Forty-Seven Days

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?

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 Opéra Garnier 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.

Can you spot the Phantom of the Opera?

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 home.  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!  

Near the finish line of the marathon!

Bright winter sun in Dun Laoghaire.

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!

Plaza del Torros... Just look at that blue sky!

Dorky, but I'm alright with it.

Reunited and it feels so good.

Alcázar , so beautiful. 

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.

"Even RyanAir passengers welcome!"
Why do people think Brits have strange senses of humo(u)r?

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.

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.  

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.  

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.

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.

And, well, this moment is marveilleux, chers amis. xo

Grèves & Gastronomie

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 (grèves, 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 en masse, 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, bien sur, 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.

Huge demonstration at the Place de la Bastille...  Reminiscent of the techno parade!

Grèves 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 derrière into high gear, so I don't fly home with any "I wish I'd done..." thoughts floating through my head!

Adorable French kids racing around a mini track beneath the Eiffel Tower.
Aren't the leaves pretty?

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 Belleville 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 boulangerie on the way home -- and, just because I was feeling just a bit sorry for my sneezy self, a tartelette aux framboises.  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.

This blurry iPhone photo doesn't begin to serve justice to this deliciousness.

I spent the past weekend in Rouen, 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 foie gras... (I'd be lying if I said I didn't sneak a bite or two of foie gras... 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.

Pain des épices, jam, honey.

Inside of the old abbey in Rouen

Andouillette sausage cooked in cider with onions.

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!
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 ne vous inquiétez pas, chéris.  I plan to make the most of it. xo

How To Get Your iPhone Stolen & Other Parisian Tales

Hello, chers amis. This week has been a strange one, full of ups and downs and highs and lows.

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.

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.

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.

The woman at my local boulangerie 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 pain au chocolat and steaming expresso while I review my notes for class. When I've finished, I call au revoir, merci! and head to the metro, where I read the latest copy of L'Express on my way to class. This is a routine I could get used to.

My breakfast at the bakery.  These notes are hastily scribbled, so if you happen
to be checking for errors I'm sure there are many...

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, n'est-ce pas?

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 pause 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.

I had a trip to the Musée d'Orsay 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.

Model village of Paris at the Orsay which made me feel like a giant!!

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 dégustation, 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 musée. 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, non?

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 here!) 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 wrote in his Parisian memoir A Moveable Feast, "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.

This was a starter.  Yikes!

My aunt, nana, and me down by the Med.

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.

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.

And so, one more week gone, I can't believe it.   Until next time! xo