tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26501721875136583642024-03-14T13:50:13.158+01:00Cherchant Le Mot JusteNChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-29744848333216465492010-12-21T00:00:00.002+01:002011-12-08T00:57:11.162+01:00Fin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was with only the heaviest of hearts and the most abashed of expressions that I found myself in the cheese section of my local supermarket in suburban Philadelphia this afternoon.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Feeling surprisingly overwhelmed by the crazed American shoppers and their shrieking children I encountered during my first solo trip since my return to the States on Saturday, I decided to seek refuge within the comforting confines of imported Brie, Camembert, and St. Marcellin. After being told by my ATM machine this afternoon that it was now fully capable of completing transactions in French (a knife in the heart, really!) and then realizing disappointedly that I was unable to buy red wine to accompany the cheese I purchased, I was comforted only by the fact that I could text my friends from Paris without worrying about phone credit.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After a stressful day of travel on Saturday, involving a full-out sprint through Chicago's O'Hare airport (Why was I in Chicago, you ask? I asked the same thing...), I successfully returned home on Saturday evening, although my luggage didn't appear until Sunday afternoon. Leaving Paris was and still is very emotional – I think the Passport Control officer in Paris was confused when I was crying as he stamped my passport. There is something about the sound of a stamp that is so final. STAMP! GOODBYE! </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>tour St. Jacques</i> beneath a stormy sky last week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">If I attempted to finish writing the “Things I Will Miss Most” list from the previous entry, I'm afraid I would become embarrassingly overwhelmed and unable to finish. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On a much brighter note, my last ten days in Paris were everything that I wanted them to be.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Last weekend, I found myself out at La Défense – the business district of Paris. It had been on my to-do list for ages and after having visited a Christmas market beneath the Eiffel tower, a few girls and I headed out to see yet another Christmas market. La Défense is beautiful in its own way. It is definitely a change from Paris, it has a totally different vibe and is successful in feeling completely business-y. There is an axis that goes from the Louvre, through the Tuileries Gardens, across Place de la Concorde, up the Champs Elysées, through the Arc de Triomphe, and finishes at the Arc at the Défense. Though it was dusk by the time we got there, we succeeded in capturing a decent view of the Arc de Triomphe at the very least.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Défense</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The same night, I cooked a delicious meal of <i>moules frites</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> with a good friend, and shared several bottles of wine with some more friends who came over later for a </span><i>soirée</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – the epitome of French student life. After a Long Island iced tea and several jugs of sangria on the rue Oberkampf, I found myself being wheeled home in a shopping cart. It is nights like those that will stay with me forever, and remind me when I am old and assumedly boring that when I was 20 and in Paris, I had the time of my life.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The Boston University program required its students to submit a huge </span>internship report of about 30 pages in total<span style="font-style: normal;"> by the end of the program – and submit it I did, after much procrastination and many headaches. Finishing my internship was really quite bittersweet for me. On my last morning commute past the Eiffel Tower, I probably let a tear or two slip – so un-Parisienne, I know, but I could hardly help it. How did I get so lucky? Spending four months in Paris, working within sight of the Eiffel Tower and spending weekends with some of the most fantastic people I have ever encountered? You can see how it can be overwhelming.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very last glimpse of the Eiffel Tower -- What perfect lighting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Speaking of lucky, on last Wednesday night I found myself in the Napoleon room of the French Sénat at the Palais de Luxembourg, brushing shoulders with Senators, Ambassadors, and lawyers from around the world. My boss was lucky enough to receive the esteemed Légion d'Honneur on Wednesday, for her outstanding work in building Franco-Britannic relations both politically and in the legal world. For me, as an American student working at the law firm for only seven weeks, it was truly an incredible experience to have. I'll never forget it.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Paris was kind enough to grace us with a few blew skies among lots of snowy grey days last week. I hadn't realized how gloomy the weather had been recently until a blue sky appeared one day.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near metro Sèvres-Babylone</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It seems to me as though the past four months were a dream; someone else's life that I was pretending to live. But now that I've had a taste of it, I'm hooked. I am glad to be home, happy to see my family and looking forward to sweet reunions with my friends. Nevertheless, the pull that Paris has had on me since my first visit has only strengthened. I realize that it's important for me to be here now, to finish my diploma and make some money and spend time with the people that I love here, but I realize as well that Paris isn't quite finished with me yet. The speed of life in Paris is different, and it suits me better. There's a rhythm about the city that I relate to, and I think it's this that pulls me strongest of all.</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Sacre-Coeur from a métro window</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I'm sad too to leave this blog. I don't know how many people read it, or enjoy it, and I'm sure there are more than a few people who read it and roll their eyes before navigating away from it as quickly as possible. But regardless of how many people have read it, and whether or not they've liked it, it has been an irreplaceable part of my Parisian experience. To record here over the past months, my ups and downs, my new experiences and lessons learned, has been invaluable. I know i'll look back on this blog (probably next week...) with nostalgia and a heavy heart. Though it will certainly make me wish my time in Paris could have lasted forever, it also will serve as motivation to return.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas tree in the courtyard of my apartment building.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And now, one last order of business. I set out writing this blog to find the right words to capture Paris. </span><i>Le mot juste </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is a French expression used to describe the </span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">exact word or phrase to describe something. More than a good method of description, </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">le mot juste</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> is a perfect combination of sound that captures the essence of whatever one is trying to convey. There</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"> are so many words I could use, both French and English, to attempt to pin down Paris and my time with it – with all its brilliance and beauty.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Unsatisfied to give a partially-perfect response (since that would not be</span><i> le mot juste!)</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, I can unfortunately not provide </span>an answer at the end of my search<span style="font-style: normal;">. I suspect that Paris could never be reduced to one word, or even one phrase. For me, it is far too large to be reduced to a single description. Paris is an experience, and I am </span><i>ravie</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to have shared this edition of my Parisian adventures with you. If you've been reading – thank you. It has been so nice to hear your kind words of encouragement.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Place de la Concorde</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Fortunately for us, the French expression </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">au revoir</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">, so often mangled in the mouths of well-meaning Anglophones, translates more directly to “until next time” than to “goodbye.” And so I'll leave it quite simply at that – </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">au revoir</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">. xo</span></span></div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-22311440096701097722010-12-08T21:31:00.002+01:002011-11-04T02:47:33.490+01:00On Attempting to Enjoy This Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 17px;">It feels like every single one of my blog entries carries a similar theme: <i>I can't believe time is moving so quickly - I am so sad to leave - I want to come back - I eat a lot of delicious food.</i> I read other students' travel blogs, and they also express comparable sentiments. This all makes terribly dull blog-reading for you, my questionably-existent readers, and so I will try to veer away from these themes. Try is the key word, as I sense that I will probably not succeed...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 17px;">Last weekend, determined to experience something new with my diminishing time in Paris, I traveled up to the <a href="http://www.marchesauxpuces.fr/">flea market</a> in the very northern neighborhood of Paris. It took me a while to find the right spot, and I crossed under the <i>Péripherique</i> several times. The northern neighborhoods of Paris feel so different from the central ones; they are ethnically vibrant and brimming with urban life in a way almost completely foreign to the rest of the city. I enjoyed perusing the thousands upon thousands of tiny trinkets and they had to offer - and as a bonus, I was told that Jesus must have pulled the stars from the sky to put in my eyes. Not a bad start to my day, which ended equally as successfully as I saw Harry Potter with some friends and then had a lovely dinner with my parents and younger sister.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I had enough time to sort through even half of the stuff on offer!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It has snowed quite a few times since I last wrote, and it's been increasingly more gorgeous each time. I was lucky enough to play hostess to one of my very best friends and college roommate this past week, and she in turn was lucky enough to see Paris in the snow! Though this meant we were unable to climb the Eiffel, it did result in several hilarious photographs which will serve as glorious reminders of the time we were twenty years old and gallivanting around Paris together. Today was the snowiest day of all, I think we probably accumulated three or four inches in places! I laughed to myself as I walked home, observing the Parisians attempting to avoid icy patches is pretty amusing. Parisians generally look like they could never lose their cool, but ice pushes them dangerously close to it!</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Such grace</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFSqOdvPm9q9iW7HVVtoRnez-v9PgwDr9OikfTkjILykC3FO-q_wf6597JqPYTbjTAnXuL2-qplx0fxRvTiZxlH0jDhKok1MnV4X6_yv-2glZ1_NPd2oDhFGzIP6L8BjEvfer5EANv6Y_/s1600/IMG_0660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFSqOdvPm9q9iW7HVVtoRnez-v9PgwDr9OikfTkjILykC3FO-q_wf6597JqPYTbjTAnXuL2-qplx0fxRvTiZxlH0jDhKok1MnV4X6_yv-2glZ1_NPd2oDhFGzIP6L8BjEvfer5EANv6Y_/s320/IMG_0660.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slushy Parisian streets</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This week is my second-to-last week at work. Seven weeks is such a relatively short amount of time to be working somewhere - I feel as though I'm just settling in, and now it's time to leave! The experience is still great though, I don't regret choosing the internship program for a moment. I'll be oh so glad to return to my normal schedule next semester, however, where the earliest wake up call is 9am and the concept of class on Fridays remains foreign to me. I got some great news this week -- my three closest friends and I have succesfully landed an on-campus apartment ... In the same building as our friends who remained on campus this semester! The chances of us even getting an apartment together were slim, but to be placed on the same floor as the rest of the girls was a one-in-a-million. Thank you, Villanova ResLife, for pulling through finally. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm allowing myself to think of things I'm looking forward to about home. Such as seeing my sister, who at this very moment is flying home from South Africa; living within a quarter mile radius of my nine closest friends comes in a close second; my birthday, which is just over a month away, will also help to ease any post-Paris depression I expect to battle. Thinking about these things make leaving a bit easier, but I try not to focus on them. Instead, for now, I want to focus on enjoying the things I will miss most. These include, but are not limited to:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">– </span>Warm <i>pain au chocolats</i> that make my frosty early morning commute more bearable.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKc64yYMh987RzmkR8vclj-e2wffLg5QLmwwj7bjrzyDMHJJHziA5HQiDNSjuDk-cB7ZwZrRX-IRGfRanxvoMCvameIVaSnhHqvCChOxTXf5ItB3Zw9G1YiEYUhgUsHAGEcZFyz1aC81IK/s1600/IMG_0642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKc64yYMh987RzmkR8vclj-e2wffLg5QLmwwj7bjrzyDMHJJHziA5HQiDNSjuDk-cB7ZwZrRX-IRGfRanxvoMCvameIVaSnhHqvCChOxTXf5ItB3Zw9G1YiEYUhgUsHAGEcZFyz1aC81IK/s320/IMG_0642.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">– </span>Spotting the Eiffel tower around street corners and peeking from behind gorgeous apartment buildings.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">– The truly bizarre and inexplicable events I come across from time to time, suc</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">h </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">musicians dressed in orange which I stumbled upon outside the Opéra Garnier.</span></b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_FsrNxgfTsKBcpxmSarBT5W0NQnpH92Yz0bebLbHZ4DUArNevEXFAdV0lmQ7dlQQW6YfrZXUjzxGhb8JmgvRWOerKEh7nmG2wSr0FRWqzGl5pROUK7k4iNJKJ-sSJF3u7kbPb_Ycj0pE/s1600/IMG_0624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_FsrNxgfTsKBcpxmSarBT5W0NQnpH92Yz0bebLbHZ4DUArNevEXFAdV0lmQ7dlQQW6YfrZXUjzxGhb8JmgvRWOerKEh7nmG2wSr0FRWqzGl5pROUK7k4iNJKJ-sSJF3u7kbPb_Ycj0pE/s320/IMG_0624.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">– </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">My host parents' endearing bewilderment at my habitual fried egg on toast each morning (as they are content with their bowls of tea)</span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">– </span>These delicious cocktails from my favorite bar, whose name I will never disclose. If you are lucky enough to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">b</span>e in Paris, stumbling upon it yourself is half the fun.</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUHq3ixF06TVFW-xh6ApHASVeO9dv3rScXkMBFsUfUZw-MnkQpqzSWqcPelqnjhR7TJvVrApw46E6idJuWduM5uMJAl5wLV3Qm5ElSVekrsJaH7I-bgKeI6Lrs8GcCGtJo0-DmeciIl4d/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUHq3ixF06TVFW-xh6ApHASVeO9dv3rScXkMBFsUfUZw-MnkQpqzSWqcPelqnjhR7TJvVrApw46E6idJuWduM5uMJAl5wLV3Qm5ElSVekrsJaH7I-bgKeI6Lrs8GcCGtJo0-DmeciIl4d/s320/IMG_0655.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TP_EQQ3wjWI/AAAAAAAAHYY/Lp_tpGMCgNM/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span><b><span style="line-height: 17px;">– </span>Greeting my friends... and friends-of-friends... and friends-of-friends-of-friends... <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9m0OEpE0z8">with kisses</a> (Even if you don't speak French, watch this video! It's cute and funny!)</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 17px;">– </span>The cheery <i>bonjour, et bonne journée!</i> that follows me each day to work from the woman who lives outside the Franprix on my corner.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I expect my next entry will include more of this list, because things pop into my head every moment of every day. Upon receiving an e-mail from the BU Program coordinator about end-of-semester procedures and general leaving Paris information, I actually caught myself shedding a tear or two. It's not time to cry yet, though. Now it's time to enjoy my last remaining ten days. Sleep, after tonight, is not a priority at the moment. Instead, I'm intent on using every possible moment to take in the glorious sights and smells of this incredible city. It is, of course, obvious -- but I only get to be a student in Paris once! I want to enjoy every single one of my remaining moments of what has been one of the most incredible and life-changing undertakings. Generally, people save the best for last. Let's see if Paris will do the same. xo</span><br />
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</div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-44217325912705341512010-11-29T21:18:00.003+01:002010-11-29T21:30:36.544+01:00Live on Coffee and Flowers.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Paris is cold. Officially. Despite the fact that Parisians of all shapes and sizes have been bundling up since the beginning of September (as far as they're concerned, back to school/back to work also means back to winter), it has officially become necessary to keep one's face half-hidden beneath a huge knit scarf. Worse still, it is occasionally required that one wears leggings under one's jeans -- a look that is both unflattering AND uncomfortable... But warm, all the same.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQMj99pGdI/AAAAAAAAHYQ/O0KL3KhJ55c/s1600/2010-11-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQMj99pGdI/AAAAAAAAHYQ/O0KL3KhJ55c/s320/2010-11-28.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">I took these photos at the Canal St Martin using<br />
a new iPhone app. Not sure how I feel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQD118j0hI/AAAAAAAAHXs/qNZ3fJ6tLSM/s1600/IMG_0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQD118j0hI/AAAAAAAAHXs/qNZ3fJ6tLSM/s320/IMG_0607.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">My first glimpse of snow in Paris, from my office window.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Paris is also ready for Christmas. Over the past ten days, Christmas has been unveiling itself in the streets, little by little. Considering that this is generally acknowledged to be one of the more attractive cities in the world, Christmastime in Paris is <i>magnifique</i>. The Champs-Elysées is hosting an adorable Christmas market, where I've already spent too much time and money (I can't say no to hot wine and churros...). The lights are gorgeous, and they give me little butterflies - both because they make me love Paris even more than before, and because they remind me that Christmas, and my reunion with my family, is just around the bend.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQEL4TJosI/AAAAAAAAHXw/tdZ9L_JZELE/s1600/DSCF6027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQEL4TJosI/AAAAAAAAHXw/tdZ9L_JZELE/s320/DSCF6027.JPG" width="320" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Champs-Elysées at night</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQEqDynE_I/AAAAAAAAHX0/Rx0ExR4Sbck/s1600/DSCF5921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQEqDynE_I/AAAAAAAAHX0/Rx0ExR4Sbck/s320/DSCF5921.JPG" width="320" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Christmas display at Galeries Lafayette department store</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've been fortunate though, and haven't been short of familiar faces of late. My little sister, who is seventeen and fabulous, was in Paris last week for five days. Her visit overlapped slightly with the visit of two good friends from Villanova. The four of us even got to climb the Eiffel tower, on a beautifully clear day - something I always enjoy, no matter how out of breath it makes me! Unfortunately, I still had to work while Meg was here. We met up for lunch every day, sampling the finest of French cuisine (read: Eating tuna sandwiches sitting inside a mall), and saw each other after work as I stayed with her at a tiny budget hotel in the 13th. It was so nice to have her -- my two sisters are the two people around whom I feel the most comfortable, and so needless to say it was a pleasure to be with Meg. Only 19 days until the three of us are together again!</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Having my baby sister here in Paris with me was a great time. Better still, during her stay we got to see The National in concert at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_Olympia">Paris Olympia</a>. The National, as you might know, is my very favorite band. I was lucky enough to see them play in June in Philadelphia, and when I learned they'd be playing in Paris I jumped at the opportunity to see them again. They really are phenomenal - if you're not familiar and you're curious, check out their website <a href="http://www.americanmary.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. The venue was great, their setlist was incredible, and I got to see them with my little sister! What more could I have asked for? Maybe I could have asked for the lead singer to come down into the crowd, and stand <i>right</i> next to me while he sang. But oh wait! I got that too.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQE9rxJdhI/AAAAAAAAHX4/73WKljr9gao/s1600/DSCF5903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQE9rxJdhI/AAAAAAAAHX4/73WKljr9gao/s320/DSCF5903.JPG" width="320" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">View from the halfway point</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQFc4oVrgI/AAAAAAAAHX8/k6GJR68w9ns/s1600/IMG_0581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQFc4oVrgI/AAAAAAAAHX8/k6GJR68w9ns/s320/IMG_0581.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQF1hyGdlI/AAAAAAAAHYA/fJQ8wE0Y1Ag/s1600/DSCF6014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQF1hyGdlI/AAAAAAAAHYA/fJQ8wE0Y1Ag/s320/DSCF6014.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Last Thursday, Megan and I had a busy day and managed to cross a few things off my Paris must-see list. The most notable of these was our trip inside the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Op%C3%A9ra_Garnier" target="_blank">Palais Garnier</a>! I've been awestruck each time I pass the Opera house from the street, but to go inside was a different level of awesome altogether. Gilded wall moldings, marble floors, chandeliers at every opportunity -- to imagine how it must have burst with energy in its heyday was <i>vraiment</i> enchanting. It's not hard to imagine how Gaston Leroux found inspiration to write his famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Phantom_of_the_Opera" target="_blank">novel</a>. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQNE7DwSiI/AAAAAAAAHYU/AbqiSm8P4Fk/s1600/DSCF6051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQNE7DwSiI/AAAAAAAAHYU/AbqiSm8P4Fk/s320/DSCF6051.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine this filled with gorgeous dresses etc.? Ah!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQGRgiskyI/AAAAAAAAHYE/uJRSgYYBuA0/s1600/DSCF6053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQGRgiskyI/AAAAAAAAHYE/uJRSgYYBuA0/s320/DSCF6053.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQGjy89wmI/AAAAAAAAHYI/SnQPzWCLb1Q/s1600/DSCF6080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQGjy89wmI/AAAAAAAAHYI/SnQPzWCLb1Q/s320/DSCF6080.JPG" width="240" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.laduree.fr/">Always worth every penny.</a></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I woke up this morning to a dusting of snow -- not the first snow I've had in Paris, but waking up and realizing the world has been blanketed overnight is always a magical feeling. This week, the remainder of the Christmas decorations and festivities are due to start. I look forward to seeing as many of them as I can -- Who knows the next time I'll get to be in Paris around Christmastime?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQH5OF7_qI/AAAAAAAAHYM/oyA3-WWJC4k/s1600/IMG_0640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TPQH5OF7_qI/AAAAAAAAHYM/oyA3-WWJC4k/s320/IMG_0640.JPG" width="240" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">My snowy walk to work this morning.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With less than three weeks to go, my stomach is tied in anxious knots. I am, of course, looking forward to home and all the things it brings with it (my two precious cats, my two not-so-precious sisters, and lots of home-cooked food!), but I am also experiencing a bit of stress about how little time remains to me. Three weeks from today, I will be back in Pennsylvania. It all sounds so terribly boring to me, at the moment. Keeping this in mind, I've realized that it is most definitely time to panic and do as many Parisian things as I possibly can in the time that remains. It's crunch time, <i>chers amis. </i>While my friends at home begin thinking about cramming for finals, I'm preparing for a different sort of cramming altogether. I think I may have gotten the better end of the deal, but that can be decided after December 18...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">While the wind whistles outside my window in the 11th <i>arrondissement</i>, I have three wonderful suggestions to lift your spirits (and mine too!). I know that the weather has been nothing short of frightful all over the world (though when I called my good friend in Ghana yesterday, she was wearing a tank top and shorts on her balcony...). Rather than letting the gloomy weather bring you down, why not listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69ptYXvUo7M">this catchy French song</a>? It might just lift your spirits. If that doesn't do the trick, then<a href="http://jsinparis.blogspot.com/"> this blog's</a> wonderful pictures might be what you need. Still feeling blue? Try one or two of these <a href="http://ballsinyourcoffee.blogspot.com/">hilarious stories.</a> I'm almost sure the combination of these three will do wonders for your mood. If not, go and buy yourself a warm baguette from the local boulangerie - works for me every time. <i>A bientot </i>xo!</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<span id="goog_435404875"></span><span id="goog_435404876"></span></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-16210869005025873562010-11-16T22:16:00.003+01:002011-11-04T02:39:03.359+01:00Come on with the rain, I've a smile on my face!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF3Maupuyf6eC780-gsUStGtamEgs9iCY6NdQFoplQdhaBXe9jHBkcFtI5VW9Hw5RqzxxIcgw2yRvsLzGCzpT_smtpS0abGCFXvnDm4Z_qFAfoXuymwcZY0Muzttk631tQtZ7tZ6JpqPh/s1600/DSCF5816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUF3Maupuyf6eC780-gsUStGtamEgs9iCY6NdQFoplQdhaBXe9jHBkcFtI5VW9Hw5RqzxxIcgw2yRvsLzGCzpT_smtpS0abGCFXvnDm4Z_qFAfoXuymwcZY0Muzttk631tQtZ7tZ6JpqPh/s320/DSCF5816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive. Yes, alive. That was the moment I fell in love with Paris. And I felt Paris fall in love with me.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i> -<b> </b></i><b>Paris, Je t'aime</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I can't tell you how many times I've started blog entries over the past ten days without finishing them. Sometimes, I've simply uploaded a photo, saved the entry ... And promptly discarded it. The truth is, I am a little short on words at the moment. For someone keeping a blog entitled <i>Cherchant le Mot Juste</i>, I'm not doing a terrific job of it. Paris leaves me speechless, that's all. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After two months of living here, I am still in awe of everything that I encounter in this incredible city. Today I sat at a café near my school, eating a <i>pain au chocolat</i> and drinking a <i>petit café</i>. Even the most mundane activity, such as sitting at a café and people watching during some precious free time, fills me with the utmost pleasure. Despite my best efforts to look and act <i>parisienne</i> most of the time, I can't help but smile when I see a man walking by eating a baguette that's tucked under his arm... Followed by a woman chewing a croissant and smoking a cigarette ... Followed by a child with chocolate smeared all over his happy little French face. Scenes like these are what I will miss most.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps I'm wrong about that though. Perhaps what I'll miss most is turning off my computer every night, bidding <i>bon soirée</i> to my coworker and to my boss, and turning the corner away from my office to the banks of the Seine, the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower catching my eye as I rush to board the metro. I pinch myself during moments like these, which occur more frequently than I can believe.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqnzEBii8nPUmP085Ec1XfBrVh1Skq5xyZv6PHqPlk2zl48KCo5PaXNU7HZbGo1-igDEaVU7g9u3gn4Ce9TeujZy8LBHSzJ7llvD-czPKx8vGakC00j42fT6bo6teX7saZURxMskAC1B4/s1600/DSCF5887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqnzEBii8nPUmP085Ec1XfBrVh1Skq5xyZv6PHqPlk2zl48KCo5PaXNU7HZbGo1-igDEaVU7g9u3gn4Ce9TeujZy8LBHSzJ7llvD-czPKx8vGakC00j42fT6bo6teX7saZURxMskAC1B4/s320/DSCF5887.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">My rainy walk home from work on Monday night.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's time to admit to something here. It is cliché and silly, and it's almost impossible to describe. The few sentences from <i>Paris, Je t'aime</i> with which I began this entry are the most applicable I can think of, and the closest I can come to capturing the feeling I've had lately. To be brief, all I know is that the feeling that I have while I'm here is not one that can be found in the <a href="http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/8023/">Streets of Philadelphia</a>, as wonderful and comforting as they are. I'm not finished with Paris yet, and my remaining thirty-two days won't change that sentiment-- I'm certain. Taking a walk around the very wet, very rainy, and very very windy Luxembourg Gardens the other day, my heart swelled. Even at its worst, Paris is the best. Little pieces of history and art are everywhere in Paris, and a little (or a lot) of rain can't detract from the incredible value of stumbling upon these moments.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYB3Z-W8Gh9ME53WhuMRSBLaccPHFzYxqlJsPXhVM5jM0XyqHx4_yGxlNGqKtYGa4ck2MW439eSXEvFYpK0aOOWGmcqKs8diJrmgNz_4OyoORZ6oA_zfz69lMdeIRxMbUjpb3xLbqDeXBl/s1600/DSCF5796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYB3Z-W8Gh9ME53WhuMRSBLaccPHFzYxqlJsPXhVM5jM0XyqHx4_yGxlNGqKtYGa4ck2MW439eSXEvFYpK0aOOWGmcqKs8diJrmgNz_4OyoORZ6oA_zfz69lMdeIRxMbUjpb3xLbqDeXBl/s320/DSCF5796.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Just outside my apartment on one particularly blustery morning, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canal_Saint-Martin">Canal St.Martin</a>.</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEaxmPJgBDCNQaP0sPT5soPCfu8_nodvkuBiQjPPWNWjbWRhbCyTSF52I2vmAw4mmgx2IlHoMymzg1v0j4whZI_x12ENTUR-6Z_-6grP1h9m7WRQdZCkTSzppZLKSn9q-hKUT1NzFsPe_/s1600/DSCF5874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEaxmPJgBDCNQaP0sPT5soPCfu8_nodvkuBiQjPPWNWjbWRhbCyTSF52I2vmAw4mmgx2IlHoMymzg1v0j4whZI_x12ENTUR-6Z_-6grP1h9m7WRQdZCkTSzppZLKSn9q-hKUT1NzFsPe_/s320/DSCF5874.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Tuileries Gardens</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYd4zwLZDoDemtg6rQMyFNdL7heJIcCsUijIymSH9-6_SWD-EGlVENXhC9suBMqkF_rFvbZtgQ0QFkw3sfeO6MkmujTv4PhvsoFDcE7hkivU355K7C401Z72mOprGqCAd_9uUDOtFyHnpT/s1600/DSCF5806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYd4zwLZDoDemtg6rQMyFNdL7heJIcCsUijIymSH9-6_SWD-EGlVENXhC9suBMqkF_rFvbZtgQ0QFkw3sfeO6MkmujTv4PhvsoFDcE7hkivU355K7C401Z72mOprGqCAd_9uUDOtFyHnpT/s320/DSCF5806.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Palais du Luxembourg, the seat of the Senate</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Enough dreamy reflection. I was fortunate enough to have a wonderful visit from my mother this past weekend. A seasoned Parisian tourist, she was content to sit on café sidewalks and walk through the rainy streets for as long as it took for us to catch up. There are some things that Paris doesn't offer me, and the comforts of home and family make up a huge portion of that. We talked, we ate, and we ate. It was so nice to see her in real life, rather than the rather grainy Skype-y image that I've become so used to.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQff2QvatD_WftIE_Lb8TQ4PJqB_BFlSgDiEuBuJYu_IcBSFKqe1AucijDAATAL9CTxLhEY6N35sdoNK18Z68HWZRlKq_f_MQ8cqHyiCEfWvbLr0UB6F7D0mCfGpUYQ3QQGZEuEWUtSKB/s1600/DSCF5884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQff2QvatD_WftIE_Lb8TQ4PJqB_BFlSgDiEuBuJYu_IcBSFKqe1AucijDAATAL9CTxLhEY6N35sdoNK18Z68HWZRlKq_f_MQ8cqHyiCEfWvbLr0UB6F7D0mCfGpUYQ3QQGZEuEWUtSKB/s320/DSCF5884.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Quelle parisienne!</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPFE9EqwNec-sbLDShp2Xgo4fnEB1J83Q0HXCTyXe9JuilfHLwOBiD1l1ohMG3nnIMDgbiXDm0xI-EzzJbQj6buBwwlqFGtOWbT2IjEShZHeuih7nFr6D4dUAbBWUwT_OkK4LuiEZfEke/s1600/DSCF5869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPFE9EqwNec-sbLDShp2Xgo4fnEB1J83Q0HXCTyXe9JuilfHLwOBiD1l1ohMG3nnIMDgbiXDm0xI-EzzJbQj6buBwwlqFGtOWbT2IjEShZHeuih7nFr6D4dUAbBWUwT_OkK4LuiEZfEke/s320/DSCF5869.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Windy rainy day outside the Louvre.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As you may have guessed from the rain in every single picture posted, the weather in Paris has been atrocious- Today was the first time it was really sunny in more than eight days. My mother was a trooper however, like the true Irishwoman she is she braved the horrible rainy wind all the way from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe. Bravo, <i>maman</i>. She is now nestled away at <a href="http://loire-cottage.com/">our house</a> in the Loire valley, where she will shortly be joined by her sister, and then my sister next week.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of my sister, my fabulous ginger-haired seventeen year old sister is coming to paris oh-so-soon! Finished with her college applications (I have never felt more old), she arrives in Paris on Saturday morning. I am so excited to be silly with her like only sisters can, though I know that we will both be missing our older sister Sinéad. Sinéad returns home <a href="http://sineadinsa.blogspot.com/">from South Africa</a> in a matter of weeks, which is incredible since she's been there for the year. Seeing Megan this weekend will make me a million times more excited for Christmas, when all five members of my family will be together again at last (aw).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My job, incidentally, is fabulous. It is a dream come true. I'm getting some really great experience, I'm speaking French, and I can see the Eiffel tower from the office window. The work can be really challenging, but my boss is really kind and eager to help me-- you'll be glad to hear I'm not stuck in a Devil-Wears-Prada-boss-from-hell scenario. Though she probably does wear Prada. After two weeks at work, my fingers are thoroughly confused, as they are now bilingual and can use French OR American keyboards ... They just can't really keep them straight. There is only one other girl in the office with me, and she has been so friendly and kind to me. She even invited me to a soirée at her friends' apartment last week! It was a fantastic night, and though I was by far the youngest, with the closest in age being 28, her friends were incredibly warm and welcoming. It was a night I won't soon forget. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With visits from my nearest and dearest coming from the States, Europe, and even from Africa over the next 5 weeks, I know that time will fly. But I know also that no matter how quickly or slowly time goes, I will still board that plane in 32 days feeling like a piece of me is staying behind. And do you know what the very best part about that is, <i>mes chers amis?</i> That only means that I will have to come back to retrieve it, some day. xo</span><br />
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</span></div></div></div></div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-41422189402347457782010-11-01T22:45:00.003+01:002011-11-04T02:30:36.711+01:00Forty-Seven Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>My stomach feels funny when I think about how few weeks I have left. Rather than reading a long rambling post about about how unsettled that fact makes me feel, how would you like to hear about my holiday?<br />
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Last Friday I officially finished the academic half of my program here in Paris. Unfortunately, all three of my finals were on the same day. Fortunately, they were not too horrible. I shudder to think of the mistakes I made on my grammar exam, and chuckle a bit when I imagine how horribly I confused the names of some paintings on my Art History final, but overall I think they went well. Friday night, my last night in Paris, I managed to accomplish nothing that I wanted to. I had big plans of picnicking beneath the Eiffel Tower and blabbing on about how much I would miss it... instead, my friend Becca and I made dinner here at home, opened some red wine, and then traveled around aimlessly on the Métro. Though I didn't see the Eiffel Tower, I did manage to happen upon the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opera_Garnier">Opéra Garnier</a> all lit up and splendid. It was a surprise encounter and a reminder of how many beautiful things are hiding around the corner in this city. Not a bad way to leave Paris.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot the Phantom of the Opera?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>I left on Saturday afternoon and flew into Dublin. Though it was a whirlwind visit, I felt the same immediate comfort and sense of home that I experience each time I return to Ireland. Though I've lived in America the longest, I will be the most connected to Ireland for the rest of my life. It's my home, it's where I come from, and it's the place I will always feel welcome and complete. Philadelphia is wonderful, and of course Paris is an incredible place to live as well, but Dublin is <i>home</i>. I spent my time with family, eating delicious food (fish and chips are best in Ireland, I don't care what anyone says!), drinking tea, and catching up. I happened upon the Dublin marathon when I spent my last full day in town, and it was such an exhilarating thing to witness! I watched so many runners crossing the finish line, and heard all the Dubliners cheering them on though they didn't even know them. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry. I'm not sure why I felt so emotional, to be honest. Something about seeing people accomplish something that impressive combined with watching the support and excitement of the crowd was really moving. After drying my tears, a little embarrassedly, I met up with some old family friends. We shared a delicious lunch and caught up, and it was lovely to spend time laughing with three very silly sisters. It made me think of my own, and how glad I am that our reunion is so soon! </div><div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the finish line of the marathon!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright winter sun in Dun Laoghaire.</td></tr>
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<div>From Ireland, I headed to Seville for a dramatically different climate! I landed in Seville airport and suddenly remembered that I don't speak a word of Spanish. Well, OK, I remembered that I only speak about ten words of Spanish. It was so strange to realize that I was almost completely unable to communicate myself in even the most basic situations. A few times I awkwardly defaulted to speaking French, which earned me some confused Spanish facial expressions. I was visiting my roommate from Villanova in Spain, and it was so great to reattach ourselves at the hip. Cara had class while I was in Seville, but I stayed at a hostel and was able to walk around by myself a little bit. I visited the bull fighting ring and wandered the streets, taking in all the awesome architecture... and of course, the summery weather!</div><div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza del Torros... Just look at that blue sky!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorky, but I'm alright with it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reunited and it feels so good.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alc%C3%A1zar_of_Seville">Alcázar</a> , so beautiful. </td></tr>
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<div>My time in Seville was regrettably short. I wish I had had more time to do really nerdy things like pay 6E for a 40 minute guided tour of the bull fighting ring, and take a ride on an open top tourist bus. On my third night in town, Cara and I spent the night with other Villanova students studying in Seville for the semester. It was so nice to be back in the company of Villanovans! Maybe that sounds weird, but it's a comfort thing and I was really glad to be able to say things like "I wish I had an omelette from the pit right now..." without getting strange looks. After several too-late nights, Cara and I dragged our sorry selves out of bed bright and early on Friday morning to jetset to Londontown. We flew first to Portugal, and it was honestly the worst flight I've ever experienced. Sitting in a tiny plane being tossed around in some dreadful storms is never an experience one looks forward to. After a short layover in Portugal, where I spent most of my time marveling at the unfamiliar sounds of Portuguese (and eating cheese...), we finally touched down in London and searched out the EasyBus shuttle which would take us to center city.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Even RyanAir passengers welcome!"<br />
Why do people think Brits have strange senses of humo(u)r?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>We arrived, after a quick stop for falafel, at the apartment building where several of our Villanova friends live. It was, once more, so nice to be surrounded by Villanovans! A little taste of home, even in London. It was great to see London again as well. It was a totally different visiting experience than I'd had before, because I didn't do a single touristy thing... But I think that's alright, since I've seen them before and I would rather spend time in a bedroom catching up with friends than stand in line for expensive things that I've already done. I hope that's a good reason. For me, it was exactly what I needed. Some time to speak a lot of English and laugh until my stomach hurt.<br />
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</div><div>The trip to London got a little less great, however, on Friday night when I fell hard onto my left shoulder. It hurt right away, but by the next morning was so painful and swollen that I decided to go to the hospital. My two wonderful and patient friends came with me, and after searching for 2 hours and trying three (yes, three) different hospitals, I found myself filling out a form in the emergency room of Chelsea Westminster Hospital. After a two hour wait and a tearful phonecall to my mother, my aunt who lives only a half an hour away appeared at the hospital door. The wait was long but the visit itself was quick, a few x-rays and painful proddings revealed that I've managed to tear some shoulder ligaments. The good news is I don't need surgery or anything... The bad news is I'm in a lot of pain, and can't move my arm much at all, and there is not much to be done about it. </div><div>I was happy to get back to Paris, though that doesn't mean any part of my vacation was bad. I felt comforted when I heard French immediately upon entering the Eurostar terminal of St. Pancras train station, and was almost glad to get rudely shoved aside in the Métro. My time away from Paris has made me love it all the more. Though each city I visited was wonderful in its own right, for me Paris is where I want to be right now. I took a long walk by myself around the city today, and actually grinned when I saw the Eiffel Tower appear around a corner. My heart feels lighter when I look around me in a Parisian street, there is so much beauty and romance to embrace that it's almost impossible to ever feel too gloomy. I may have left my glasses in Ireland, my phone charger in England, and messed up my shoulder pretty seriously... But I still couldn't be happier to be in Paris. </div></div></div><div>Tomorrow is my first day at work! I'm dreadfully nervous, but also excited. I don't speak English legal jargon, so I hope that I'm not expected to speak it in French! First days are always challenging, but I know that this job is an incredible opportunity and I can't wait to see what it offers me. I have packed my lunch and set out my outfit, and I have factored in enough time in the morning for eggs and toast, so I am feeling about as prepared as I can be.</div><div>With only forty-seven days left in Paris, I'm making lists right and left of things to do before I go (and promptly losing all of them). I have several fabulous visitors coming in the next seven weeks, and I feel so happy when I think about showing them around my city. That is all in the future however, and the most important thing to do now is live in the moment. <br />
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And, well, this moment is <i>marveilleux, chers amis.</i> xo</div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-61854569395224080672010-10-18T10:08:00.005+02:002011-11-04T02:23:29.860+01:00Grèves & Gastronomie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>France is on the verge of imploding, or at the very least that how it seems to me at present. Aside from constant terrorism threats resulting in evacuation of popular areas in the city, the French are currently infuriated at the proposed amendments to the laws concerning national retirement age. The French president, M. Sarkozy, has proposed changing the retirement age in France from 60 to 62, and the French people are not pleased. Strikes (<i>grèves</i>, in French) are occurring all over the country, in various sectors. High schoolers, college students, and of course those approaching retirement age have been turning out in the streets <i>en masse</i>, attempting to change Sarkozy's mind. Not only does this mean that I keep running into demonstrations at the most inconvenient times, but the reverberations of the strike are being felt on many levels. Students are blockading their high schools and universities, the metro here in Paris has been running inconsistently, national train services have been interrupted, and major oil refineries are closed. Oil refineries is the biggest bummer, currently, as my planned vacation beginning on Saturday is dependent upon the planes at Charles de Gaulle having enough fuel to fly... I'm glad to experience this part of French culture, <i>bien sur</i>, but if the strike means that I won't be able to go home to Ireland on Saturday afternoon as planned, I am going to be a very unhappy camper.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huge demonstration at the Place de la Bastille... Reminiscent of the <a href="http://cherchantlemotjuste.blogspot.com/2010/10/techno-parade-internship-some-macarons.html">techno parade</a>!</td></tr>
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<i>Grèves</i> aside, this coming week is my last week of classes at BU, which means I have final exams on Friday. It's incredible to think that the halfway point is already upon me, but more than being incredible it's really pretty scary. I feel like I need to kick my <i>derrière</i> into high gear, so I don't fly home with any "I wish I'd done..." thoughts floating through my head!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adorable French kids racing around a mini track beneath the Eiffel Tower.<br />
Aren't the leaves pretty?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The other evening I left my apartment after having spent the whole day in its cozy confines, surrounded by tissues and vitamin C pills, and I walked north towards the <a href="http://www.belleville-village.com/">Belleville</a> neighborhood. I was keen to do a bit of discovering, as time is slipping so quickly away. Belleville was interesting- it had a totally different vibe from the rest of the city. After finding an awesome gift that I plan to send to my sister Sinéad, I was feeling pretty happy with myself. On top of the satisfaction of happening upon the perfect present, I was lucky enough to pick up a piping hot baguette from my <i>boulangerie</i> on the way home -- and, just because I was feeling just a bit sorry for my sneezy self, a <i>tartelette aux framboises</i>. It was more delicious than I could ever have imagined. At times like this I feel particularly convinced that the best parts about life in Paris are the small things- hot baguettes and perfectly sweet desserts not excluded.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This blurry iPhone photo doesn't begin to serve justice to this deliciousness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I spent the past weekend in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rouen">Rouen</a>, a city in Normandy. It was a glorious change of pace from Paris, it felt like a small town though it's really fairly sizeable. The best part was experiencing a food festival that lasted the duration of my visit- Streets overflowing with vendors willing to give free samples of traditional cuisine from Normandy. Lots of seafood, honey, cheese, jam and <i>foie gras</i>... (I'd be lying if I said I didn't sneak a bite or two of <i>foie gras</i>... Shh!) It was really an awesome time to be in Rouen. The city was chilly, but we bravely tromped through several intense rain storms yesterday and we faced harsh winds all day today, visiting the famous Cathedral and the spot where Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the stake. The spot, by the way, is a huge pile of dirt with a tiny commemorative sign. Bizarrely understated.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pain des épices</i>, jam, honey.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xsgjvTQrpL97XQuswlq4ncsIhsmzpB0OZHBtx5w6QqD0mBtg5N4X-PylGZdx77JTBRCB3KxT6JX30lqfgvBEPU4ZNoeHK8E5fy4ew7MMzWXjMtB631iyiU3EPT6YIVxLgEMnbs8h00Cj/s1600/DSCF5288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xsgjvTQrpL97XQuswlq4ncsIhsmzpB0OZHBtx5w6QqD0mBtg5N4X-PylGZdx77JTBRCB3KxT6JX30lqfgvBEPU4ZNoeHK8E5fy4ew7MMzWXjMtB631iyiU3EPT6YIVxLgEMnbs8h00Cj/s320/DSCF5288.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside of the old abbey in Rouen</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5YK0I1vUy2VhyOaqwtCmEnnuhrJn46TVpf-jN8RZTBLLGcmdMCumORbBVRBLTftIDdTPgLYA6KKeU7N09k5yEL-LyGrM2n7A1OTiLBaw_MBQ4lwkIU8OhgTtBqxi11JjsL7D_wSi2XmJ/s1600/DSCF5341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5YK0I1vUy2VhyOaqwtCmEnnuhrJn46TVpf-jN8RZTBLLGcmdMCumORbBVRBLTftIDdTPgLYA6KKeU7N09k5yEL-LyGrM2n7A1OTiLBaw_MBQ4lwkIU8OhgTtBqxi11JjsL7D_wSi2XmJ/s320/DSCF5341.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Andouillette </i>sausage cooked in cider with onions.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been trying my hardest to fight off an approaching cold. Aside from the general woes this brings, I've been struggling with the difficulties of blowing my nose with its new piercing! Not the best timing for a cold. On top of the approaching sickness, I've been sleeping horrendously. My sleep pattern has been frequently interrupted since I've been here; I'll attribute it to a combination of my silly decisions to stay out far too late and the still unfamiliar noises of Paris at night. (Read: Michael Jackson's greatest hits randomly floating through the air on a Thursday night) It's nothing too concerning, it's more just an irritation. I think there is nothing worse than lying awake at 4 in the morning feeling utterly convinced you will never sleep again!<br />
Though I will be sad to leave Paris this coming Saturday, I'm looking forward to some vacation time. I'll be in Ireland, Spain, and England. Lots of family and friend time, which I think I'll be needing especially after this upcoming week at school. Two months from tomorrow, I will be meeting my family at Philadelphia airport, for what will probably be a very tearful reunion. I'm looking forward to the day, as I miss them each intensely, but I'm sad to see my time slip so quickly. I can tell already that this is one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Halfway over already? That hardly seems fair! But <i>ne vous inquiétez pas</i>, chéris. I plan to make the most of it. xo</div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-218458778688974712010-10-08T12:52:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:52:40.981+02:00Bon Weekend!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I decided last weekend that I was going to get my nose pierced. It's something I'd wanted to do since high school, but I was always told it was not allowed while I lived under my mother's roof. My sister Sinéad beat me to it by getting hers done just before she left for <a href="http://sineadinsa.blogspot.com/">South Africa</a>, so now I look like a copy cat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did it, nevertheless. On Tuesday night, I walked into a kind of intimidating tattoo/piercing salon where I felt like everyone was wondering why I was there. The guy who pierced me, Olivier, was really nice though, and explained everything in nice clear slow language so that I could be sure to understand everything. Ten minutes later, I emerged from <i>Tribal Act</i> (that is seriously what it's called) a pierced hoodlum.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It is a tiny stud, but it's there. This picture is awkward.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This semester is a big one for me, I'm finding. Already, I can feel that it's contributed to tremendous self-growth and discovery, which sounds really cliché but is entirely true. I was in a strange place before I left, with lots of mixed emotions about leaving my friends and family. Now, however, I've remembered why I'm here (because it is the most gorgeous place in the world and I'm unbelievably lucky to be allowed 4 months here!) and what I want to accomplish during my time in Paris. And, as an added bonus... I have a hole in my right nostril!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did something else completely new for me this week, as well. On Monday, I was walking around the Marais when I decided to sit down and have a nice two course meal... By myself. At first I felt horribly self-conscious, certain that everyone was judging me for being alone and that everyone cared so much. Then I remembered... No one cares, at all. I enjoyed a delicious salad and quiche, and then a <i>petit expresso</i>... Eating alone is delicious and absolutely underrated. I didn't have to talk to anyone; instead I was free to people-watch to my heart's content and enjoy my fantastic meal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salad with <i>roulades d'aubergine </i>and goat's cheese</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9LitF9e-F1r_hx3do9F3Lkr2k2PIIMDhi3quGzelr0L-lNLWj3vHPY_pkYIgUc8pxbfW9Ly7JXgwb3qazQ-EEEtTz4RKKCNEZc1bf0lPKjltaL7b3sivQoiBj61llcmRK3km-5S8Ad63/s1600/IMG_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9LitF9e-F1r_hx3do9F3Lkr2k2PIIMDhi3quGzelr0L-lNLWj3vHPY_pkYIgUc8pxbfW9Ly7JXgwb3qazQ-EEEtTz4RKKCNEZc1bf0lPKjltaL7b3sivQoiBj61llcmRK3km-5S8Ad63/s320/IMG_0433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This weekend in Paris is gorgeous, the sun is shining and its 70 degrees. Today I am headed to the BU Center for a meeting or two, and then to the Musée du Chocolat... A mandatory class trip which I hear involves eating a lot of chocolate. (Sometimes, I can't believe that my life here is real.) Tomorrow is the <a href="http://www.theparistraveler.com/2007/10/fete-des-vendanges-de-montmartre/">Fete de Vendages </a>in Montmartre, which sounds promising. Villanova's course registration for next semester is looming ever closer, I keep getting e-mails about it which serve as a reminder that my time here is almost halfway through. But for now, I can't wait to see what this weekend holds. I hope you all have marvelous plans, and if you have nothing better to do... Come to Paris!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bon weekend, chers amis xo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span id="goog_624279306"></span><span id="goog_624279307"></span></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-79131534928020814132010-10-03T20:44:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:48:34.901+02:00A Techno Parade, An Internship, & Some Macarons.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>If there is, by any slim chance, anyone who has been waiting with bated breath for my latest update-- I owe you a big fat apology. It's been almost two weeks since I've written, and that simply won't do since I'd promised myself I would try to blog once a week. It's just that I'm just a tiny bit lazy, and it seems a lot easier to put off updating rather than just sitting down and doing it. So now, here I am, sitting down and... well, doing it.<br />
To beat a dead horse completely and thoroughly, I can't believe how quickly my time is disappearing. I have only three weeks of classes left, an event which marks the halfway point of my semester. It's unbelievable to think that I'm almost halfway finished here, I can already sense how unready and heartbroken I will be to leave on December 18.<br />
Big things have been happening in my neck of the woods, I'm pleased to report. I had an interview on last Monday morning with my potential internship <i>maitresse</i>. I traveled to Trocadero, biting my nails the whole way as I thought about what was to come. My interview was to intern at a small international law firm located just across the river from the Eiffel tower (the commute involves traveling by metro over a bridge, where I can casually take in a stupendous view of the tower and river). The firm deals mainly with business law but also has some cases involving tax law and medical malpractice. The only thing of all of these that was familiar was tax law- thanks to my time at the Villanova Law Clinic I've spent more time on the United States IRS website than I care to admit to, so I have some kind of experience in tax law. <br />
Anyway, after awkwardly waiting on a bench in the rain for twenty minutes, I met my <i>maitresse</i> and we had our interview. The woman is lovely, the office is gorgeous- Just two or three rooms with two people working quietly. The best news, however, is that the interview was a success, and I've consequently signed my <i>convocation</i> to begin interning with the law firm on November 2. I'm thrilled, and I would be giving you more concrete information with links to websites and all I'm just not sure how much I'm allowed to talk about it. Rest assured, <i>chers amis</i>, that it is a fantastic opportunity in a gorgeous location with a lovely <i>maitresse</i>. I'm looking forward to starting in November, I can't wait to see what I'll learn from my time as an intern.<br />
Now that my big news has been told, I can get to the interesting and fun stuff. Last Saturday my friends and I headed over to the left bank in search of something we'd heard of called a Techno Parade. I didn't really know what it was, but it sounded like something I could get into so I donned my finest tie-dye tshirt and set off with a big group of friends to see what we could find. It didn't take long to hear the pounding bass and screaming fans of the Techno Parade. It was, essentially, a big huge parade of people dancing, punctuated with massive buses pumping out techno beats. We were so happy, it looked like so much fun, so we jumped on in. It was unforgettable. We danced in the streets of Paris for five hours, following the parade all the way to <i>Place de la Bastille</i> where it ended. I danced, I sang, I screamed, I climbed on bus stop shelters and hopped the fence of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:July_Column_at_Place_de_la_Bastille_-_July_2006.jpg">monument at Bastille</a>. It was one of the most adrenaline-infused and incredible experiences of my life. I don't even have the words to give it any justice at all, so I won't really try. It was just completely awesome, so exciting and such an energetic atmosphere. It was also very tiring, and I have more bruises still than I've had ever in my life-- And for those of you who realize my bruising tendencies, that is really saying something. All so worth it though, <i>vive la techno</i>!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many people!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7N6vcQUjSeyy85EJOnG7EUo02o0_Bs6DQ1vcQnalAFQ0oNt5Y0TqDgrQruAxYTTuMKdsyTeSaHuJ1u3cnVyiVc87oEZVqKZxohX5WxAT8Upgs6o1mmmCglRIsdcICSDNGl-lw3PZCgkx/s1600/DSCF4867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7N6vcQUjSeyy85EJOnG7EUo02o0_Bs6DQ1vcQnalAFQ0oNt5Y0TqDgrQruAxYTTuMKdsyTeSaHuJ1u3cnVyiVc87oEZVqKZxohX5WxAT8Upgs6o1mmmCglRIsdcICSDNGl-lw3PZCgkx/s320/DSCF4867.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't even like techno...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1-gZwpRfOdDW63CrVpLRfYKX7rroT0rr4iM9oO7-FnGslSmM5HgwEOYlc_IGrRdiHqzk3HSzAON0tpntBI2FNd0Jtj_f6XUaYAK_fRYMH0bqeyyp58_zmXkDnuqaiAqk7ZkR2tYoeB5P/s1600/DSCF4948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1-gZwpRfOdDW63CrVpLRfYKX7rroT0rr4iM9oO7-FnGslSmM5HgwEOYlc_IGrRdiHqzk3HSzAON0tpntBI2FNd0Jtj_f6XUaYAK_fRYMH0bqeyyp58_zmXkDnuqaiAqk7ZkR2tYoeB5P/s320/DSCF4948.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storming the Bastille, pt. 2. This resulted in a lot of bruises,<br />
but I'm just glad we left before the police teargassed the crowd...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I got to see my Dad twice over the past week, which was an awesome treat. He had been traveling for business in Germany and so he stopped by in Paris for the night last Friday and then again this Thursday. It was super to see him, it's so much fun to show people the little life I've created for myself here. He's by no means a Paris amateur, but it was still nice to show him what spots I like the most. We had some really fantastic meals together, too, it was such a treat to go out to restaurants and enjoy someone else's cooking. I love to cook but eating out at restaurants is a lot more relaxing! Dad's also a total language dweeb like me, so we spent a lot of time attempting to one-up each other by showing off how many useful little phrases we each know. Even though I'm the one that lives here, I think he's still got me beat. Dads always know the most, somehow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macarons and tea at <i><a href="http://www.laduree.fr/">La Durée </a></i>with Dad, yum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wine and cheese before dinner (!?) with Dad. Also yum.</td></tr>
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This past Friday I went on a field trip with my Art History class to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metz">Metz</a>, where we had a guided tour of the newly built and gorgeous <a href="http://www.centrepompidou-metz.fr/site/?lang=en">Georges Pompidou center </a>. The museum is beautiful, with some really fantastic pieces inside, but our visit was unfortunately unbearably long. It's nice to get out and about and to see some of the art work that we learn about in class, but asking thirty exhausted 20 year old American students to spend three and half hours listening to a French guided tour of modern art....? It was completely <i>fatigant</i>. The city of Metz is gorgeous, and is home to a fantastic and awe-inspiring cathedral. It was nice to be a tourist again, but I did miss Paris and was glad to return that evening, even though it was dreary and we were all exhausted. I spent a wild Friday night cooking a garlic-infused meal with my friend Becca, and was so glad to get to sleep.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>The Mona Lisa is in the stairwell."<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy optical illusion windows. Metz cathedral seems so close from this end of the room...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs004.ash2/33550_1656133806778_1340070011_3057454_1506546_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs004.ash2/33550_1656133806778_1340070011_3057454_1506546_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But once you get closer, it shrinks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Last night in Paris was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuit_Blanche">Nuit Blanche</a>. There was a lot going on in the city, with art installations all over the place and museums open to the public and things of a similar nature, but due to some sort of plan fail my group of friends got awfully separated and we didn't end up seeing any decent amount of art at all. We were all still a bit tired, I think, so staying up all night was not the best idea in the first place, in combination with the fact that we completley missed the point of Nuit Blanche. I'm kind of disappointed that we didn't get to see more stuff, because it sounds like there was some great offerings, but I guess it's only one missed opportunity and there will be plenty more later. What we did see was incredible though- a big installation on city hall which commanded in several languages <b>Love the Differences</b>. It was very cool.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs407.snc4/47031_1656134446794_1340070011_3057455_6534429_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs407.snc4/47031_1656134446794_1340070011_3057455_6534429_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love the Differences</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This week is a tough one in school, I've got a few presentations and papers which are stressing me out quite a bit. Hopefully I will get through it, one way or the other. Though I only have to get a C to get Villanova credit for the semester, my inner-nerd (my outer-nerd too!) has trouble settling for a C. I just have to keep reminding myself that there are only three weeks left of classes- That is hardly even enough time to get stressed! At the end of these three weeks I'm jet setting a little bit, visitng friends and family across Europe, so if I DO get stressed, I at least have that to look forward to. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs179.ash2/44200_1656132286740_1340070011_3057440_6017113_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs179.ash2/44200_1656132286740_1340070011_3057440_6017113_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminder to self: happiness can be as simple as good friends, bad wine, <br />
a French board game, and the Seine at night time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My host parents and housemate were gone all weekend, so it was just me and Pilou, the cat... but he hid from me all weekend, unfortunately. Kim is back now, after spending the weekend in Switzerland, and I'm still waiting for my host parents to return from their country house. I'm looking forward to having them home-- Even if it's not my house, it's nice to have the noise and energy of a family to fill this apartment. <br />
I want to try and get out and about in the city more this week, though perhaps its not the best week to try and do so. Paris feels like it's on the brink of something these days, when I step outside in the morning cold weather smells just a little bit closer every day. I can't wait for the leaves to change and fall, it will be so beautiful. Well, Paris is always beautiful, but it will be something new and different and exciting. I look forward to it immensely, and I will of course share it with you all. Until next time! xo</div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-18586019837389990312010-09-20T13:48:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:46:25.256+02:00How To Get Your iPhone Stolen & Other Parisian Tales<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hello, <i>chers amis.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> This week has been a strange one, full of ups and downs and highs and lows.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Unfortunately, the week began on a tremendously low point last Sunday. Having gathered all my books for my homework and my laptop only to discover that every café near my apartment was packed to capacity, I found myself in a quiet corner of McDonald's last Sunday afternoon, doing some work for class. (Note: though it is still inherently distasteful to be in a McDonald's in Paris, it has to be said that fast food, like most things in France, is much better here.) As I did homework, chatting away to some friends from home while I half-heartedly highlighted some facts about French politics, I had one of those gut-wrenching, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding realization moments: my iPhone had been stolen. Sitting next to my laptop on the table not ten minutes before, my dear iPhone had been taken by two very tricky beggar girls who had been bothering me a while before. By the time I realized, it was ten minutes too late. After frantically searching every fold of my clothing and re-arranging every item in my bag, it was confirmed. I went back to my apartment, tears streaming down my face the whole way, and regrouped. It was my fault, it has to be said. Over the past three (!!!) weeks I've gotten pretty good at becoming street smart; I never make eye contact with anyone on the street or metro, I zip my bag tightly shut and hold it close to my chest... It took only a single moment of lapsed judgment to learn the hard way. Leaving an iPhone on a table at a McDo in the middle of Paris in broad daylight is asking for it to be stolen, truly.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">After many many tears, a desperate phone call to McDonald's, and general moping about for a few days, I had a brief epiphany and took a shot in the dark by asking a close friend of my family if she might have kept her older model iPhone when she upgraded to the newest model recently. To my immense relief and joy, she had indeed kept her old model lying around and was more than willing to support my cause. It is times like this that it pays to sleeplessly and obsessively mull things over all through the night.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The iPhone incident really shook me, though it is now resolved, and I found myself in a pretty definitive funk at the beginning of the week. I didn't want to be in Paris anymore, though there were so many good things to enjoy, because this one bad thing had happened to me and I had let the Big Bad City get me. I wanted to be in the Connelly Center at Villanova, where I can leave my purse and laptop unattended for ten minutes without stress that they will be snatched up. More than that, however, I wanted to be back in my home with my family, where my sisters would help me laugh my tears away while my parents would implore us, “Would you PLEASE go to bed?!” It was the first time that I felt really homesick, and I had some trouble shaking it. I'm happy to report that the natural ebb and flow of homesickness has worked its magic, and since then I've had some of the happiest days I've had since arriving in Paris. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The woman at my local </span><i>boulangerie</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> recognizes me now, which is a monumental step in assimilating into French society, I think. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I set my alarm 20 minutes earlier than need be so I have time to stop into the bakery and enjoy a </span><i>pain au chocolat</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> and steaming expresso while I review my notes for class. When I've finished, I call </span><i>au revoir, merci!</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> and head to the metro, where I read the latest copy of </span><i>L'Express</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> on my way to class. This is a routine I could get used to.</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77mrIeEZl7pranvPWrbqZwD5ilSUHukgDG-gETPnG89rrUIhAl4j4BPr0CA5vsl8msTRKAzuLLpSyCjkb7oACAYH08XCU-3uNl6BhK3XOMbrnXGA1ZfkE9DplvffoM0KqNmqvMSjb6h10/s1600/DSCF4670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77mrIeEZl7pranvPWrbqZwD5ilSUHukgDG-gETPnG89rrUIhAl4j4BPr0CA5vsl8msTRKAzuLLpSyCjkb7oACAYH08XCU-3uNl6BhK3XOMbrnXGA1ZfkE9DplvffoM0KqNmqvMSjb6h10/s320/DSCF4670.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My breakfast at the bakery. These notes are hastily scribbled, so if you happen <br />
to be checking for errors I'm sure there are many...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Additionally, my friends from the BU program and I have found ourselves a few really nice young French people to hang out with. We've seen them a few times this week, and they've been great each time. It is so nice to feel accepted by people our own age here in Paris. The French are not known for their openness and receptiveness to new things and new people, but I've found that though it can be hard to initially get an “in,” once you get in it's well worthwhile. Perhaps the most challenging part about making friends in France is deciding what language to speak! Frequently, French people are just as keen to practice their English as I am to practice my French, so conversation often takes place in two languages, where I speak in halting French and they in accented English. It's funny, and a little awkward, but speaking in English to French friends seems a little counterproductive, <i>n'est-ce pas?</i></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm getting the hang of my courses now, the two and a half hour sessions are becoming bearable. I'm thankful most of all for the espresso machine just outside the classrooms, as when the inevitable <i>pause</i> comes about halfway through classes, I join the rest of my classmates in a mad rush for .50 cent espresso. It's not bad, either! I admit to being a bit of a coffee snob, and completely blame my Dad's purist genes, but the coffee is really quite drinkable... for .50 cents, at least.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I had a trip to the <i>Musée d'Orsay</i> on Wednesday afternoon for one of my classes, and I was a bit underwhelmed-- only because the museum is very badly organized at the minute, as they are doing renovations on some areas and so much of the most impressive art (Monet, Manet, Cézanne, etc.) is all hurled pell-mell into one room, with about 3 million tourists all trying to snap a photo. I definitely want to go back when I can, because obviously it's an incredible collection housed in a gorgeous building, but the trip on Wednesday was sort of too much to see with too little time among too many people... A bit too stressful to enjoy.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Model village of Paris at the Orsay which made me feel like a giant!!</td></tr>
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</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">On Friday afternoon, I joined about 20 other students in my program for a trip to the Wine Museum of Paris. To be honest, the museum itself is nothing at all to write home about-- a few creepy wax figures pretending to make wine in obscure corners of a dimly lit corridor, et cetera. After a brief tour of the museum, however, we were invited to a <span lang="fr-FR"><i>dégustation</i></span>, a wine tasting. More than a tasting, it was a course in how to DO a wine tasting, which was really awesome because as much as I'm partial these days to cheap wine for financial reasons, I desperately want to know what I'm talking about when I talk about wine. We tasted five wines, and perhaps because we are uncultured Americans we all got just a bit giggly, much to the distaste of the staff at the <i>musée</i>. Disapproving Parisians aside, it was a great experience, the best part being that it's completely included in my program and in fact mandatory for class. That's right, to pass my classes I HAVE to go to a free wine tasting. I really have a difficult life, <i>non?</i> </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">After the wine museum trip, I hopped on a train to visit my aunt and uncle in Montpellier, which is in the south of France, on the Mediterranean sea. They've bought a holiday home there, which they've completely renovated and now rent out to whomever is interested. (If you are, click <a href="http://www.holiday-rentals.co.uk/p733038">here</a>!) My grandmother is there with them for about six weeks, so it was a really nice weekend as I got to feel like I was back at home, almost. Unfortunately I felt a bit under the weather over the weekend, and still do, but nonetheless I was able to enjoy markets, another wine tasting, lots of seafood, delicious home-cooked meals, and some good family time. Again, my life is very difficult, I know. A note about seafood and oysters in particular: Hemingway famously w<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">rote in his Parisian memoir </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A Moveable Feast, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to feel happy, and to make plans." Let it be known that this is a really awesome description of how great it is to eat oysters and drink white wine. No, really. Very satisfying and VERY delicious.</span></span></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a starter. Yikes!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My aunt, nana, and me down by the Med.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">It's funny how immediately you miss something. I wasn't even on the train towards Montpellier for an hour when I began to miss Paris! It's only been three weeks, but during this time I've truly become attached to the city, even to its people. Though it's not as loud and roaring as New York can be, there's a quiet and pleasant buzz to the place that just can't be found elsewhere. Leaving that vibrancy behind was a strange feeling, because I never realized how tuned into it I was. Nevertheless, my weekend in Montpellier was glorious, and I can't wait til the next time I'm lucky enough to be there.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">My dad is coming to Paris for a brief stop-over on Friday night. I'm so fortunate; he travels to Europe frequently for business and so he's just doing a quick stop in Paris for lunch, dinner, and maybe even breakfast if I'm lucky. Can you tell my family loves food? I absolutely cannot wait to see him! He's even bringing me a duffel bag full of things I forgot, thanks to the endless patience of my mother who packed it over the past week according to my numerous e-mail requests.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">And so, one more week gone, I can't believe it. Until next time! xo</div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-20286656625616906822010-09-15T22:31:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:42:56.563+02:00To Warm Your Hearts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My sister has been spending her year in South Africa, working with the Augustian Volunteers and doing her part to make the world a brighter place. She posted this video on her <a href="http://sineadinsa.blogspot.com/">blog</a> tonight, and I want to share it with you all. These are her fourth grade students (she teaches oral English), and she is the redhead playing the guitar à la Maria from the Sound of Music. I hope this warms your hearts as much as it warmed mine! Can you imagine American fourth graders singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider this enthusiastically!?<br />
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<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/14899615" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/14899615">St Leo - Grade 4 learns "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3085473">Sinead Cloughley</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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A real update is coming your way (including the thrilling non-fiction story entitled How to Get Your iPhone Stolen Within Ten Days of Arriving in Paris!!!), but until then <i>mes cheris</i>, take care of yourselves. xo</div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-12912013137512915112010-09-10T22:46:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:42:40.968+02:00Petit Par Petit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h6CRq02zbB4/TIqT9sgKq9I/AAAAAAAAHT0/eYm9CHrJObM/s1600/IMG_0316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><br />
</span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A new French phrase that I've picked up in the past week makes the title of this entry, and the best part for you is that the English translation is wonderfully direct. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Petit par petit-- </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">little by little.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Little by little, I'm finding my </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">niche</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> here, in my cozy apartment on my little street in Paris</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> I'm beginning to find routine, something that I value intensely as I am a person of habit. I like the same things, over and over again (I am the type of person that is content to eat an identical breakfast each morning... Two eggs, over easy, on multigrain toast. Thanks.) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've figured out that when I stop by my local </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">boulangerie</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> most days, I prefer to ask for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://static.flickr.com/88/261458307_d2c67cee8b.jpg">une tradition</a></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> rather than asking for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">une baguette</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Even better than that, I have learned that I can even ask for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">une demi-tradition!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> That way, I only eat half a baguette every day rather than the entire thing. I'm not ashamed ... I'll chalk it up to cultural immersion and return to my eggs and multigrain toast immediately upon re-entering the states. Incidentally, bread is one of the simple joys of French existence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It is incredible that I've been in Paris for almost two weeks now, a full twelve days! It's true, what they say, about how time flies when you spend a semester abroad. With almost two weeks under my belt, there remain only fourteen more. It is depressing to talk too much about it, but I can't believe how quickly my time is slipping from me already.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Last Sunday, with my reusable shopping bag in tow, I headed to the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">marché </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Place_de_la_Bastille">Place de la Bastille</a>. As I left the gloomy Metro passageways behind me and re-surfaced at the site where, hundreds of years before, the French people had stormed the Bastille as part of their revolution, I totally geeked out. I really love history; I considered a history major in college and in particular went through a phase of intense appreciation for French history. After I pinched myself, remembered that this </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">was</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> real, that I </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">was</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> actually living in Paris, I headed towards the market. (And by that I mean I typically went the complete wrong direction, and spent ten minutes attempting to find the largest outdoor market in Paris. Some things, my dear friends, never change.)</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If my experience arriving at Bastille was a history freak-out, my arrival at the market itself brought on a freak-out of another kind entirely. FOOD FREAK-OUT. Oh, my God. Rotisserie chicken, the smell of which could ellicit a watering mouth from even the staunchest vegetarians. Fresh cheese, fruit, vegetables, exotic olives and spices whose names I didn't even recognize. I'm almost weak at the knees even now at the memory of it, the smells of a hundred different vendors selling a thousand different things and the sounds! Ugh, the sounds! Vendors calling out their produce, hoping to entice anyone from the sneaker-wearing guidebook-toting American tourists to the quick-paced and focused Parisian regulars. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">No, but seriously. How good does this all look?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">How can I not geek out?</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I won't give in yet, I won't eat the chicken... But those</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">potatoes at the bottom are seducing me, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">petit par petit</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The market was incredible, more awesome than I know how to convey through a silly blog post. For a wannabe foodie, like myself, it is heaven. I was a little unsure of how much produce to get, because I wasn't sure of the measurements and how much time I'd have to cook etc., but for future reference: ordering 1 kilo of green beans is an atrocious overestimate for one person. I asked the vendor to put half of them back, and I still have green beans coming out of my ears, six days later. I can't complain though. The food is fresh, and most importantly it's cheap. French supermarkets can be really expensive (read: I paid two Euros for a single apple the other day), so it was a pleasant change of pace to get market quality veggies at an awesome price. The Most Valuable Player award goes to the goat cheese I picked up. I asked for the cheapest at the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">fromagerie</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> stand, but ... </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ooooh, la la.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> It is the most fantastic thing. It's more accurate to say it WAS the MVP, I should say, since I polished off the last of it tonight with some delicious five Euro (from the market!) Bordeaux.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">All of this for less than 25 Euros. I will talk about Parisian markets forever.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aside from the triumph that was the market on Sunday morning, this past week has been just a little stressful. I started my classes on Monday, and the workload seems to be pretty intense. For each of my three classes I have a ten minute oral presentation to make, a three page paper to write, and a final test. Not to mention small written assignments due at each class session, mandatory trips to museums and other landmarks, and two 2.5 hour sessions a week! It's all </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">en francais</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, but to be honest the language hasn't been a problem for me. I'm so grateful now that I worked hard at learning French, because to keep up with this heavy workload while trying to decipher half of what my teachers are saying would be almost impossible. Even with my language comprehension, the next seven weeks are going to be challenging for sure. I'm attempting to find balance now between spending time with friends at night and getting my work done. A challenge in itself, but unfortunately for me this study abroad experience is not "party abroad," or whatever other people's experiences might have been. I'm glad for it, because I'm a total nerd, but I'm anxious as well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">One of my assignments for my language class was a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">découvert du quartier</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, a discovery of a neighborhood. A classmate and I set out to explore the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Germain_des_Pr%C3%A9s">St Germain des Prés</a> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">area, and had quite a pleasant surprise. We came across the most fantastic tea-room, situated neatly on the left bank. Check out this picture, how cool is this? Shelves upon shelves of tea, and the smell in this place was also incredible.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">If I had but world (read: money) enough and time, I</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">would have spent hours here.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Once more, during my time exploring the St Germain neighborhood, I had to perform a quick reality check. When I turned around and saw THIS:</span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Typically Parisian and beautiful.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of typically Parisian, or perhaps more accurately typically French, there was</span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/08/world/europe/08france.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=french%20strike&st=cse"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> a strike on Tuesday</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. If there is one thing the French universally love, it is not wine. It is not even cheese. It is going on strike. As a result of the strike, which was over the national retirement age, the metro service on Tuesday was not as frequent as it usually is. I was so glad that my iPhone chose Tuesday to turn off in the middle of the night! It was really awesome that I therefore had no alarm on Tuesday morning, and therefore did not wake up the planned two hours earlier than usual to avoid metro troubles. Thankfully, I woke up early enough that I made it on time to class on Tuesday morning. I've never been more glad that the walls in this apartment are paper thin; it was my housemate's alarm clock that woke me. The metro was so hot and crowded, like very sweaty and ticked off sardines crammed in a can.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This picture hardly captures the chaos,<br />
but I was sweaty and eager to get out of the Metro.</span><br />
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</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After five hours of class on Tuesday, I went for a very tiring bike ride on the left bank, foolishly forgetting the strike and thinking I could easily head home on the metro. That was, needless to say, false. After waiting about 30 minutes for a train that was packed with disgruntled Parisians (a nightmare), I got out as close to my stop as I could. I walked closer and closer to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Place_de_la_R%C3%A9publique">Place de la République</a>, where I live, and heard a curious and unrecognizable din. Oh! Silly me! </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Une manifestation</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. Not only do French people love to strike, they love to PROTEST! Actively! Loudly! In massive crowds! And, apparently, right in my neighborhood. After my long and stressful day, I wasn't in much of a mood to throw elbows at Parisians on strike, but </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">alors</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> I had no choice. I did make it home, and I had a delicious meal (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">quelle surprise!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">) to comfort myself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Not the most soothing of situations for the stressed American soul</span>.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Today, after a meeting about internship placement at the BU Center this morning, two girls from my program and I headed to the <a href="http://www.parismarais.com/welcome-to-le-marais.htm">Marais</a> for falafel! Spontaneously dubbed FALAFEL FRIDAY!, it is a habit I could certainly get used to with ease. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, there is hot sauce on there. <br />
Yes, I came dangerously close to passing out in joy.</td></tr>
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</div><div>Tonight I've passed a quiet evening in the coziness of my room, eating soup and enjoying the calm that is a weekend night spend in. The weekend is supposed to be beautiful, and I plan on taking full advantage of the good weather while it lasts! I look forward to a new market tomorrow morning, near the Champ du Mars, and some good times with good friends for the rest of the weekend. This week I have survived my classes successfully, braved my first experience with Parisian strikes, and eaten the most delicious and wonderful food. I can't wait to see what I learn next week, every day in Paris teaches me something I didn't know before. This post was long, too, but even if no one is still reading I look forward to looking back to this blog some day and letting my mouth water a little over what I experienced when I was twenty years old in Paris. Until next time, <i>mes chers amis.</i> xo</div><div><br />
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</div><div>P.S.! Oh no! In re-reading what I've written, it is long and almost entirely food-centered, and I suspect that makes for dull reading for you all. I'll try to chill out with the food theme... but I can't help it! My life here is food-centered! Just be thankful you're not my parents, who receive about 4-5 pictures per day of my every meal ...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"></div></div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-21298012760960156112010-09-04T16:41:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:33:45.960+02:00First Impressions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<br />
Salut! Rest assured, I have arrived in Paris <i>sans probleme</i> and I've decided that I love Paris more than I even thought I did. <br />
<br />
My flight over went smoothly enough, I chatted with a Canadian man who resembled <a href="http://images.ctv.ca/archives/CTVNews/img2/20080506/190_718.jpg">a Degrassi character</a> and I slept most of the way. The only issue I had with regards to my arrival was carting around my massive case! I still have calluses on my palms from heaving and pulling and coaxing that stupid huge red thing into submission. <i>Mais alors!</i> It is done now (with the help of a tramp at the RER station, admittedly...) and here I am!<br />
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My host parents are wonderful! When I arrived on Sunday they ate their usual Sunday meal of roast chicken and potatoes, but Catherine my host mother took the time to make fish for me separately, because she knows I don't eat meat. Last Tuesday night she made <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ratatouille">ratatouille</a></i> for my housemate and me, completing the meal with a cheese course and dessert. Pilou, the family's cat, is adorable, but very shy. Little by little though, I am making progress. He even let me pet his back yesterday, and I'm just about certain that I heard him purr. I will get in his good graces, I'm determined!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pilou is gray, just like my cats!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The apartment is in the 11th <i>arrondissement, </i>which is a super location. There is a metro stop right nearby which has FIVE train lines going through it, so it is easy to get around. The Boston University center, where orientation took place all this week and where classes begin on Monday, is about a 25 minute commute from the house. Kim and I traveled together this past week, but we somehow went a different way each time and have not yet figured out the fastest way to get there. The BU Center is in the fifteenth, which is also the location of the Eiffel Tower. It is surreal, still, to be walking to school and suddenly see the top of the tower peeking over a building or around a corner. It is surprising and wonderful, but I almost have to pinch myself sometimes because this still doesn't feel real to me! Too good to be true, as they say.<br />
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Orientation was a long week, but the staff are so wonderfully helpful and friendly that their efforts to make us feel comfortable and at home were truly succesful. My favorite part of the week, it has to be said, was Wednesday afternoon. The staff treated us to a <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">dégustation</span></em></span> de la gastronomie française</i>, a little taste of French gastronomy. We traveled among four rooms, where a staff member in each room allowed us to taste a wine, cheese, meat, and dessert from one of four regions of France. The food was delicious (I can only assume the meat was as delicious as the cheese), and it was nice to taste decent wine that we can't quite afford! We were encouraged to visit the cheese shop, the bakery, the butcher, etc. rather than stopping by the supermarket, and promised that in many cases it's valuable to pay a bit more and enjoy the better quality products. We'll see if I can swing that, but at the very least I am itching to go to a market next week and buy some veggies and cheese!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aquitaine">Aquitane</a> region, whose offerings included <br />
a delicious Bordeaux we would never be able to afford...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sampling the cuisine of the Franche-Compte region, near the Swiss border</td></tr>
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After the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">dégustation</span></em></span>, we headed towards the Champ du Mars to see a puppet show beneath the Eiffel Tower. It was adorable, to see how excited the French kids got over the show. Though I did well with understanding the show itself, I was embarrassed to find I often didn't know what the kids were responding. It's difficult, this language thing. It's just so strange to admit that as a twenty year old college student, I'm not always able to understand what four- and five-year olds are saying here in France. Instead of getting depressed, though, it just fills me with greater resolve to improve! Watch this video, if you like, and see if you can tell what they're saying!<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/14693370" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/14693370">Spectacle de Guignol!</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4652931">Niamh Cloughley</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know it's toursity and cliche, but isn't<br />
it just so beautiful?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The nightlife in Paris is incredible. Generally, we like to share a few bottles of wine on the banks of the Seine or perhaps beneath the sparkling Eiffel Tower and then head to the Latin Quarter, the student section of Paris. Fairly decent wine, suitable for students at least, is incredibly cheap but nightlife in general is expensive. It's a lesson in itself, learning how to juggle finances appropriately. A few friends and I sat beneath the glowing Notre Dame the other night, when suddenly we stopped our conversation and had another moment of "Is this real!?" We already are dreading our return to the monotony of college dorms and bars, and feel quite certain we could get used to sipping wine beneath a beautiful cathedral in Paris. I almost burst with pride on Thursday night when not one, but TWO Parisians told me that my French was very good! Parisians, as a rule, are not friendly... Particularly when it comes to foreigners butchering their language. Their kind words boosted my confidence incredibly, and I really do feel quite comfortable with the language already. I can't wait to improve, though. It is one of my main goals for these four months, I really want to be completely at ease in French conversation... Hopefully I'll get there!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A poor <i>étudiante</i>'s humble meal</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre Dame at night. <br />
Can you see why we love to bask in its glory?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It is the little things about Paris that make me the most happy: coming across an eight-person ensemble that played the most fantastic music in the Metro, treating myself to a warm crepe oozing Nutella on my way home from school, seeing a line out the door at my local bakery, and even taking bike rides now and then along the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seine">Seine</a>. With all the walking and bike riding I've been doing, I can hardly worry about how the rich French diet might affect me. Plus, my student budget really only allows for some couscous and tuna for dinner, with the occasional baguette or <i>pain au chocolat</i> thrown in for good measure.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding my bike along the Right Bank, towards Place de la Concorde</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cute cafe that does a two Euro coffee and croissant deal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv7-o8HmXSAQUekrUUcrDj0k3xomkcfWMMlB4KdXC5fmZMT5WTfGeMjWzCz65YU1kO24jTIxZkoksFyicFeJw_Q3Q82l7JK21kA3uscaqxBCFHksbP_RE2LPRGoJAUZeiO70cF0PZ8PqR/s1600/DSCF4535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv7-o8HmXSAQUekrUUcrDj0k3xomkcfWMMlB4KdXC5fmZMT5WTfGeMjWzCz65YU1kO24jTIxZkoksFyicFeJw_Q3Q82l7JK21kA3uscaqxBCFHksbP_RE2LPRGoJAUZeiO70cF0PZ8PqR/s320/DSCF4535.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch just around the corner from the BU Center.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In other, less happy news, I'm currently battling a really awful case of strep throat. It began on Thursday night, a little sore throat that I was willing to brush aside as a result of my plane trip. By Friday afternoon, however, it became clear that I was yet again coming down with a case of strep. Strep throat is old news to me, I get it about four or five times a year so I'm pretty good at knowing when it's on its way. <i>Alors</i>, I got the number of an English-speaking doctor in Paris and headed across town last night to hear his opinion. I left the <i>pharmacie</i> last night with no fewer than five medications in tow, but alas this morning I actually felt worse. I'm hoping by tonight I'll feel improved, as classes start Monday morning and I really can't imagine attending them in this state. I've already ducked out of a class trip to Versailles today, about which I was really excited but had to choose to rest and attempt to get better rather than go and potentially get worse. Terrible timing, I can only assume I picked it up on the plane! <br />
<br />
I'm looking forward to classes next week, though I am a bit nervous as I've heard from all sides that the work load is heavy and the courses are difficult enough. I have class until the 23rd of October, and then I begin a full-time internship on November 2nd. I'm not sure yet what my internship is, I am supposed to be contacted about an interview somewhere at some point this week. In some ways, I'm jealous of friends who are studying abroad without much studying... But I guess it's better this way, since I won't struggle too much come January to get back into the flow of things at Villanova.<br />
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My bed is calling to me now, I want to rest while I can so that I'm in top shape for class on Monday! Congratulations if you have made it to here... This was long and probably a bit rambly. I will improve at writing, I promise! I will leave you with this video of the ensemble I came across the other day. I hope it brightens your day as much as it brightened mine!<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/14693344" width="400"></iframe><br />
<div align="center"><a href="http://vimeo.com/14693344">Orchestra in the Paris Metro</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4652931">Niamh Cloughley</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</div><br />
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A bientot, chers amis xo</div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-70096791155817690002010-08-28T16:17:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:23:01.651+02:00The Big Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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And, I'm off! I'm currently sitting in Au Bon Pain (a poor substitute for a French cafe) in Philadelphia International Airport, sipping some cheap burnt coffee and taking advantage of free wifi. My trip has begun, and though this seems an unexceptional start, I'm just glad to report that my bags have been accepted despite their bulging at the seams.<br />
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My last week at home was everything I'd hoped it might be. The weekend at Villanova was a successful one, despite uncomfortable time spent sleeping on the hard floor while my friends reclined in their fabulously decorated bedrooms. To their credit, I was offered their beds each morning as the Orientation Zombies formerly known as my friends headed off to enthuse the freshmen. When all is said and done, however, I'm positively green with envy now that I've seen my their apartments... I will add it to my list of things to look forward to in January. Thanks to Skype, Villanova will never feel <i>too </i>far away. Even my close friend Elka, who is spending the next four months in Ghana, is now bringing her laptop and will be only a phone call away. There are times when globalization really rules.<br />
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Among the other small pleasures of my week was receiving a thoughtful and fabulously decorated card in the mail from my older <a href="http://sineadinsa.blogspot.com/">sister</a>. During her time spent in South Africa, she's picked up card creation as a new hobby, and I have to admit she is pretty good, don't you agree? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuH5lRu5bi24VJdJ0czKaJbAQP4yEZQyr112SvXngCD3CL542RH6gLZ6MkbCag4FRItxrNK1XCi6dcjeMvf8TXFRURN5h_yzsObm0RkFnmS63fNbVyFjILqsmQxViRrBeiRETXJIH4F_Ii/s1600/DSCF4476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuH5lRu5bi24VJdJ0czKaJbAQP4yEZQyr112SvXngCD3CL542RH6gLZ6MkbCag4FRItxrNK1XCi6dcjeMvf8TXFRURN5h_yzsObm0RkFnmS63fNbVyFjILqsmQxViRrBeiRETXJIH4F_Ii/s320/DSCF4476.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll see what I can do about acquiring a red beret...<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My Dad and I attempted to make gnocchi at home on Tuesday night. For a first attempt, it was not as bad as it might have been. If we had only followed the recipe rather than assuming that we knew everything there is to know about gnocchi making, I'm certain it would have turned out better. That is the price one pays for being ridiculously stubborn... and for having a ridiculously stubborn Dad. Mum and Megan were good sports, however, and after we smothered the failed gnocchi in cheese and baked it in the oven, it was really pretty tasty. I look forward to sampling the perfected version in December. (Hint hint, Dad)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2c8ZKV7Fk73P-J8l1_wMVhDBfAFmyi4ghipKkKkkNNtTL7bT7FCWzuXuPfCaVgUEIoi1qcWTaFbcq3uWjpV3O9HclL0A_1QoJb0hSX26qgEVVb28VXlwRF1HXh4yKpgseZj8ZRVj56rC0/s1600/DSCF4483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2c8ZKV7Fk73P-J8l1_wMVhDBfAFmyi4ghipKkKkkNNtTL7bT7FCWzuXuPfCaVgUEIoi1qcWTaFbcq3uWjpV3O9HclL0A_1QoJb0hSX26qgEVVb28VXlwRF1HXh4yKpgseZj8ZRVj56rC0/s320/DSCF4483.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As far as I'm concerned, anything baked with cheese can't really be so bad.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Thursday night Megan and I spent some quality sister time together, watching the silly tearjerker <i>Dear John</i> and the last four episodes of <i>Sex and the City</i>. <i>Dear John</i> was really cheesy but managed to coax many tears form us both nonetheless, and <i>Sex and the City</i> only convinced me that I will never act as foolishly as Carrie Bradshaw does upon arriving in Paris. I mean, the woman wore a flouncy skirt and high heels on the plane. ... Really? I can assure you that I don't resemble Carrie Bradshaw in the least right now, as I've opted for a baggy t shirt and leggings. How terribly <i>chic.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
My last dinner at home was delicious. Mum asked if I had special requests, and of course I did. Luckily for her, I wanted something simple and tasty-- Trader Joe's Israeli cous cous and roasted veggies. It was so delicious, and my evening was sweetened by a last trip to the Yardley Ice House with Meg. Add Small Mint Chocolate Chip Water Ice to the Things I Will Miss Most list.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why would I order anything else, when this is done so well?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast this morning: a homemade cappuccino and a luminous Bagel Train breakfast sandwich.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8BGbOAdTvyYCC1ICZjNFhslJXRmZR4hA4t6qzaqsD_FBS5pUylNo3QAoAxKiF9tO0Cd95uBRiDQffy-M4z2DMya2F8Ndp7gxEIZOc98GOKWleeh-4f59LasgeZ-wj3hUB6cBfR7fQx-Y/s1600/IMG_0244.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8BGbOAdTvyYCC1ICZjNFhslJXRmZR4hA4t6qzaqsD_FBS5pUylNo3QAoAxKiF9tO0Cd95uBRiDQffy-M4z2DMya2F8Ndp7gxEIZOc98GOKWleeh-4f59LasgeZ-wj3hUB6cBfR7fQx-Y/s320/IMG_0244.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little babe came running to me today, ready to say her goodbyes. <br />
She either knew I was leaving, or she just thought I was going to feed her...</td></tr>
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</div><div><div>Teary goodbyes have been said at the security line, and I am now officially on my way. I feel a little nauseous but very excited to see what the next four months will hold for me. Before that reveals itself, however, I have to successfully find my connecting plane at Montreal Airport (thank you, AirMiles, for always being so convenient...), kill five hours in Canada, and then figure out how to cart a huge sixty-something pound suitcase from Charles de Gaulle Airport to <i>Place de la <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">République</span></em></span>.</i> If I can manage that, the next few months will be <i>un morceau de <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">gâteau</span></em></span>. </i>Stay tuned!<br />
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<br />
</div></div></div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2650172187513658364.post-56299106599919909972010-08-19T18:21:00.001+02:002011-10-28T04:18:48.771+02:00Things I Will Miss Most<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's hard to believe that after years of dreaming about packing up and going to Paris, I'll be doing so in only nine days. Since my first visit to Paris on a family vacation, when my bespectacled and painfully awkward self gaped at the Eiffel Tower and chowed down on </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pains au chocolat</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> galore, I've fantasized about spending an extended period of time in the City of Light.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thanks to Boston University, I'm about to do so. From August 29 to December 18 I'll be living on the </span><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rive_droite"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">rive droite</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in the home of a French couple, with their cat Pilou (!!) and another American student. I've got to be honest, I couldn't have gotten luckier. When my sister Sinead and I spent time in Paris last summer, we stayed literally one street away from the apartment, so I know precisely where it is... Though, with my winning sense of direction it's entirely possible and probable that I'll get lost on more than one occasion.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As the departure date draws ever nearer, and my excitement grows exponentially, I have to say I find myself stuck in moments of anxiety sometimes. How will I survive without Mum's yummy (and vegetarian!) meals every day? What if Pilou is mean and doesn't like to snuggle like my cat Lily does? How am I supposed to keep track of my budget, my meals, my schoolwork? I've had trouble sleeping lately, because my mind is always racing... Just when I think I've calmed myself down, something else will pop up! (Will I find time to listen to Podcasts of all my favorite NPR shows?!)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Aside from these petty concerns, there are larger things about which I worry as well. Though my French is adequate, my traveling skills have been honed over several years, and I'm not afraid of eating snails... I find myself returning to the ever-approaching moment, the instant that I step off the plane and realize "I am in France, and I am by myself." I almost get chills thinking about it now, and my stomach fills with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">papillons</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> at the thought.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Almost drowning in lists of To-Dos, Things To Pack, Things To Remember... I've found it much more enjoyable to make a different type of list: Things I Will Miss Most (in no particular order).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpJ4bqXOG4tFHiEn0p1CUaFeA3EJqtSnPuYF5GY_yh1iP60SphsPApTXjXJ8URrLszsPz3iN1s4ih0qMvMUzGmH6-3K1OpXvdMud-5xD_u2LVWniAEySUPPJtIoaZGxjjbpJCDLNg0_A5/s1600/DSCF3688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpJ4bqXOG4tFHiEn0p1CUaFeA3EJqtSnPuYF5GY_yh1iP60SphsPApTXjXJ8URrLszsPz3iN1s4ih0qMvMUzGmH6-3K1OpXvdMud-5xD_u2LVWniAEySUPPJtIoaZGxjjbpJCDLNg0_A5/s320/DSCF3688.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My wonderful family, soon to be scattered across three continents,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pictured here visiting </span><a href="http://sineadinsa.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my sister in South Africa</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4cPF9ABbCeOOmUq2l_uckVQpP3ZxdDgNFVyw6YNoYvkmbVzBX-XGsj6sw-07O9rMt5hAjRD2xKQM5DbpapeLMUBgukGTzmFOYvGEO79VRbziNv3WdahiNHxPawIEhNZl2Tq3awITVRc/s320/dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4cPF9ABbCeOOmUq2l_uckVQpP3ZxdDgNFVyw6YNoYvkmbVzBX-XGsj6sw-07O9rMt5hAjRD2xKQM5DbpapeLMUBgukGTzmFOYvGEO79VRbziNv3WdahiNHxPawIEhNZl2Tq3awITVRc/s320/dragon.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My happy pink yoga mat, which has kept me so balanced over the past year.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_esB6QVNTAPs3EVAi3dLcOrJkewiC9gJog0DE6dv8PYyMPQD2m2_h3phDUOuFfPk3_XVRsrlMnq_Fo2QPTZLUx92WOsApklgDLdwouUxVK2BiZOPxppq5skL0WZvIZbkNRHaiPae-0AX/s1600/IMG_0210.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_esB6QVNTAPs3EVAi3dLcOrJkewiC9gJog0DE6dv8PYyMPQD2m2_h3phDUOuFfPk3_XVRsrlMnq_Fo2QPTZLUx92WOsApklgDLdwouUxVK2BiZOPxppq5skL0WZvIZbkNRHaiPae-0AX/s320/IMG_0210.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My fat but loveable cat, Lily, and her friendly nuzzling and tiny meows.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have a trip to Villanova in store for this weekend, and though I look forward to spending time with friends, I'm sure that my good-bye to them and to the Villanova campus on Monday won't be easy. It's strange to think I won't be back there 'til January! I'm excited, though. I'm twenty years old and I've been handed the chance to once more, begin anew. Things won't always be easy, but I intend to remind myself continuously that this opportunity is, as they say, once-in-a-lifetime. For now, however, the heaps of clothes and miscellaneous items invading my bedroom are begging to be dealt with. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">P.S. I'm asking for your patience with this blog... Declaring an English major doesn't automatically endow one with flawless writing skills, and travel writing is a new frontier for me. I won't always know how or what to write, but I hope you'll bear with me as I seek the right words.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</div></div>NChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12621472198453867932noreply@blogger.com2