I was probably a little bit more shocked by my surroundings than the others.

First of all, the smoking. It was as if there was a thin cloud of fog lingering just inches above our heads. This would never happen at Wichita State, as there is a notable amount of students on campus that fight to have a smoke-free campus. Of course, there are still students "lighting up" on campus, but it will always be the less popular choice. Secondly, the outfits. I had seen bra straps and midriffs, boxers and tattoos, but never so much of it at once - and definitely not the first day of orientation! The students here had no inhibitions, completely comfortable in their own skin, and ready to show as much of it as possible. Lastly, the languages, which cannot be explained any better than by referencing Bible scriptures. Genesis 11: 1-9 My whole life I had been like the construction workers of the Tower of Babel, only hearing and only speaking one common, universal language: English. Yet, there I was with all the other students, unable to comprehend a single conversation. There was Spanish and French, easily to identify. Portugese and Italian, or so I assumed. And from there I decided to not even waste my time guessing.

 

I spent my time standing in line with my two newest friends, practicing what little bit of French I claim to know. I heard a name being called, similar to my own - oh wait, yes it was actually my name. "Fab-rhee-zu, Shah-rah-deen." Then accepted my student packet and headed to the amphitheater. After studying our packet and successfully connecting to the wifi, I turned my direction to the front. Slowly but surely I was able to put a face to each of the administration that had been emailing me for the past six months.

We learned about the history of the school, the various programs offered, degree requirements and employment opportunities. Then the real fun began! Rather than having a tailored syllabus for each class, Ecole Superieure de Commerce Exterieur (ESCE) has implemented one set of rules for the entire university. Within minutes we could tell that they were not here to joke around. For example, attendance is taken every day in every class - something completely taboo in American universities. For the duration of an entire semester, students are allowed to be absent for a total of 18 hours. On average, this means that you are excused for missing one class period of each subject.. Whew! But, alas, the meetings were over and it was time to head home.

Francesca, Persia, Kate, and several others decided to linger - but I was ready to be back in my own room. Felix and Isabelle were on the same page, and asked if I wanted to accompany them on the metro. It was my saving grace! I followed them there and boarded behind them. There was something about them speaking fluent French that made me feel less qualified going about town. But nevertheless, I tagged along and did my best to practice with a persistent Isabelle. She wanted to me to practice, she wanted me to improve, and I had no other choice than to climb on board and start fixing my mistakes.

At Montparnasse - Bienvenue we jumped off the subway and hit up Monoprix for a couple of errands. Most importantly, Isabelle and I were able to find matching planners for the school year with ideal agenda format. A quick trip through the checkout and we were back on our path home. Boy, it sure felt good.

When I arrived at Deutsch de La Meurthe, I was ready to wash my face off and flop down on my bed. Felix and Isabelle had another idea - Crossfit, ugh. I was in no kind of shape to be running, jumping, lifting, or even watching that kind of physical activity. The reaction on my face must have agreed, because when Felix invited me to join them, he began to laugh. Crossfit had become a big deal in the states, but only a few times had I ever participated. A few minutes later I was looking for my tennis shoes and finding the best headband. What was I getting myself into!

Fortunately, Felix took it easy on us, and it wasn't too bad. Running and circuits, more running and more circuits, and finally a stretching session to cool down. I was exhausted! Felix tried his best not to laugh at Isabelle and I, but it was obvious that we were lagging a little behind him.... okay so maybe a lot behind him!

After the run, we were all craving pasta, and thought it could be fun to all cook together. I grabbed the few ingredients I had for spaghetti and made my way to the Cambodian Foundation where the two of them live. It was fun, having some company as I browned my hamburger and sauteed my vegetables. My mouth was watering as I strained the noodles and gave the sauce a final stir, it was time to indulge in my beef-meal of the week! You see, beef is especially expensive in France and I had been craving any bit of red meat I could find. I made a pact with myself to buy hamburger or beef steaks at least once a week, if not a couple times more, without blowing through my grocery budget. Tonight was the night I could finally rest at ease knowing I had a full dose of protein!

Persia entered the kitchen with her cooking expertise, and helped a struggling Isabelle and myself decipher which knobs were respective to which burners. Not to mention, which numbers could be used for which range of temperatures. By the end of it we decided - turn all the burners on to 4 and adjust accordingly. It was a complete disaster of a kitchen but a marvelous experience, having a cooking date with a few of my favorite friends thus far.

After eating I washed up my dishes, packed my Dean & DeLuca tote, and strolled through the lamp-lit streets back to my building. This morning started with an eagerness to get to know my school, and ended with an eagerness to get to know my peers. Such incredible individuals, with similar interests and goals, and here we were all living on the same campus. Tonight was only the beginning of several more intimate nights of cooking and conversation, and I couldn't wait to go to sleep and dream about it. I barely remember making my way up to my room and showering off, but I was snug under my covers and fast asleep before too long. Tomorrow will be round two of orientation, and I want to be prepared for anything that came my way.

Good night, and see you soon.

Day 13: August 27, 2013

After falling asleep for a couple of hours, I was yanked from my dreams by an incoming FaceTime call. It turned out to be the strangest thing! A STORMTROOPER from STAR WARS was calling me!

Just kidding, it was only Matthew.

I woke up again later to the same ringtone, but this time it was my alarm. My exhausted instincts went to shut it off and pull the covers over my head, but fourteen unread Facebook messages caught my attention. I started scrolling through, and not to my surprise, I was the last one awake for the day. The plan was to go have lunch and visit Moulin Rouge, with some flea market shopping along the way. Suddenly, my bed became the last place I wanted to be so I jumped up and got ready for the day.

At noon we all gathered in the courtyard of our foundation and slowly made our way to the metro. After helping a few of the other students load their Navigo cards, we pushed through the gates and boarded the railway car. Thanks to Marjolaine, my host mother in Canada, I have a "Cartoville: Paris" which is basically the most convenient tourist guide book of all time. The pages are split into the arrondissements (or districts) of Paris, with individual maps for each of them, along with suggestions for the best restaurants, museums, and tourist attractions. There is even a section at the back of the book with maps of all the train/metro/bus lines through the city. With the help of these city plans, we were able to pinpoint the exact location of Moulin Rouge and navigate the quickest route there. I felt like a true explorer, using paper maps to find our way, something I had not done since the smartphone era! Unfortunately though, our final connection was temporarily closed and we were forced to walk the last mile.

I led the way up the stairs to the street, and with each step, an unusual feeling in the pit of my stomach grew stronger. The polluted streets, barred windows, and lack of children were sure signs that this was not a particularly safe area. Before completely exposing myself I turned around and stopped the group, and much like a paranoid mother, instructed them to walk straight ahead without hesitation. We are young, well-dressed, easily distracted, and speaking English... practically screaming "PICK-POCKET US!"

A few seconds later we were surrounded by clusters of foreign, middle-aged men pressing up against us. I walked briskly past them without making eye contact, but quickly realized the group hadn't followed suit. I about-faced to see a police officer in the middle of my peers asking questions. What just happened?! It had literally been a matter of seconds and already there was trouble! I pushed my way back just in time to hear the explanation; a man had been asking the girls for spare cigarettes. I think we all know he wanted more than that. The police officer didn't have any further questions, so we continued on our path - this time at a quicker speed and with less conversation.

There it was, our beacon of hope, our indicator of safety - The Golden Arches! Also known as, McDonald's. Tired of walking and absolutely starving, we drifted our way to the end of the line. The building was modern and unlike any McDonald's I have ever seen in the United States. Standing there in line was actually an option, as there were kiosks placed throughout the lobby to place orders remotely. Rather than trying to figure out how to operate such technology, and furthermore, figure out when it was our order being called, we decided to take the traditional route and wait in the queue. Soon it was my turn, and I went with a chicken sandwich combo. The prices matched the entire facade, and a little piece of me died inside as I handed over 12 euros. I was literally paying four times the price I would have in America! As I ascended the spiral staircase with my tray, and chose a booth by a window overlooking the cobblestone streets of Paris, I accepted that it was the experience I was paying for, rather than my fries.

And, if you were wondering, it all tasted AMAZING! As good, if not better than America.

Totally filled up with burgers, fries, and coke, we dumped our trays and went back down the stairs. After lingering a few extra minutes for the free wifi connection, we were back on the streets, and within a half-mile of Moulin Rouge. As we started down the road we passed a storefront that caught our attention: "SPA." As there were six of us girls, and only one boy, it was absolutely necessary to stop in and check the prices. But something didn't seem quite right. We passed a couple stores before seeing another - this time "SAUNA." Again, we wanted to see the services and prices, so I marched right up to the listing. I stood there a few minutes, trying to process what it was telling me.. Couples.. All men.. All women.. WHAT THE HECK?! It was definitely not the sauna we had in our minds! Just as I was walking back to explain to my friends, an older man and woman exited the establishment hand in hand and grinning from ear to ear. Of course, they were drenched in sweat and appeared exhausted. At that point I didn't need to explain anything, and we abruptly turned on our heels.

It was the very next storefront where things got out of hand, and I'm afraid I don't have the vocabulary to even describe the things we saw. The further we walked, the more "interesting" the window displays were, to a point where nothing could have possibly shocked us. Never, and I mean NEVER would such raunchy exhibitions be placed in front of American stores, and most especially not in such a popular touristy neighborhood. I may be a small-town, Western Kansas, conservative Christian girl.. but even the most liberal and cultured students in our group were shocked! If I had ever doubted that Paris was the City of Love, it was reassured during our adventure down this street.

When we finally arrived in front of the one and only: Moulin Rouge, we couldn't help but break out in song like Christina Aguilera. We snapped a zillion pictures like all the other people gathering out front, and stood on top of the giant fan. I have yet to understand why there is an enormous fan that blows upward just in front of such a historical sight, but regardless, we climbed on top for pictures.

 

After returning to Cite Universitaire, it was time to relax and have a beer. We joined a few of the other students on the front steps and did just that for the remainder of the evening. With our International Student Orientation the next day, it was necessary that we actually go to bed on time for once!

There was barely any sunlight left when I drug my feet up the stairs and into the shower, and even though I was ready to crash I forced myself to be prepared. I placed all my notebooks, pencils, colored pens; an apple and banana and water bottle; along with the copies of my passport, visa, and various documents in my book bag. It wasn't officially my first day of school, but I went to bed with the same giddy feeling as if it was :)

Ahhhh, ma vie est parfait!