Day 2, Jetlag be damned!

Today was a day of many firsts. I awoke at the solid hour of 2 AM, thanks to my dear friend Jetlag, who single-handedly kept me from having a single night's rest during my 10-day birthright trip. Worry not, friends, I probably slept a total of 17 hours in the past 36. Huzzah!

I awoke to my first petit-dejeuner of my Paris stay. OH MY GOD. CHEESE. I will say it again. OH DEAR GOD CHEESE HOLY FUCK. Over seven types of cheeses were laid out for my liking, and if I had found enough bread to satisfy my liking, I might have had another Meg Ryan moment in "French Kiss" (if you hadn't seen it, don't-- it's horrifically cheesy. HAHA cheesy! Pun!). Also, Greek yogurt, fresh fruits... tea... I've found myself loving fruits I had hated before, like melons, or spinach. I also sort of disliked white wine before today. OH MY GOD FOOD.

After yet another post-breakfast nap, and an embarassing run to the pharamacy where I was too ashamed to ask where the toothpaste was, having forgotten the word for toothpase (pate de dents? pate pour les dents? pate-dents? dentifrice, wtf?!), I did something so typically me that it's a little embarassing: I went to the movies. Hooray for French movies! Who cares if it's actually an Israeli animated flick subtitled in French? It was awesome. (My review's in the "subbacultcha" blog: juliaalekseyeva.blogspot.com)

I walked past the infamous Moulin Rouge nightclub, only 5 minutes away from my homestay. The movie theatre is a lot like the Music Box in Chicago, red velvet curtains, fake ceiling stars and all. Studio 28, the name of the theatre, was actually founded by Jean Cocteau. The theatre was known for being one of the few theatres to run Bunuel movies (before it became horribly chic to do so). It's interesting, the differences between French and American theatres: the French (at least in the one theatre I was in) had only one screen, and often played completely different movies each day, some of which had only 3 or 4-day runs (another thing strikingly similar to the Music Box).

I'd include pictures, but I'm too afraid of seeming like a tourist to take photos. Besides, it was overcast today. And so far I've had nobody blatantly asking whether I was American (or foreign), which is a good sign, I think. Tomorrow: the beginning of Reid Hall orientation. Eek!

Commencement

So I'm here! Jetlagged and exhausted, nursing the worst sore throat this side of the Atlantic, but I'm here. France and I got off to a dodgy start, as I spent the good part of the morning being (mis)directed to various different parts of Paris-Charles-de-Gaulle Airport. I finally ended up taking a shuttle bus from the airport to my homestay in the 9th, a pleasant trip through the cobblestoned streets of Paris that took me around the Arch de Triomphe and back again. When the driver had finished dropping off the other passengers, he started blasting French hip-hop and speaking in broken Franco-English, and I did my best to respond in French.

My homestay family is wonderful, and my room is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, bar none. I seriously did a double take when I saw it: it's so adorably European! I have a writing desk-- and a REAL one, mind you, not the ikea variety. I've been told that homestays are often small and uncomfortable, but this one is absolutely perfect. I don't know what kind of spoiled children usually go on these study abroad trips, but this is probably the largest amount of space I had to myself... ever.

Here's a picture of the environs:


To be honest, I'm a little scared. I'm so used to grid lines that I've already gotten lost wandering in the neighborhood today. In Chicago, as long as you know where the lake is, you know where you are. But here on the Right Bank of Paris? What the heck do I do? I certainly don't ask anyone for directions. If the silly language barrier wasn't there, I'd be able to confidently stroll up to the nearest boulangerie and get the week's groceries. Alas, it took me a few minutes to work up the courage to ask for a ham sandwich, AND I forgot to get anything else for the week. Yes, I do think i'll be living on baguettes and tap water for the next four months.

I'm a little restless right now. I'm so used to having a plan that the next few planless days are a little shocking. Add that to general fatigue and confusion and you have one antsy little American expatriate.

Things I've noticed: the French wear Converse. A LOT of Converse. Almost everyone. It's freaking crazy. No other gym shoes are worn. Also, the concept of a "single-serving friend" is pretty foreign to them, unless I happened to sit next to the most misanthropic and antisocial Frenchman of the bunch.

Well, more later. A tout a l'heure!