Giverny

Done with practicum! Better class than expected. Relatively easy. I'll definitely miss Emmanuelle, my awesomely crazy and spunky teacher. 3-week intensive classes are weird. I usually build a more substantial relationship with my teachers. Alas, impossible with a 3-hr a day, 3 week course. Strange. I've never taken so short a course before.

In other news: celebrated my birthday at the Cafe des Deux Moulins, the real-life Amelie cafe! I had to, folks. I just had to. There are a few pictures of Amelie up on the walls, but it's not as memorabilia-crazy as Tom's Restaurant. I lived on the same block as Tom's in Manhattan last year, and it was always jam-packed, walls covered with signed Seinfeld posters. Big difference: food in Tom's is barely palatable, while the Cafe des Deux Moulins was deeelicious.

Yesterday: excursion to Giverny, locale of Monet's gardens. It was absolutely beautiful. Warm and sunny. If a camera could have artgasms, I think it might have had plenty.

Injuries, Maladies

Happy happy happy birthday to me. I woke up in the middle of the night sick and slightly delirious, probably running a fever. What a wonderful birthday surprise. And with my final just around the corner! Clearly my body is revolting against no longer being a teenager. Yippedy-do-da-day.

But worry not, I am surprisingly not that angry about being sick. I have a lot of things to be excited about lately. What's a few days of coughing and sneezing compared to a semester of Paris? Exactly.

I guess I should recount this past weekend's babysitting adventures. So I'm picked up at 3 on Saturday and whisked off to the middle-of-nowhere, France. It's literally in the middle of nowhere. I don't even know what province it was in. We drove past Chartres. That's all I know.

We arrive, and I am dropped in front of 5 kids, aged 2-4, of varying dispositions and personalities, all of whom speak in a high-pitched kid voice that I could barely understand. That and kid lingo. Don't know French kid lingo. I can understand university professors better than I can people of my own grammatical capabilities, apparently.

It was an... interesting experience, partly because the parents were also there, and also keen on spending time with their kids, meaning I really didn't do much "babysitting" at all. I was the token "babysitter," but when anything went wrong, it was the parent who came to the rescue. For instance: each of the kids woke up in the middle of the night. And who do they want? Their "maman." And here I am trying to comfort these crying kids in a language I do not fully understand: "Are you ok? There, there. Did you have a nightmare? Do you need your mommy?" etc. That, and diapers. Never changed diapers in my life. Don't want to start now.

Let me explain the setting a little more: a bunch of college pals, now twenty/thirty-something yuppies, rent out a bunch of cabins in the middle of France once a year and have a party/reunion. This year was a theme party; theme: "movie stars." Couples dressed as movie couples: Batman/Catwoman, Austin Powers/Chick from Austin Powers, Uma Thurman's character in Pulp Fiction with John Travolta's character in Pulp Fiction, etc. It was bizarre and absolutely fabulous, and I wished so badly that I could join them in the festivities. Alas! euros first, I suppose. There was a party room and everything, with somebody DJ-ing. I swear I heard Madonna's "Hung Up" a few times and had to restrain myself from running over to the party room and dancing.

I also got a chance to explore the French countryside a little bit. And oh is it beautiful! As a person who never really went camping and has always lived in cities with AT LEAST 2.5 million people, who has fallen asleep to an orange- or pink-tinted sky for 20 years of her life, walking outside in the middle of the night and seeing millions of stars... it was breathtaking. For a second (JUST A SECOND mind you) I wished I grew up in the country, or at least spent more time there. I wanted more than anything to just lie down there on the grass and stare at the stars.

Another problem with city life is you grow up practically lacking night vision. I can't even remember all of the things I bumped into in the dark, frantically trying to find the parents when some kid or other started crying or pooped himself or threw up.

Total of kids: 5
Total of kids who woke up at least once in the middle of the night: 5
Injuries received by kids: 0
Injuries received by babysitter: 6
Cold received by babysitter probably due to contact with kids: 1

Oh, what I suffer for a chunk of petty change!

Actually I exaggerate a bit. One of the kids was sooo cute: a four-year old blonde girl named Lola. I got pretty attached to her. With children I feel like it's hit-or-miss with me: either I'm hated or loved. When she got up in the morning she ran over to hug me. It's a good feeling. Especially for an only child like me.

And now, a few pics of the totally awesome kids at Reid Hall:

Life in Montmartre + the first batch of Louvre pictures

Updates! I finally got a chance to explore my neighborhood of Montmartre this past week. The Sacre Coeur basilica is one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen, and it isn't even that old-- about a century, I think:

Montmartre, of Moulin Rouge fame, hub of poor artists and musicians from Picasso to Montigliani, has now transformed into the epicenter of Parisian tourism. Walking up the "butte" (hill) you see dozens and dozens of charicaturists and street musicians. Though still obviously beautiful, it isn't quite the quiet cobblestoned locale pictured in Amelie. Although the view of Paris from the Sacre Coeur is astounding:Paris is a quiet city. Which isn't to say that it doesn't have violent undercurrents. For example, last night I was standing with my friend while waiting for the night bus at Pigalle (the famous "Pig Alley" of WWI), and had a fat drunk man fall on me while he was attempting to beat up another fat drunk man for being Arab. This was probably the first time in several years that I was honest to god afraid, because 1. I'm not quite the Aryan myself, 2. This guy could hurt me, and 3. I realized that I didn't know the French equivalent for 911 lest something should happen. Thankfully everything ended up fine, but it was still a rude awakening. Paris, like all of the world outside of my academic bubble, is racist as hell.

But on to better things: went to Louvre, FINALLY! It has become some kind of post-class ritual to hang out in the Jardin de Tuileries outside of the Louvre, but before yesterday I have not yet stepped inside the Louvre's halls. I got my unlimited student-of-art-history pass that lets me in for free anytime I feel like Louvre-ing, so obviously I will return for artgasms aplenty. So far I've only explored a part of the greco-roman galleries, which are still amazing, don't get me wrong. But I'm most excited about someday finding "The Lacemaker" of Vermeer. I love Vermeer.

Although seeing the Venus de Milo isn't shabby at all:
Or the imagined bust of Homer:Seeing this sculpture of Artemis my second-favorite Greek god(dess) rekindled my dorky high school love for Greek mythology:
And, of course, an obligatory shot of the Louvre at dusk:


Gorgeous. And now, a weekend babysitting Parisian kids. I need euros desperately, so hopefully I will return chez moi a bit more replenished and ready for good old-fashioned consumerism. Hooray.

Brief

If I had three wishes:

1. I wish Paris had better heat/insulation systems. I am perpetually freezing in my room even if it's in the lower 60s outside. Why oh why didn't I bring a sweatshirt?? Stupid Parisian trendiness!

2. I wish the metro stayed open later, i.e. all the time, so I wouldn't have to constantly look for the night bus.

3. I wish all of you reading were here with me. :(

Reims Cathedral + Champagne Caves

Interesting weekend. Saturday I braved the 7:30 AM wake-up call and went on a day trip to the Reims Cathedral in Champagne with my fellow Reid Hall-ers. Apart from the freezing rain we endured there, it was a fantastic trip. Notre Dame de Reims was built in the 12th century, I think, at the same time as the Notre Dame de Paris. It was my first time in a "real" gothic cathedral, and I must say I got chills when inside. No wonder everyone converted to Catholicism (as if they had a choice in the matter)! It's hard to believe something to enormous and ornate could be constructed with human hands. And what labour must have gone into its realization! I can't imagine being the person that discovered the flying buttress, or the vault, or the pillars holding up the collonades. And everything so exact, so by-the-number, precise and perfect. Almost too perfect.

Pictures:

The facade in all its glory.The famous smiling angelThe gorgeous interior: the north transept, I think...Marc Chagall painted these stained glass windows! SO beautiful! By far my favorite part of the cathedral.

Then we went to the Pommery Cave, where they've been making Champagne since the mid 1800s. DE-licious:
After the exhausting trip, I somehow mustered the energy to stay awake until 5 AM. Took the night bus for the first time. The Parisian metro closes inconveniently early (12:30 weekdays, 1:30 weekends), and has a bus system called the Noctilien that runs late at night: creepy and slow, but certainly cheaper than a taxi. And now: studying for my french midterm. Yuck.

Cultural Differences

Updating has been pretty slow lately, sorry! Sleep deprivation: you know how it does. And plenty of coursework.

I've been going out unusually often; in fact, I've only had one "night in" this entire week, classwork and all. It's strange and exciting, and, most of all, expensive. Take Tuesday night, for example, when three friends and I decided to go to a Coldplay concert. Coldplay. Here in Paris. So we arrived, had a shady business deal with a ticket-scalper (scalping? is that the term? hawking?), and had an... interesting time. All this made me think of cultural differences between the French and the Americans, especially when it comes to concert ettiquette.

Concert ettiquette in the States: 1. singing along is appropriate, and often appreciated by the band. 2. moshing, though often frowned upon, is tolerated. 3. if there is space, you take it; you lose it, it's your loss. 4. once the opening bands stop and the main act begins, people rush to the stage, and it's no-holds-barred from there.

Concert ettiquette in France: 1. singing along = no-no. 2. moshing? what's that? 3. you touch me, I curse at you in French and tell you to shove off. Rule #1: leave me the fuck alone. 4. you invade my personal space, you die.

Needless to say, it was a confusing night. Unfortunate, since the set itself was AMAZING. At the end they released tons of paper butterflies into the air, and it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Just beautiful. "Viva la Vida" is a great album in general, but I near died when they played Politik from "A Rush of Blood to the Head." The only problem was the audience; Parisians are the most boring concert-goers I had ever seen. And very pissy. Strange, because the drunk scenesters at the Justice concert were quite friendly. Maybe it was the alcohol? Normally i'd assume the trendsetters to be the most pretentious. Hmmm...

Other cultural differences:

1. Alcohol, though consumed more often, is never "overdone"-- i.e. no binge drinking
2. Nobody talks on the metro. Ever.
3. You say "bonjour" before 5/6 and "bonsoir" after
4. You have to greet the salespeople when you enter any establishment, and say goodbye when you leave
5. When you pass people on the street or metro you say "pardon" because otherwise they will not budge
6. Women never smile to strangers, because to the French, smiling = "wanna fuck?"
7. Women also never accept drinks from strangers, because a drink means, "my place or yours?"
8. Women are often passive and more docile than in the states, somehow more timid
9. People don't own much clothing and rewear it often, although somehow they all manage to look unbearably chic
10. It is impossible to differentiate a straight male from a gay male because everyone is metrosexual

More to come soon. And, more pictures, because some people have been complaining about my not having enough...

First Day of Class

So, as the title describes, today I started my 3-week intensive language practicum. Let me tell ya kids, it was not easy. Not easy at all. As far as pronunciation goes I'm much better than I used to be, but grammar has always been my Achilles' heel. Actually, I have several Achilles' heels, so unless Achilles miraculously grew extra ankles, hydra-like, it's easier to say that I suck at French.

Sometimes, when I'm alone in the house (not this one, I'm too embarrassed to do it), I take out a French book and start reading aloud. I comprehend next to nothing, but just practice the pronunciation. It's very nerdy but I like it a lot... although it's somehow egotistical to enjoy the sound of your own voice. Of course, when in class my voice gets tangled and apprehensive, and I do fewer liaisons and suck more in general. Bof.

In other news: never again will I drink 1 1/2 bottles of wine. I've never been fully drunk on wine before, but I tell you, Saturday night I was gone. Gone gone gone. Not-being-able-to-walk-straight gone. Well, now I know my limits. It was horrifically embarrassing seeing the kids you went out with the last night the next day at school, and them asking you, "How are you... today?" while wincing slightly. Mortifying. In better news, I am getting much better at tasting and classifying wines. I can now detect "woody," "floral," or "tannic," "bitter," "fruity" etc. Most of it is bullshit, I'm sure, but I sound much cooler.

I have yet to go into the Louvre. My first time trying, I stared at the outside. My second, I waited for an hour in the ticket line and gave up. Well, third time's the charm, right? But I'm getting antsy, so hopefully that'll happen sometime soon.

There's the possibility of going to a Coldplay concert tomorrow! Oh gosh. Coldplay in Paris? Seems a little strange, but could be fun! If we could scalp tickets, that is (is that the term? scalping tickets? am I making this up?).

Wish me luck!

P.S. I am in LOOOVE with the Notre Dame. The back view especially:

Les jeunes de la nuit

(The one in which I get my first taste of Parisian nightlife)

Well, an exciting past few days; a good reason, I think, for not updating. In any case: my first visit to the Georges Pompidou, another embarrassing "OMG ART" moment. The usual.


An extremely interesting museum, clearly. Not quite as cute as the MCA, or as full of masterpieces as the MoMA, but had the best layout of any museum I've ever been to. It has an elevator on the outside, for chrissakes! How sweet! I would add more academic details but at that point was still nursing the remnants of jetlag, so I was a tad too tired.

Also that day: excursion amonst the Tuileries garden and seeing the outside of the Louvre. I decided I. M. Pei is a genius: there's some kind of metaphysical harmony with the glass pyramid and the obnoxiously baroque architecture of the Louvre. It's hard to describe. See for yourself, although it was quite cloudy that day, thus masking the glory of the glass pyramid:


Metaphysical, right? Right. Shush, all you conservative disbelievers.

Before that afternoon in the Jardin de Tuileries, it didn't really hit me that I was in Paris. Then, after the most delicious hot cocoa of my life, and after the sun finally came out, it hit me: how beautiful all of this is. Paris, both to those that have visited and those that have not, has become an abstraction: the city of lights, of love, of tourism, of art, of the realization of dreams, of the glorification of the starving artist, of sex, of life. It's unbelievable the complexity of what the mere word "Paris" invites in the mind. And I'm here experiencing all of it. So, why not enjoy myself?

Which I did, promptly, the next day at my first ever Parisian discotheque/club. A few kids from the Reid Hall program went to see Justice at a venue conspicuously named "The Social Club," probably the most scenester venue I have ever seen. After polishing off a bottle of 2 euro champagne and a gruesome struggle amongst many a keffiyeh-donning, sunglass-wearing, tight-pant-rocking Parisian (there are no bouncers in Paris), we were in. I wish I had my camera with me; it was pretty crazy inside as well. Best moments of the show: the DJ played Portishead's "Machine Gun," which all of the American kids went crazy over (while the Parisians were ambivalent), and later Justice mixed MGMT's "Kids," a song I've been obsessing over for the past few days. Thanks Justice!

We left at 2:30 AM, and were struck with the dilemma of finding ways to get home after the metro closed. Alas, I arrived back at my (apparently Godardian? I think it's more Flaubertian) abode near the Red Light district one 5 euro taxi cab later. Fun!

The next day: adventures continued with bottles of wine as the sun set on Reid Hall and the 5e arrondissement. I found a really great (and cheap) hookah place nearby, so a group of us spent the night slightly buzzed and quite content. I'm actually pretty proud of the discovery; for once a social outing I initiate doesn't end in boredom/disaster.

Later days! Tomorrow: I explore the Louvre.

Richard Avedon

I am a firm believer in the transformative power of sleep and good dreams. And, afraid of a second sleepless night, was happy to find myself refreshed and ready to roll after one particularly lucid dream about Michael Sera. Huzzah!

Today: my first visit to a museum, plus my first sighting (however distant) of the Eiffel Tower. The Jeu de Paume at the Place de la Concorde had a Richard Avedon exhibit that I absolutely fell in love with. Once again, I found myself in the embarrassing but inevitable situation of being "that kid"-- the one that asks too many questions, that actually listens to the guide. Who says things like, "C'est un peu Dali-esque, n'est pas?" or makes absurd references to Chuck Close, or nods ferociously when the guide asks if anyone knows anything about Andy Warhol's Factory. The kid with eyes the size of dinner plates that looks like she's going to explode if you expose her to one more glorious photograph. (If you think I'm pretentious, just take me to a museum. M'dear, you haven't seen nothin' yet. Oh, and expect to stay hours. And check out the gift shop).

My faves of the exhibit:








(I would kill to have a copy of this set in my future living room)




















To conclude, a classic: