a couple photos of the seine, and new shoes.

The weather here is gorgeous. The other day I went for a walk along the Seine; I had a lovely picture of the sun on the water, but I got so caught up in the frenzy of deleting over a hundred Loire photos from my camera that I accidently erased it. Oops.



I walked along the island that runs through the middle of the Seine for a fair distance. I was, in succession, surrounded by a mob of German tourists in backpacks, surrounded by a mob of French mothers pushing baby strollers, surrounded by a mob of Amerian tourists, and then, when I thought I was free of them, I walked right through a wedding-photo session. They were a very cute young couple, maybe 25, Asian, very sparkly in general; I couldn't figure out, though, why they were doing their wedding photos underneath a bridge. Later they drove by me in a giant black SUV piloted by two stern-looking old men. And then I ran up on the Statue of Liberty.



And crossed to the other side of the Seine and took a boat photo. Skye met a girl at one of her open mikes who lives on one of these boats; she apparently has stories about people coming to her parties, getting drunk, and falling in the Seine, which is probably the nastiest river to fall into, ever. At least it's not the Revolution and they're throwing corpses in it.



Printemps was perhap less successful than I'd have liked, but in addition to a headache I got these shoes. They are possibly the most ridiculous shoes I own. They're sold as "bath shoes," which probably just means that they're so shoddily made Printemps won't vouch for them holding up in anything but a shower. Oh well. Can we ignore how weird my feet look in this photo, and focus on how weird the shoes look in this photo?



Gosh they're bright. That's the imprint of my jeans in my leg from sitting on it funny, in case you're wondering why I look all wrinkly.

les vacances

I am officially on spring break. Easter break, actually; it strikes me as somewhat odd that France, being such a resolutely secular country, insists on calling this les vacances de Paques. Anyway, I have two weeks. From Tuesday to Saturday I'll be in Barcelona, and from Sunday to the next Saturday Mom will be here. I'm allowing myself to actually feel like I'm on break now, because I finished my European Union paper -- twelve pages in French in a subject that is totally new to me, no paper will ever be hard again. Actually I still have to do my footnotes etc, but today I'm celebrating. I.e., Skye and I are going shopping. There's this semi-legendary French department store called Printemps (fittingly, "spring") that we have to check out. Obviously.

The weather is ridiculous -- mid to high sixties and sunny all week. (Here. In Barcelona, it's supposed to rain, Tuesday through Friday. Oh well.) There are a bunch of museums I want to go to (Picasso museum, museum of medieval archaeology, the Orangerie, where Monet's waterlily paintings are), but I think they're all going to be closed Sunday and Monday because of Easter. How inconvenienced I am.

What I really want is a sugar crepe. I am addicted, and the crepe stand near my house has been closed for a week. These people are not allowed to take a vacation right now, I need crepes! Now if you'll excuse me. Perhaps there are some crepe stands over by Printemps.

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 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 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."