Halloween Blues

Well well well, once again, I am sick. For what seems to be the ten billionth Halloween in a row. I can blame it on any number of people who insist on going out while contagious, although I know full well that I've simply been overdoing it a little. On the bright side, I have 2 days of nothing to do but watch movies and mope around, using paper towels instead of going out to buy tissues at the supermarket (I am just that lazy). My mom, of all people, actually came up with the brilliant idea that it is the stress of worrying about getting sick that got me sick in the first place, as I had an enormous presentation yesterday that I clearly could not do. Apparently the exact same thing used to happen in grammar school, of which I have no recollection. Hmm, interesting hypothesis, mom, let me know when you have an actual solution to the problem.

And now, stories. My homestay family is gone for two weeks and Jean-Daumier ("J.D"), my host brother, is in the house to keep me company. Or, more like hang out in the office watching TV on the internet (there's no family television). Bizarre. Wednesday nights I have my once-a-week dinner with the family, and since they aren't here, J.D. invites 5 (!!!) of his friends over, and I invite my friend Laura. Hilariousness ensues. J.D. is about the same age, maybe a little older, and most of his buddies are in the 22-23 range. All of them are studying math or economics or statistics or something completely dry but super lucrative. So Laura and I, both in the liberal arts fields, were lightly teased the entire night for how easy our workload is (NOT TRUE. In Paris, yes, maybe easy. In the states? No way. I distinctly remember a 1-week period when I had 4 essays due. In one semester, I average 10 5-7 page papers. Is that an easy workload? That, combined with all the reading required of an English major? Thought not.)

There was that, and the french language corrections. Now, I'm no French connoisseur, but I've always prided myself on having a pretty good accent. (Half of the time when I do things like grocery shopping or going to the movie theatre, people don't respond in English, a little perturbed. Things are improving!) However, so simple of a word as "beaucoup" I apparently have been pronouncing completely wrong my entire life. Apparently, what I've actually been saying these past 4 years of my francophone life, is "nice ass": beau cul. Great. Fucking terrific. "Merci-nice-ass!" How people didn't burst out laughing randomly at the supermarket, I have no clue.

[J.D. later told me that they were exaggerating, so maybe it isn't really that bad]

In other news, it's time to think about classes for next semester and I am freaked out. I am not ready to leave this cross-continental bubble. Then again, I do miss the Columbia lifestyle, just a little bit.

Now, I must drink my 4th cup of tea of the day. Next weekend: AMSTERDAM!!!

And, to conclude, a hilarious picture from Barcelona, my friends and I attempting a triple-piggyback ride and failing miserably:

Homework? Travels?

Currently: worried about grades

Currently: very behind in my reading

Currently: worried about when the heck I will have enough time to write that killer of an essay for the Sorbonne before Dec.1st, with all the traveling I'm planning to do in November.

If all goes as planned, next month I will go to Amsterdam (Nov. 7-9), Aix-en-Provence (Nov.21-23), and London (Nov. 28-30). Amsterdam is a definite yes, as I've already bought tickets with friends. I might not do Aix, because my friend who I was planning on going with is dependent on a friend of hers staying there, and so far hasn't said anything about it in weeks. If that's the case, I might go to London/Cambridge Nov. 21st so I could be back in Reid Hall for the delicious (/free!!!) Thanksgiving feast they're preparing. Although plenty of people I know are going to London that day, so... food, or socializing? Food? Socializing? Food? Socializing? Deciding factor will be when I should be done with the paper. So, against all gluttonous insticts (and I have them aplenty), I might actually go the 28th so I could have ample time to finish that beast of a Saint Augustine/Rousseau/Montaigne paper.

ALSO, a Chagall oral presentation on Wednesday. 15 minutes, tout en francais. Thankfully I am an expert art history bullshitter, to the extent of being confused as to when I'm actually bullshitting. (I kid, really: I believe absolutely everything I say, even if it is ridiculously stupid and pretentious when I talk about art history).

My posts have been obnoxiously long as of late, so I'll keep this one relatively short.

I have already been dreading going back to American food. I cannot imagine a life where people do not walk around with baguettes tucked under their elbow! (It's inevitable, people. It's fresh, the French don't do bags, and they're too damn long to fit anywhere [that's what she said! *snicker*] ). And the fruits and vegetables are so much fresher in Europe.

Also, Paris is all of the sudden freezing. 50 and dropping. Rainy as all hell, although the rain actually gives it a picturesque feel, like that one famous Caillebotte at the Art Institute of Chicago, one of my favorite paintings of the period:

I MISS DAYS LIKE THIS:

Lyon

Finally back from my week-long escapade to Lyon, third largest city in France and gastronomic capital of France (and maybe the world?). It was a requirement of the Reid Hall program, for any of you curious folk out there. Currently I'm in need of a serious wine/food-detox. No more cheese, nutella, and alcohol for Julia. No more.

DAY 1

Board the TGV (train de grande vitesse), arrive at Lyon in the evening. Alas, us Columbia/Penn retards get off at the wrong stop. Embarassing explanations ensue. But then, finally, we meet our homestay families and the real adventures begin. Aside from 1. the lack of internet, and 2. my homestay being in the far banlieue of Caluire, my homestay is absolutely perfect. The Joubert family was "tres cool" (their phrase), something they constantly reiterated in the sejour. And it was true. They. were. awesome. I miss them already! I was in their daughter Anais's room:

Yes, that is a poster of the Mona Lisa smoking an enormous joint. Clearly this family cannot be cooler. There was another super rasta-man poster on the other wall. I felt totally comfortable talking to them about where I was going tonight, and what we did, PG-rated or not. We had several long conversations about favorite types of alcohol. SO different from my Paris host family, who, though quite sweet, are really quite old-fashioned.

DAY 2

Exploring Vieux Lyon and the Institute of the Lumiere Brothers. Lots of walking.

Gorgeous, cobblestones. And yes, that thing down the middle of the cobblestoned street is a poop chute. Sewage rolled down that center aisle for centuries before the invention of the modern toilet.

And of course, the Lumiere Institute was awesome, and we got to see the first movies in existence.
Fun Fact: Lyon is the birthplace of cinema! The Lumiere brothers, who invented cinema as we know it, lived in Lyon. By the end of their lives they patented over 100 inventions.

Afterwards I met up with Austin, an American from SLU also living with the family (albeit for a year), and we explored Parc de Tete d'Or, a public park with its own zoo!


And oh, the colors! Autumn: my favorite season, by far.
Then, that Friday night, I got my first taste of Lyon nightlife. Vieux Lyon is the place to go: full of restaurants, cafes, and Irish pubs. Totally international. Austin and I met up with the Reid Hall kids after several glasses of Sangria chez nous, where our family was having a spontaneous dinner party for the neighbors. Pub-crawling consumed most of the night, until everything closed around 2 and Austin found some of his Lyon friends on the street. A Kebab stand and much standing around later, we crashed at his friend's place and made our hungover way back to Caluire around 11 AM.

DAY 3

Saturday, the only required activity being to spend time with our homestay families. A quiet day, most of which was spent zoned out listening to music in the bedroom. Except the afternoon, when the family took me to the Contemporary Art museum of Lyon (read more about it in the other blog). Frankly, they weren't fans. I was practically salivating. Weird, the difference a few years of art history education will do for you. That night Austin and I zoned out in front of the TV and watched DVDs accompanied by bread, nutella, cheese, and 2 bottles of wine. How is nutella not in every concession stand across the world? Is it because it is no less than the ambrosia of the gods?

DAY 4

HIKING! The family took me hiking in the countryside, only a 45 minute car ride from Caluire. Of course, i didn't expect to be hiking 12 kilometers! All they said was to come with them to "marcher et voir la compagne un peu" (to walk and see a bit of the countryside). My Chicago family NEVER took me hiking. I was expecting a picnic with a quiet stroll. It was quite tiring and quite fun, although I practically ruined the boots I brought along-- not that I care. There's a reason I buy Payless variety of everything. Clearly I slept well Sunday night.

Took lots of pretty pictures of paysage (landscapes) :



DAY 5

Monday arrives, and with it, back to good ol' tourist activities. We went to a vignoble (vinyard) in Beaujolais, just a few minutes from Lyon. Yes, that is where they make that delicious, delicious wine (my personal fave of all red wines. Actually, probably my favorite alcoholic drink period). We also saw bread being baked! And we were treated graciously by the most adorable married couple in history.

And the food! The wine! So much delicious wine!
Afterwards, an obligatory nap in the vinyard.


Then, the Musee des Beaux-Arts (museum of fine arts) in Lyon, although the lot of us were tipsy from the wine and far too tired to comprehend much of it. I enjoyed it, of course (be it as it may, i enjoyed the wine much more than the museum!).

The night was a tad frustrating. Back to Vieux Lyon we went, although we quickly found out that nothing is open past midnight on Monday nights. Oh, civilization, where have you gone?? Most of the night was walking around the city. We transversed almost the entire city that night, just looking for a place to go until the metro opened at 5. We lasted until 3, when I had to share a cab and pay the unfortunate price of 20 euro for my trek back to Caluire. Oh, the price of socializing. Oof.

Picture of Vieux Lyon at night:




DAY 6

Last full day in Lyon. Un peu triste. Actually I was very depressed at the prospect of returning to academia and leaving the Joubert family, who I got very attached to. Touristy-activities-wise, we spent the day in, AGAIN, Vieux Lyon, exploring the Fourviere, an enormous church built a century ago.

We climbed to the top and the view was breathtaking. You can tell from the architecture that Lyon was originally occupied by the Romans. So different from the post-Haussmanian architecture dominating Paris. Note the terra cotta-colored roofs. Adorable.

Last dinner with the family later that evening, when I ate so much food that the mom did a double take. I must've eaten twice Austin's portion, although in my defense, it was the first meal of the day. I've become such a glutton in France!

DAY 7

A strange ending to our trip, as we were taken to a World War II museum. Very creepy, very depressing. Although right before our TGV-ride back to dear old Paris, we were taken to an extremely fancy restaurant near the Perrache train station. I was so full I literally could not walk. Seriously. I cannot handle this amount of deliciousness! And, for the first time that I could remember, I couldn't finish the elegant dessert:


Ah, Lyon. You shall be missed.

...

Still no Paris, though. Then again, what can possibly equate the spectacle of excitement that is Paris, city of lights, art, and 24-hour public transportation??

Fuck you, Noctilien

God I hate Hate HATE how early the metro closes. I had to run to catch the metro yesterday. And I ended up missing my transfer. So it was only 12:45 and I had to take the stupid Noctilien from freakin' BOLOGNA.

Ok, little rant over.

Not much else to say but to complain, again, of the crappiness of the Noctilien bus system. I must say, though, I do not fear it at all. Even alone. Even female. Even tipsy. I do not fear the Noctilien. If I'm somewhere in central Paris, I can figure out how to get home within half an hour. It's creepy, it's gross, but it works.

In other news, going to Lyon for a week! Gastronomic capital of the world. If I had to choose, I'd choose Aix-en-Provence, so I'm more than a little pissed at Columbia for offering Lyon instead. Grr.

Lastly, picture time:

Barcelona!

So, for those of you who weren't aware, I went to Barcelona this weekend! Clearly such an event merits a blog post.

Thursday night I boarded a train with Sam and Jon, spending all 12 hours of the trip's duration-- layover not included-- attempting to drown out the sound of a fat Frenchman's snoring in our couchette. At some point in the night I contemplated "accidentally" knocking a complimentary bottle of water onto his head. Sam tried snapping his fingers to no avail.

And then we arrived. Both days we were there, it was 75 and sunny: absolutely gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that we walked. Everywhere. We walked all the way to the hostel from the train station, poor Sam having to carry his luggage in his hands. Barcelona has gorgeous architecture, even the Gaudi buildings aside. And so different! In Paris, most buildings look relatively the same. Barcelona had everything, more modern buildings aside art nouveau, and those aside from very classical buildings. And so many balconies! It reminded me a little bit of Tel Aviv. Then again, both are Mediterannean...

A typical Catalonian building:

Barcelona is known for 2 things: its bustling nightlife (which I of course took advantage of), and its numerous buildings by fin-de-siecle art nouveau architect Antoni Gaudi. He quite possibly might be my favorite architect at the moment. His work is both ornate and organic, modern and timeless. And SO original. Nobody can be "Gaudi-esque": there is only Gaudi.

This building was only a few meters away from our hostel:
Gorgeous.

After arriving at the hostel-- right at Passeig de Gracia, practically the 5th Ave of Barcelona-- we met up with everyone (there were 9 of us total!) at Parc Guell, aka "Gaudi's Park." If you've ever seen "L'Auberge Espagnole," this is where the main character has sex with the French lady. That's right, on those wavy mosaic-covered benches. Frankly if it wasn't a movie, he'd never have pulled it off. It was PACKED with tourists, which didn't detract a bit from its fairytale charm.


View of all of Barcelona from the top of the park, including Gaudi's famous (yet-unfinished) church, Sagrada Familia:


While we were walking out of the park, Jon had an aventure with a Catalan woman dressed as a witch. She was standing on top of the fountain and asked to be placed on the ground, he gave his hand, she jumped on him, he put her over his shoulder and KISSED HER. It was a moment of horror and hilarity for all of us. Ok, more hilarious than horrible. There was black residue on his face from the makeup and everything.

Afterwards, tapas for dinner (appetizer-type things) and adventuring in the infamous Barcelona nightlife. Memories include a British man dressed as an angel, his quarter-wolf guard dog, water bottles full of not-water, gypsies dancing flamenco on the street, pitchers of Sangria, and never-have-I-ever. A good night, except for poor Nate who lost his wallet to infamous gypsy pickpocketers.

Saturday, up at 8:30 for our free hostel breakfast. Hangover aside, proceeded to Joan Miro park and walking around aimlessly. We happened upon the University of Barcelona campus, without a doubt the most beautiful campus I have ever seen. There were gardens! And koi fish! And cats running aroung! And palm trees!


The rest of the day included wandering around the beach boardwalk. Authentic Barcelona. To be honest, most of the trip consisted of waiting around for somebody else. Just sitting, relaxing. Just being. And that's fine with me. It's also the price you pay for a trip with 9 people, most of whom are living in completely different places. Thankfully most of them were in the same hostel.

More nightlife adventures that evening. Dinner in Spain starts at 10 and lasts until midnight, and then the real fun begins. The next day, however, was a complete disaster. Barely made the 10 AM checkout at the hostel, missed breakfast, and it was overcast. Terrible for sightseeing. And then we lost Sam, and my cell phone died, and so did his. Regardless, ended up seeing the Sagrada Familia:

Was raining, so didn't get a very good view. And we also ended up going to the zoo, where I took many pictures of adorable animals, all of which would be completely redundant if I put them up online. Except this hilarious rabbit-like creature, whose name I completely forgot:

Then, unfortunately, back to the 12-hour train ride, thankfully without a "ronfler"-er (snorer) this time. And the layover in the Mediterranean town of Cerbere was relaxing. Sam, Jon, and I made a new friend and relaxed on the rocky sands while waiting for our train to arrive. Sam and Jon went swimming but us girls weren't quite so gutsy, so we just sprawled on the sand smoking cigarettes. A beautiful night.
Strange to think I was sitting on that sand, throwing rocks at the Mediterranean, just 24 hours ago. Traveler's blues, I guess.

While in Spain, Sam and I talked extensively of the differences between Spanish and French culture, and how it manifests itself in language. Spoken Spanish is a beautiful thing, warm and vibrant. Just like the Spanish/Catalan people: overflowing with energy, open and enthused, extreme in many facets and generally much happier than the French. These are of course generalizations, although a little part of them is true. The French are more enigmatic, cold and distant although infinitely polite. The French are people of moderation and restraint, the Spanish of vibrancy and activity. In Spain I felt, many a time, how different it would be to study in a Spanish-speaking country; perhaps it'd be better, however much I love Paris. Warmer (literally and figuratively). But then I arrived in Paris this morning, and as the train sped mast the Assemblee Nationale train station--covered with murals promoting the government and the great works of the nation of France in the past few decades post-Mitterand--and I remembered why it was that I was studying here and not Barcelona (language barrier aside). I instantly got La Marseillaise stuck in my head, again. France is romantic, idealistic, intellectual: a grand country. Just grand.

But, back to Barcelona. What will I think of when I think of Barcelona? Light-filled streets at 2 AM. Parrots in Palm Trees at Parc Guell. Flamenco music. Children running around laughing, parents in tow. Sangria. Tapas-hopping. Sunlight and warmth. Seafood Paella. For once, forgetting about homework and wandering, just wandering. If I could, I would wander forever, "flaner"-ing around the world, a slightly happier Baudelaire.

La Sorbonne

I had my first class at La Sorbonne today, only the most prestigious university in the world! And I'm not exaggerating. Literally, the most famous university in the world. It was founded in the late 13th century, also making it one of the oldest. It probably wouldn't surprise most of you that I took a class here simply for the name. How cool would it be to come back to Columbia, knock on my ol' English prof's door, and say, "HEY I took a class at the Sorbonne on Rousseau and Montaigne!" Obviously, pretty damn cool.

(Clearly my concept of cool differs from the norm. My concept of cool also includes argyle sweater vests and Frida Kahlo earrings. And phrases like "peachy keen".)

Anyway: the course is called "Aspets de la Renaissance a nos jours: L'ecriture de soi." (blogger won't let me put in accents) We read Montaigne's "Essais" and Rousseau's "Confessions." And now for my own confession: I read both "Essais" and "Confessions" before. In English. Essais, multiple times. I took an almost identically-named course at Columbia called "Making of the Modern Self," probably one of my favorite courses thus far in all of my educational career (and one of the easiest graded! Thanks a bunch, Prof. Ross Hamilton!) But, this is the Sorbonne. And you know what? Reading books in French is difficult enough. Did I mention Montaigne writes in the equivalent of Shakespearean English in French? "Ainsi, lecteur, je suis moy-mesmes la matiere de mon livre" ? And it's not like I won't RE-read them in French. And we didn't spend more than a few classes on Rousseau and Montaigne, while this course is SUPER specialized. Hooray!

I trouver-ed a list of famous people who went to the Sorbonne:

Thomas Aquinas
Honore de Balzac
Roland Barthes
Simone de Beauvoir
John Calvin
Marie Curie
Pierre Curie
Gilles Deleuze
Desiderius Erasmus
Jean-Luc Godard
Victor Hugo
Claude Levi-Strauss
Normal Mailer
Emmanuel Joseph Sieyes
Susan Sontag
Andreas Vesalius
+tons of Popes

...and those are only the people I recognized. Whoa, dude. I am so failing out of this institution.

Kidding! I hope. My "travaux dirigee" prof seemed nice enough. AND he actually gave out a bibliography, which no professor does. I'm three weeks into my New Wave Cinema class at Paris VII-Denis Diderot and still no syllabus. Strangely enough, I understand my uber-pretentious lit class at La Sorbonne better--much much better-- than Marc Vernet, my film prof. I just do not understand colloquial French for the life of me. If only everyone spoke like Montaigne?

In other news: no longer going to Amsterdam this weekend. But I AM going to Barcelona! Barcelona, ahoy! Should be fun. Come on, it's freaking Barcelona! Hasn't anyone seen "L'Auberge Espagnole"? Shouldn't Daft Punk music be playing whilst drunkenly exploring the Gaudi-lined streets? Shouldn't American expatriates be playing Bob Marley songs on acoustic guitars along the road at night? Shouldn't Audrey Tatou come along to try to whisk me back to Paris? (Honestly I don't know why the main character and Audrey Tatou didn't see each other more often in his year abroad; Barcelona's but an 11-hour train ride!) Taking the night train there, staying 2 nights in a hostel, and taking the night train back Monday morning, JUST in time for my 9:15 French Writing course.

To conclude, a picture of my friends and I at the Catacombs, making scary faces. Methinks I pull off the nearly-dead look quite well. Although that could just be the deathly pale skin...

Versailles and Nuit Blanche

I did not expect to be particularly enthused about Versailles. For one, Baroque annoys me, as do palaces and most displays of grandeur. I have too much of the American in me to appreciate it, too much of the American whose heart skips a beat when I see Ionic columns and elegant neoclassical pediments. When I was in St. Petersburg, I was bored to tears inside Petrohof, Peter the Great's enormous palace on the outskirts of the city.

Frankly, I find luxury completely uninteresting. I have no particular desire to be wealthy. When I think of Versailles I can't help but think of the stupidity of it all, the overwhelming excess and gaudy opulence. Like Alexis de Tocqueville might say, the American in me cannot bear to witness inequality, because we hold to inequality with much more force than we do liberty. (This unfortunately doesn't seem to be the case any more... Americans nowadays tend towards gross inequality and obnoxious degrees of liberty, albeit only in the case of consumerism. *sigh*)

Overall, Versailles was... underwhelming. The Jeff Koons show that they had there was pretty amazing, though. If not for Jeff Koons, it would have been a terrible afternoon. It was freezing and drizzling the entire time, and for some reason the entire estate of Versailles has only one entrance open to the public, so my friend and I wandered around the gardens completely lost and near exhaustion.
The gardens themselves seemed like something from a fairy land, all of those miniscule trees and curlicues. The autumn leaves in the background made a picturesque setting as well. By the way, in the picture above, that red thing in the center is Jeff Koons's "Split Rocker," an enormous rocking horse head covered with flowers. Cool, right?This is the ceiling of the hall of mirrors. Underwhelming, again. The hordes of tourists also didn't make this experience any more interesting. But enough of Versailles. Last night was nuit blanche, when the night buses barely run and Paris is awake and intoxicated all night long! Our night began at the Centre Georges Pompidou, contemporary art museum of paris and locale of some of my favorite Magrittes. The Pompidou was open until two AM, and we explored the galleries until around midnight. There were so many people, it was actually as if the streets of Paris became one giant party, fueled by alcohol, acoustic guitar, and a sense of camaraderie.

The lights! The people! The music!

OH MAN I love the Pompidou. We walked around lost for a little bit, then returned to sit, as hundreds of Parisians were doing, on the floor of the Plaza. We were joined by a musician from El Salvador, improvised a Spanish love song, listened as a Parisian boy tried rapping and beatboxing... and I vaguely remember learning a Danish drinking song and subsequently forgetting it. Next the night moved towards wandering around Montparnasse, squeezed amongst thousands of Parisians on the metro (we had grabbed the last one). A good feeling. A good night. Who needs the palace of Versailles when you have good ol' fashioned camaraderie?

Later days!

Learning to faire la cuisine

Yesterday night I had my "atelier de cuisine," a free cooking class offered by the Columbia Program. GOD I love free stuff! Thank you, enormously over-funded Ivy League of pretentiousness!

Completely by chance, the cooking class was at the home of a Polish expatriate, a mere FIVE MINUTE WALK from my adorably french abode. Ok, ten minute walk, but it's still close, damn it. And oh, what an evening! I can now say with confidence that I know how to separate the egg white from the yolk. What a feat, I know. Then again, few of you really know how incompetent I am with cooking. I'm worse than Carrie Bradshaw (not really. I actually stir-fry quite well. And microwave. And omelets? I make good omelets? Maybe? Ok, I'm rationalizing).

I was alone with two girls and Mme Tarnowska, the chef, who was actually an antiques dealer. Which of course means she was loaded, which of course means her apartment was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. Like mine, but better heated, and with red carpeting and Picasso-escque sculptures and interesting picture frames. Perfect. More beautiful than anything I'd ever seen in an Ikea catalogue, that's for sure.

The menu for the night: Allumettes de Fromage (little crouton-esque cheese puffs), Soupe provencale (yummmm), and souffle au citron. Souffle! Ladies and gentlemen, I know now how to make souffle. Which means: I can make either very simple dishes, or these awfully complex three, and nothing in the middle. I can make brownies that come from a box, and I can make souffle, but I can't make pie. I can make the soup of southern France, but I can't even make chicken. You get the idea.

Unfortunately, I did not take any new pictures. Worry not, touristy activities will resume in the near future. Je promets!

In other news, I am continually annoyed with the flakyness of my fellow travellers. If you say you're going to Amsterdam, you damn well should be going to Amsterdam. Here I am with tickets, and you decide to go to Barcelona. And then... what? Munich? Oh damn. If only people would just tell me these things in advance! I have too much of my Jewish mother in me to plan spur-of-the-moment vacations. I die without my yearly planner. No, seriously. I think my blood pressure falls when it isn't within reach.

Well, here's to pleasant voyages, I suppose. Amsterdam ahoy! In 10 days, that is. :)