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.

Day 2: August 16, 2013

Day Two. . .

After hardly sleeping due to a mixture of jet lag and being completely afraid of the dark, it was morning. My room looked so much friendlier with light shining through the windows :)

My host family from Montreal was coming to meet me at 10am, and it was already 7:30. (I spent the past two summers as a nanny for two little girls, and completely fell in love with their family.) And here I am in Paris, during their European vacation. Not to mention, it was Daphnee's 11th birthday so it was perfect timing to spend the day together in the city.

Before they arrived, I made a quick trip down the street to the boulangerie. It doesn't get any better than fresh-baked baguettes and chocolate pastries! I bought enough for breakfast and headed back to my room. Soon enough Marjo texted me and they had arrived!

I locked my apartment door behind me and literally ran down the three flights of stairs. I continued to run down the cobblestone streets across campus until I could see Daphnee and Flavie playing in the courtyard. My voice cracked as I shouted at them and the tears were definitely about to fall. They nearly knocked me over when they came running and jumped in my arms. You would think we hadn't seen each other in years, when it had only been two weeks.

After giving them a tour of my apartment, and snapping a few pictures, we were taking the metro to Le Muséum National D'Histoire Naturelle. While we were there we saw Jardin des Plantes, Galerie des Enfants, and Grande Galerie de l'Évolution. Talk about one of the coolest museums I've EVER been to!

Check It Out!

After touring the inside, we walked around Le Louvre, La Seine, and Le Tour Eiffel. The beauty of it all was indescribable.

Finally we decided we had had enough walking and we boarded one of those touristy boats that give you a guided tour of this city. What was most impressive was the fact that the woman speaking during the tour was fluent in six, yes SIX languages. It reminded me of that scene in "Princess Diaries" where Mia Thermopolis runs across the grass. Who knew one person could shout one phrase with so many different words!

Afterwards, we were exhausted. It was time to head back to my host family's apartment for a quick rest before going hard again. Who knew I could jam-pack so many mind-blowing first-time experiences into one day! It wore me out.

That evening we dined at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant for one of the best meals I have had in my life. Linguini Bolognaise never tasted so good, especially accompanied with the fresh-baked bread, antipasta, and sparkling water.. minus the sparkling water. If you don't like drinking straight club soda, then it's best you order "l'eau plate." Talk about stamping "I'm American" across my forehead - no shame.

The owner of the restaurant was a real Italian; a burly, gruff, no-bullshit kind of guy. The way he gave orders and commanded his employees was truly entertaining. But when it comes down to it, the food and the experience was totally unparalleled. He obviously knows what he's doing!

THERE HE IS!!!^^^    

After we asked for "l'addition s'il vous plaît" we were back on the streets. Words, pictures, even videos can't capture and relay how humbling an experience it is to stroll down the cobblestone of Paris in the night lights. I've been to Boston, Chicago, New York, even Montreal, but never have I been so filled with awe. The people here are magnificent. The clothes, shoes, hairstyles, make-up, jewelry, tattoos - there are no limits. Paris says, "Be whoever you want." The most relatable atmosphere would be an aquarium, where you can stare at thousands of unique creatures all moving at their own tempo, but you'll never truly understand what it is like to be a part of them. Paris is the city of love, not just because a couple can easily find romance here, but because the city itself draws you in and seduces you. I constantly find myself speechless, which, for those of you that know me, is a rare occurrence.

Anyways, back on track, we went to the Eiffel Tower next! And since I just thoroughly described to you my feelings about the city at night, I'll simply let you enjoy these pictures.

J'adore ma vie. J'adore.

Day 1: August 15, 2013

Here I am! Safe and sound in my apartment after a long day of traveling. Fifteen hours and seven time zones later.

I started in Kansas City, with my mom and sisters, enjoying my last American meal at Cracker Barrel. They all made fun of me for being ridiculously demanding, but by golly if it's my last meal in America and I'm at CB, I want chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes with white AND brown gravy, sweet corn, cole slaw, cottage cheese, a side of dumplings, and some of Kaitlin's fried okra.

I arrived at KCI only to find out that my flight had been cancelled, so they rebooked me. Oh! And then that flight was canceled. You've got to be kidding me. I was two hours early so there was no need to panic, but my mom was definitely her frazzled self. The receptionist asked me if my stuff was ready to go, and seeing that I was standing in front of her ready to check my bags, I said yes. Literally ten minutes later I was boarding and headed for Dallas.

I spent the majority of my hour and a half layover riding the Skyline air tram in circles around DFW. If you weren't lucky enough to see my Vine videos, just know that it was less than entertaining. When I had enough of that I went in search of some true southern' cookin'. I devoured my barbeque pulled pork and tater salad in preparation for a 9 hour flight.

Seat 27B put me next to another college student. Charles is studying law at Sorbonne and needless to say his English far surpasses my French. He taught me a few icebreakers and offered me some basic "Paris" advice before sleeping the remainder of our flight. I tried to do the same but my anticipation got the best of me and I ended up watching movies instead. Thank goodness for free TV on international flights!

After landing at Charles de Gaulle, I made my way to the baggage claim, struggled to grab my two 50lb suitcases, and wandered over to the train platform. But wait, the train was closed for construction! (C'est domage!) I hadn't been in Paris for 10 minutes and it was time to improvise. Instead I bought my ticket and boarded Bus #4 for Montparnasse, which landed me near the metro station I was looking for. I again lugged my two 50lb suitcases and a backpack down the stairs, which was quite a sight... it didn't scream "YOUNG AMERICAN GIRL" or anything. Soon enough I was headed towards Cite Universitaire on the 3A tram.

When I finally arrived out front, I nearly cried. I was feeling as emotionally confused as Taylor Swift in her song "22" -- happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time.

I stared at the familiar entry gates. I had seen them a million times on Google images but there I was, in real life. It took everything in me not to sit down on the sidewalk with my over-stuffed suitcases and bawl like a baby. 

Here is the picture I snapped of myself in front of the main building on our campus.

And yet again, I was faced with a complication: it is a French holiday and all offices are closed! I couldn't catch a break... Luckily "le guardien" of my subdivision was available, and after struggling through a "Franglish" conversation, I had my room key in hand.

"Ma chambre" is on "le deuxième étage", which would be "the third floor" in English. And, considering the buildings were constructed over 100 years ago, elevators are non-existent. Just try to picture me dragging my suitcases up that many stairs and chuckle. My hair was clinging to my face, my lower back was practically a swimming pool, and my arms were glistening. Let me just tell you, it was disgusting.

Finally, I turned the key to my bedroom and plopped down on my bed. The apartment was actually bigger than I expected. After consciously deciding not to care if there were other students within earshot, I let out a humongous scream of excitement -- I MADE IT!! 

My desk, mini-fridge, and window!

My bed, nightstand, and shelf. 

Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris is a housing community in the middle of Paris for students, artists, and researchers. Within the community there are several different "fondations" that identify with a certain culture. I was placed in Fondation Deutsch de La Meurthe, which is the German division. There are six buildings for housing students and we all share a kind of "recreation center." It is where we have our mailboxes, study rooms, vending machines, pool/ping-pong/foosball tables, and huge saloon-like lobby.

Everything here is absolutely magnificent, and so rich with history. Yeah, the floors are scuffed and the furniture is worn, but it is kind of fun to imagine all the people that lived here before me. It is remarkable how so many students from so many different cultural backgrounds have inhabited one place. Not to mention, all of us that are living here now.

(I can't wait to make friends!!) 

Unfortunately though, school doesn't start until mid September so it is pretty empty... The good news is I can eat, sleep, shower, and sing anytime I want without bothering anyone.

Anyways, I decided it was time to open my windows, air out my room, and head for the shower ............and I didn't pack a bath towel. So yet again I made do with what I had and dried off with an old Hays High t-shirt.

The shower and toilet is just down the hall, but I do have a sink and mirror in my own room. And, since I didn't pack soft soap, my hands will be smelling like Garnier Fructis.

At this point I was starving, and dying to explore what was beyond my housing campus, so I grabbed my purse and hit the streets. Just across the road is an enormous park with a small lake in the middle - Montsouris. There were lots of people running on the trails, doing yoga on the lawn, laughing over their wine and cheese picnics, or just passed out in their swimsuits. Can anyone say, Paris? I want to be like these people. Literally every person that I passed had a smile on their face. C'est la vie! La belle vie!

A little further down the road I came to a small cafe, I didn't know what to order so I started with a bottle of water. Little did I know that it was going to cost me 4.90 euros! I savored every last drop like I was stranded in a desert, and left without having anything else. The city of love is mighty expensive.

Finally I found my jackpot - a supermarket! I was able to buy my first French baguette, a bottle of wine, assortment of fruits and cheeses, and these odd-shaped jugs of milk. The juice I bought was Sicilian Orange juice, if you ever get the opportunity to taste it, DO IT. It is like a magical cross between grapefruits and oranges. Yum, yum, yum!

My arms were loaded with as much as I could carry so I slowly made my way back to my room, trying to absorb all the sights, sounds, and smells around me. 

All I can think is: Holy macaroni. I'm in Paris.