fun with pictures!

No updates, not because I don't like you anymore, but because I am very, very boring. I can even be boring in Paris. Also, I feel guilty updating without pictures, which situation could be resolved if I would just take pictures, but whatevs. But fear not, I've come up with an only mildly ridiculous solution.

Google image search! (Less pandas in mine. But I feel like my life could always use more pandas, anyway.)

This is what I've looked like for the past week (including Asian):

which is why nothing interesting. But today, in a great excursion, I went over to La Poste. (It just means the post office, but doesn't it sound much better in French?)

(I wish the one I went to was this cheery.)

I needed these:

But, you know, in French. (Actually, I think I've used these stamps before.)

A reasonably accurate representation of the typical line inside La Poste:

So those postcards that I'm working on sending, you better appreciate them, because in terms of hardships it was something akin to a Compostela pilgrimage to get them.

Leaving La Poste, I encountered a man pushing a giant cart full of plastic bags down the middle of Boulevard Montparnasse. His shoes were wrapped in several layers of bags too, and he had a big sign on the side of the cart, which read, in French: "I am a doctor and scientist from San Francisco. I can blow up concrete with microwaves."

No Google image search for him, because it's really hard to find a picture of someone blowing up concrete with microwaves that would really do him justice.

Anyway, after I left the metro on the way home, I walked by the French version of this guy:

It was kind of disturbing.

in which skye and i are accomplished chefs.

The other night, Skye and I made salmon. (It was good!) Mme de Lassagne came into the kitchen while we were getting stuff out to cook it, and asked what we were doing. Skye tried to answer, We're going to cook the salmon.

"Cook," in French, is either "faire cuire" or "cuisiner." Faire cuire probably would have been the right choice here -- "Nous allons faire cuire le saumon." Unfortunately, she got a little confused, and instead she said "cuillere." Which means "spoon": she said, "Nous allons cuillere le saumon." We're going to spoon the salmon.

When I told her later what she'd really said I was laughing so hard it took me a few minutes to be able to actually say the words.

one of us will be a bajillionaire, and it's not me.

This would be an interview with my roommate Skye, on the front page of Starpolish. This is her Myspace where you can listen to her songs. She is very excited about her interview. Wouldn't you be?

When she's rich and famous I can say I made sweet potato fries for her in Paris once.

adventures in boot-buying.

My new boots! This picture is so funny-looking, but you try taking a picture of your own shins.

I am nothing if not efficient. I went out at 12:30, visited four shoe stores (one of them twice), and at 1:30 had bought these. And they were only 69 euros! Cheapest boots in Paris. The salespeople did give me funny looks when I asked for size 41. Once, I tried on a pointy-toed pair, and the 41 was just not happening with that toe, so I asked if they had a 42, and the woman stared at me in shock for a moment before she said, Those do not exist. Those are very big.

Then at the store where I finally bought these, I tried on a suede pair. Generally, from what I've seen of French shoe stores, you try them on yourself -- meaning, they have all the boxes sitting out, and you just grab it. Some places do not work this way, but as a rule French shoe stores are much more self-service than American ones. Anyway, so I got out the size 41s. A saleswoman came over and looked over my shoulder and asked me, Are you sure those are the right size? Because a 41 is very. big.

Yes. Yes it is. And yes they are.

I also finally got my host family a present -- chocolate (free samples for me! It was delicious) and flowers. No, I am not creative. Sue me. The florist told me what kind of flowers they were, and it sounded like "camellia," but I looked that up on Wikipedia and they definitely are not camellias. I have absolutely no idea, but they're pretty. And they're in a pot with soil, so they'll probably live a while. Hope the de Lassagnes like flowers, because they're stuck with these.

in which i am proud of numerous things.

Permission arrives to post a picture of Cedric's present. I think it's amazing. I trust you will too.

It's a camera. A really cool camera. I'm sure it is completely out of commission, but it'll look pretty cool on a shelf, right? It was purchased at the Marche aux Puces with rather less haggling than was perhaps called for, but no, Cedric, I am not telling you how much your own present cost. When I bought it, the seller said it was from the thirties, and in "acceptable" condition (ha ha). I keep playing with it, because you can shut that front door and make it accordion up, and then you pop it open and it all expands. Like a pop-up book, only better (unless we're talking about, say, a Graceland Interactive Pop-Up Tour. For example).

Skye and I surrendered to the inevitable and went grocery shopping. This is rather more stress-inducing than it would seem to, oh, normal people; because we do not, in fact, know how to cook. Therefore, we do not know how to shop; and so I called Mom in a minor panic. She laughed at my pain, and then she gave me a list of staples that we should try to buy. Butter. Eggs. Bread. (It occurs to me now that we forgot the eggs.)

Anyway, we went to Franprix and tried our best. Grocery stores in France are smaller than would be in any way reasonable. Four aisles and frozen food on two walls, fruit on another. We succeeded in buying enough stuff for the week, if we stretch it, and we only spent 64 Euros. This is impressive, I'm telling you right now. And we cooked dinner, after a fashion: tuna salad, cheese and tomato melted on bread. Tuna melt. But awesome. In Skye I have found someone whose culinary goals mesh with mine (namely, do not starve).

I have also started drinking tea. No, I don't understand it either, but a chunk of sugar goes a long way toward making things palatable. Still, coffee remains in the realm of the undrinkable.

Also, I have no idea why the formatting in this post is so screwy. Blogger is really frustrating.

in which i finally purchase something.

What I am doing with my afternoon:

(That's Chinese studying, if you couldn't tell.)

Crappy pictures of my room: the giant window looks out onto the courtyard in the interior of the building.

There is also a wall of closets. Lots of closets. For all the clothes I am going to purchase. (Kidding.)

I went to the Marche aux Puces (flea market) at St.-Ouen this morning, which was probably a forty-minute metro ride, plus lots of walking. Half of it was clothes (nasty knockoffs, etc.) and the other half was divided between antique furniture (cool, but at present I have little need for it) and things I actually wanted to look at -- old books, posters, postcards, vintage clothes, shoes, jewelry (less of those last three). Mom, I now know exactly where to take you to look for ceramics.

I have no pictures of the flea market, because I didn't bring my camera with me (or my ipod, or much money); I was so afraid I was going to get pickpocketed. I'm pretty good about guarding my bag, but still. Anyway, the only thing I bought was a present for Cedric, and once I ask him if he wants it to be a surprise or not, I will post a picture of it (or not). It's pretty sweet, in my humble opinion.

in which we take a trip in the way-back machine.

These are old pictures, from last week, when we went on a bateau-vedette (one of those boats that hauls tourists along the Seine to see the sights). You could see pretty much everything from the Seine, but I didn't take many pictures, because I seemed perpetually to be on the wrong side of the boat. If my pictures are shoddy, let's consider it a result of me being on a boat, and not as a result of my photography skills, shall we?

There are two kinds of boats on the Seine, the bateaux-vedettes and the bateaux-mouches, and I'm not exactly clear on what the difference is between them. I think the bateaux-mouches have, like, dinner tables on board.

Part of Notre Dame.
The Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette was kept prisoner.
We are moved in to our host family's apartment, which I will post pictures of sometime later. There is wifi, but it does not cooperate with our computers; once again I'm piggybacking on the neighbors'. It seems to be working, but who knows for how long.

This afternoon Mme de Lassagne took me and Skye around the neighborhood; we're about two blocks away from Rue de Passy, a seriously good shopping street. We ate lunch at a creperie (good, but expensive) and tried to do some shopping after, but I gave up because I was getting an increasingly painful headache because I haven't had enough sleep all week at the FIAP. I came back early and sat nauseously in front of my computer, trying to get wifi to work. Then I took a nap, and my headache's not gone, but at least I don't feel nauseated anymore. (Does this mean I'm starting to get real migraines? GREAT.)

The de Lassagnes are out to dinner now, and they left me a copy of Le Figaro with a cover story on "Les Derniers Secrets de l'Archeologie" (The Last Secrets of Archaeology). They're so sweet. (I have a very high opinion of them now because M de Lassagne told me I barely have an accent. Flattery will get you much.)

in which i have a Modern Art Experience, and see my new lodgings.

Today’s excursions: Centre Georges Pompidou, famille d’acceuil (host family). I particularly like the Musee d’Art Moderne at Pompidou, but I made the mistake of following along on the tour. It was only one hour, I figured, it wouldn’t be bad, would it?

Yes. Yes, it would. I like museums. I like art. I like art museums. But I am never again going on a guided tour of an art museum. I’ll have to go back and shell out the eight Euros to see it myself. (Interesting side note, as yet unconfirmed: I hear a rumor that, if you can prove that you are a student of art history in France, you have free entrance to all the museums. Intriguingly enough, although I am not, in fact, a student of art history in France, I have a little stamp on my bootleg student ID [no, it’s real, but man, it’s a piece of laminated construction paper with my picture on it] that says “Histoire de l’Art, V.W.P.P., Paris.”)

Centre Pompidou:
View from the top:
Inside:


(This shoe is taller than I am.)


Afterwards, I wandered over to Le Marais with Kate, for unsuccessful shopping that deserves no more mention than this sentence. And then! To the 16th arrondissement, metro Passy, to meet the host family.

I feel like this deserves some description. I met up with Skye at the station, Skye being the other Wesleyan student who is going to live in the host family’s apartment with me. Skye is a sophomore and was in my French Ways class last semester. She plays guitar and is generally adorable. So. Skye had a leetle problem with the metro, namely that she’s scared of it, despite being from New York City; but she still emerged unscathed, I think somewhat to her surprise, and we walked to the apartment.

The apartment is on a street full of antiques shops and beautiful old buildings that are all about seven stories high. The street is full of antiques shops because the residents are loaded.

We could get into the ground floor of the building fine, but then we couldn’t figure out exactly how to get upstairs. It was really very confusing and we wandered around into the courtyard etc. for a few minutes before I gathered up the courage to call our host family (M et Mme de Lassagne, which, I’m sorry, I can barely pronounce without laughing) and say, I’m sorry, we’re your Americans. We’re downstairs and we can’t figure out how to get up.

Ah, first impressions.

Anyway, M de Lassagne came downstairs to show us up. He is 75, which makes him more of a host grandfather than a host father; Mme de Lassagne is 65. He took us upstairs in an oldschool elevator that involved both glass and a surprising amount of wicker, and into their apartment. Which, oh God, is amazing. (I was talking to other students about their housing today, and Bin happened to mention that he was being put in a 150 square meter apartment, which general agreement had was quite large. This one where I’m going to be living is 275.) The family that owned the apartment before them were from either the Middle East or North Africa, I forget which, and had decorated the kitchen accordingly. There is an incredibly involved wallpaper in the front hall with scenes from somebody’s 19th century America, and the sitting room involves a rather large amount of gold.

We sat and ate pastries and drank tea (and I liked it? it probably had something to do with the cube of sugar I let dissolve in it) and talked. They seem to like America a lot, and have traveled there extensively, which is nice when one is surrounded by a country that, let’s be honest, doesn’t like America all that much. When I said I lived in Memphis and they didn’t know where that was, M de Lassagne pulled out an atlas and proceeded to look up all the details. “Capital, Nashville? Memphees, Tennessee ... on the Mississippi. A very long river!”

They have three sons, two of whom live in the US (Miami and San Francisco) and a daughter in Provence. The other son lives in Shanghai and does not speak any Chinese. They were very interested to hear that I do, after a fashion. China, M de Lassagne assured me, is the future. The Americans should be afraid; but not as much as the French. No, Mme de Lassagne agreed, the French don’t work. They’re the ones who should be afraid.

They showed us around the apartment and gave us the details. Skye and I have two separate rooms at the back of the apartment, with big windows onto the courtyard, and the biggest closets in the history of the world. We share our own bathroom with a (stand-up!) shower. We get one meal a week with them (Sundays) and they will provide breakfast every day. They travel a lot to their country residences (two) and are very interested in farming (of cows). Which I believe they own. They gave us keys (these keys are incredibly weird looking) and we are to move in Saturday, but we can bring our suitcases over any time before that. They are some of the nicest people ever. M de Lassagne walked me and Skye to the metro when we left to make sure we made it all right.

After which, we took the metro back to the FIAP and push-button showers, stopping at a Chinese restaurant for lo mein and the recounting of boyfriend stories.

in which i am lost in paris.

In Paris. (Apparently the French have no need of exclamation points on their keyboards.)

I am at Reid Hall, which is the building where Wesleyan's classes are held. We are just near the boulevard Montparnasse, in the sixth arrondissement; the place we're staying for the next week, the FIAP, is about half an hour from here, closer to the edge of the city. I have no internet at the FIAP except what I can steal from the apartments across the way, which is highly unreliable, so at least until Saturday I will only have internet access here. It's possible but somewhat less than likely that I will bring my computer here for Wifi and be able to do Skype.

This morning, trying to get to Reid Hall, we got, well, lost. Rather thoroughly lost. A random French woman gave us directions to the metro, and we were already late for our orientation meeting, which none of us really wanted to go to anyway (not unreasonable considering that we have had what is essentially the same orientation meeting over and over for the past two weeks). Anyway, so I and somebody else wanted to take the metro, and the rest of the group decided to walk because it would take longer and they were in no hurry to get to the meeting. So my first experience with the French metro this morning; and it went fine. As I am happy to report. And then we were half an hour late to the meeting, which went exactly as expected.

We are very near the Jardin du Luxembourg here, which is lovely. I haven't heard anything about my host family, and won't move in there until Saturday. Having issues issues issues with my classes, which is less than surprising, and I should probably head over to the director's office to sit with six thousand other concerned students and wait for a meeting with him.

This afternoon: boats on the Seine (tourists BEEP BEEP BEEP) and shopping? The soldes are still going on. Must buy boots. Plus, there are the cutest kids' clothing stores here; I want to buy everything I see for Maddie.

Paris is lovely. You should all come visit me.

in which i prepare to depart bordeaux.

Today, a visit to the Musee d'Aquitaine (I just can't figure out an easy way to do accented characters on my computer, so just imagine they're there), spanning the time from Bordeaux's prehistory to now. It was interesting, but I must admit my attention wavered at about hour 612 or so. I did stay through the whole tour; that's more than I can say for some people.

Not many photos, and those I have are fairly poor, but: a mockup of Eleanor of Aquitaine's sarcophagus, I think.

A rose window (this was really cool. It's huge).
A 1:32 scale model of a French 64-gun ship. Cool.
A fresco from 1924, representing Bordeaux, as far as I could gather.
And completely unrelatedly, look how long my fingernails are! Just look!
Tomorrow we leave Bordeaux and head for Paris on the 3:00 plane. I feel like it would be a lot easier to just get on the train, but oh well. I guess we would have had to take the train from Paris originally, which means we would have had to pick up our bags in Paris. Which we didn't, they were sent all the way through to Bordeaux. And didn't really go through customs. It was extremely odd; we walked through a perfunctory visa check (they spent five seconds on the visa that so much work went into!) and got on our next plane. I don't really understand. We are probably all illegals and are going to get deported next time there's a random ID check on the street.

So this means that tonight is my last night in Bordeaux with my host family, who I like a lot. My host mom washed all my clothes last night, but she has no dryer, so they've been hanging dry all day over the radiator. Given how poorly the apartment is heated, though, they are still rather damp and I keep putting off packing.

Last night we went to see a stage adaptation of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, which name in French is Dix Petits Negres, from the original title of the book, one of the less-PC names I've come across. Oddly enough, in the play, they changed the lyrics of the children's song that the name comes from, to "dix petits diables." And if they're going to change the song lyrics, why not change the title? But that wasn't the big problem; that honor goes to the ending, which was drastically altered. As in, not everybody died. Travesty! Treason!

Afterward there were strange orange-juice-and-rum concoctions on the bar. I milled around with other students for a while and then went home to sleep for twelve hours.

in which i pretend i am eleanor of aquitaine.

You all should go vote for Wesleying. My roommate of the fantastic name was one of the girls who started it. It is awesome. Vote for them.

This afternoon I had no classes, and though the soldes have started, I avoided them. (The soldes are the big sales in all the stores, which happen in, I think, January and July, and they're pretty nuts. People were lining up outside the stores when I was walking to class at 8:30. I mean, H&M was 50% off. Considering that a shirt at H&M is like, six dollars, what do they do during the soldes? Shove clothes at you when you walk in the door? Maybe I should stop by.) The only thing I want is a pair of boots -- every French woman ever born seem to have a great pair of boots -- but I just don't think it's worth elbowing my way through gigantic crows of rabid frothing shoppers. Maybe in Paris.

Instead, I went over to the Cathedrale St. Andre, the church where Eleanor of Aquitaine married Louis the whateverth, her first husband. (I am mildly obsessed with her because of the movie The Lion in Winter, though the husband in that movie is more of the Henry Plantagenet than Louis.) It is so big. I don't think I can possibly convey to you how big it is. It's really easy to get into cathedral overload -- this has happened every time I've been to Europe, where all the cathedrals start to look the same -- and maybe it's because this is the first one I've seen this trip, but it was stunning.

And after, I went to a used bookstore and bought a bunch of ridiculous old postcards.

The tower here to the left is the Tour Pey-Berland, not the church, which is to the right. I don't really know what the tower is. It's just kind of there.

But this is the church again.

Seriously, they're talking about the soldes on TV. They're having some kind of interview in which the interviewee says such profound things as "They went very well! There were very deep discounts, and the shoppers were very satisfied."

in which i triumph.

Success! The computer returns in full glory, trailing a working adaptor behind on the end of its power cord. This means you will be treated to more of those newfangled photographs. Quel horreur!

In order to solve the computer issue (namely, I needed an adaptor), I headed over to the FNAC. This is, roughly, the French equivalent of Best Buy, plus a hefty helping of snoot. (They pronounce it le fhnack, for serious.) Anyway, they were very smiley and helpful despite the snoot and I emerged bearing an adaptor which, clearly, works.

So, Chateau Smith Haut Lafitte: involved, freezing cold underground air, wine tasting, and the purchase of a bottle as the present that I forgot to bring for my host mom from the US. I mean, I know nothing at all about wine, and frankly it all tastes about the same to me; so I bought the red we tasted, figuring that they wouldn't give us a bad wine to taste, seeing as it served as basically an advertisement for the Chateau. (As a side note, my first purchase of alcohol occurs at age twenty. Score one for me. Sort of.)

Yet again, I forgot that Blogger posts pictures backwards. So, sorry. These are pretty self-explanatory, so I'll just put them up without comment.