I don't know where to start this entry. Today has been pretty average. I went to class, returned to my room, slept for a couple of hours and then watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the second time (hilarious, you should rent it if you haven't seen it). There's hasn't been anything particularly French about today but yesterday my class took yet another excursion to yet another former artist community. This time, we went to Barbizon, which is a beautiful village that's larger than Giverny and much more touristy but still nice. The visit itself was not very eventful but the ride there and back was quite nice. For some reason, which I still haven't discovered, U of C secured a large tour bus to take us to Barbizon instead of a taxi or a small shuttle. It was a really nice bus with plush seats that recline out into "beds," televisions and enough seating capacity for about 75 people; there were only eight of us but who's counting. It was especially nice when the driver returned us to our dorm instead of to the Paris Center where we met and we exited the giant bus in the middle of our little neighborhood. I felt quite special; "Hey everybody, look at our big bus." (Sorry, I'm a little bored.)

I can't believe I've been here a month already. Where's the time going? Quick, everyone check your pockets!

Giverny: Restoring the Passion, Part II

Me, Jesse and Heather at the breakfast table. Jesse cannot contain her excitment! (source: Robert's camera)

We continued into the house gasping at every turn as the caretaker pointed out room after gorgeous room. The kitchen was not only fully stocked but also quite high tech; there was a sitting room on each of the first two floors; a great living room with TV, DVD player, books etc; six bed rooms divided amongst the upper three levels, some containing double beds; about 3 or 4 restrooms (one was WC—a water closet with only a toilet and a sink room nearby and one was a huge bathroom with an enormous tub); a notebook computer with internet access and printer; a laundry room, irons, ironing boards—anything that you could possibly need was there. I don’t mean to sound redundant but it was amazing! We all just kept saying “This is like the Real World,” which is a reality television program on MTV that selects about eight 20-somethings and allows them to live for a few months in an amazing house or condo in some awesome city. It was like the first episode of the season and we were the new housemates entering the house for the first time and we were absolutely spellbound by its greatness. It was honestly just like that.

After settling in a bit, we went outside and enjoyed pastries, coffee and juice while planning how to divide the rooms. I didn’t really care where I slept, the number of rooms alone insured that there were enough beds and I was just happy to have the opportunity to stay in such a grand maison. With business out of the way, we took more pictures and gushed about the house and the garden so much that we were late to class.

The eight of us at breakfast Thursday (Heather's camera)

When we got to the building where our class was being held, the cameras began snapping again, even that building was beautiful! Every building, except for the actual museum and the church, is a large house and every house has its own garden. I imagine being alive in the late 1800s when Giverny was an artist community and living down the road from Claude Monet and his famous garden, surrounded by the beauty of the countryside and the Seine River was a completely enchanting experience. A small part of Monet's vast gardens.

For lunch, we went to the museum’s restaurant, which is quite fancy and quite good. Dinner was served at the maison. One of the chefs delivered it to the house and we ate under the light of the setting sun on the patio. After dinner, the eight of us stayed up for hours, playing Mafia, a kind of improvisational, role-playing game and enjoying each other’s company. It was so much fun. We really bonded that night and for me that was important because at U of C I don’t really feel like I have a community. Its not that it doesn’t exist but I just haven’t found it. Here, I’ve met some wonderful people who may very well help me finally find my place at U of C.

I selected the title “Giverny: Restoring the Passion,” because after only a week and a half, I had lost it completely. I was so disenchanted with Paris and the construction in our area and the monotony of going to class and coming right back to my room that I really wanted to come home. I think my blog entries reflected that melancholy. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything and that the glory of Paris didn’t exist as much in Paris as it seems to exist from across the ocean. Boy was I wrong!

After I returned from Giverny, with a bright new perspective on my journey and a drive to become fully acquainted with the beauty of Paris, the city readily opened itself to me. Since then, I’ve seen so much that didn’t seem like it was here three weeks ago.
For instance, last Thursday night, I went with a couple of friends to an area that I had never visited. I knew it was near Champs Elysée but when I got off the Metro and walked upstairs to the street, I saw l’Arc de Triomphe for the first time. I was spellbound. We walked to the massive arc and took photographs. Then, just as we were walking away, we saw the Eiffel Tower gloriously illuminated and anxiously headed toward it. We didn’t know exactly where it was but it was like our North Star, guiding us in the night until we reached it. At night, everything is so beautiful; you’d think that in the day time, it would be more interesting because you can actually see everything but the night time is simply enchanting. My attitude has completely changed. I love Paris so much, I know I’ll return. This is my home away from home.

I found a soulmate in this Chat European on my way to the church at Giverny. He looks like my cat, Blazer. (Robert's camera)

Eating Habits...

My eating habits are officially terrible in two countries. Amongst my favorite foods are baguettes, upon which I generously slather Nutella, my other favorite food. For those of you who don't know about Nutella, it is a great chocolate spread that originated in Italy but is available here, as well as in the US. Nutella is amazing! It's so chocolately good...mmmm...But its bad for my dietary needs:(

This week however, I am taking great strides towards improving my eating habits. For instance, when I went grocery shopping this week, I did not buy Nutella :O I even didn't buy any cookies. (How great is that?) Instead, I bought string beans, carrots, ravioli, chicken egg rolls, quiche without meat and La vache qui rit light (all the perks with fewer kilocalories). Most of the food I have is in a can, which isn't bad except that while I have silverware, I don't have a bowl or a plate yet, so you can imagine how I eat mostly everything... Still, I'm very proud of myself; I've started doing crunches in the morning and of course, I'm walking a lot, so I should be in pretty good shape when I get back to the States.

Speaking of "good" food, last week I was trying to be healthy and bought a box of "cereal" that looked pretty healthy on the box with its dried bananas and raisins and bold proclamations: "Aux fruits" (with fruit) and "Avec 8 vitamines" (with 8 vitamins). I expected a flake-based cereal with the bananas and raisins, etc because that's how I interpreted the picture. Unfortunately, I opened the box, which was quite heavy for cereal, and found that it was laden with dry oats instead of light, crispy flakes. Still, I decided to be optimistic and try it anyway. The first handful of it was okay because there was fruit in it; the next handful, less okay. Dry oats taste like chalk, or at least what I imagine chalk tastes like. In fact, the oats are kind of dusty and--yuck! I imagine its kind of like reaching into a box of Quaker oatmeal and shoving a handful of dry, uncooked oats right into your mouth. Wow. Its been some time since I've had some of my delightful Muesli Floconneux (I didn't realize how awful the name was until I typed it) so I grabbed the box just now and tasted a bit of the "cereal" to see if it was really as bad as I'm describing it and I discovered that it still is.

For those of you, like my French teacher, who are extremely appalled by my eating habits, remember that I although I am in France, I am still a student and thus must eat and spend accordingly. So please, don't judge.

Why am I sharing this with you? Honestly, I am not sure. Mostly I think that I am just trying to build some suspense around my Giverny saga (oh yes, its definitely a saga) and also, I've been thinking about my eating habits a lot lately and wanted to share some of my inner monologue so that perhaps I could get some helpful advice...

...A segue way to A Note on Commenting.
I've been getting some feedback, via my mom, that some of you are having difficulty posting comments to my entries. First of all, thanks so much for trying. Secondly, posting comments is very easy. When you click on "comments," which is at the end of every post, a separate window will probably pop up containing the previous comments made on that post (if any) and a box for making new comments. Type your text there. You have the option of signing the post with a blogspot member name (don't chose that unless you have one), anonymously (Now, why would you want to do that? You have nothing to hide; we're all family here.), or you can choose "other," which allows you to enter your name or some other identifying mark. "Your web page" is not a required field, unless you have one and want to include it. Click "publish..." and c'est tout, that's all. It's just that easy.

Next time on J'adore Paris:
Giverny, Part II...

(Have you noticed that ellipses keep popping up in my writing; I think I love them...)

Giverny: Restoring the Passion

My feelings are terribly hurt. I began this post over an hour ago and my web browser randomly decided return the previous page that I was visiting and it completely deleted the very spirited introduction to this entry. It took me some time to decide to return to the task and complete it because I had lost my motivation; but remembering the “awesomeness” of the events that I must share with you, my faithful audience, I have lifted myself from the funeral pyre of my lost document to relate the greatness of my most recent French adventure. Thus, I present the first installment of “Giverny: Restoring the Passion.”

Thursday Morning
The Melancholy.
6h is not a great time of morning in any country and frankly, neither is 7h but for our first excursion, we were instructed to be in the lobby of MPF by 7h sharp so that we could depart for the train station. There was particular urgency behind this summons as the train that we were to ride was the only train running that could get us to our destination on time. Of course, as good little U of C students, all of us were sitting in the lobby at the untainted hour of 7h, awaiting our designated chaperone selected from the Paris Center personnel. We were already annoyed that we had to leave for the station an entire hour and fourteen minutes before the departure time even though we knew it would not take half as long to get to the station but we became even more annoyed that our chaperone was 30 minutes late. In addition to this particularly disheartening start to our trip, we knew very little about what was to become of us in Giverny. Our instructors directed us to bring overcoats as the temperatures in Giverny are generally considerably lower than in Paris, which is quite warm for this time of year. We were told that all of our accommodations were covered but what were our accommodations? Where would we sleep? What does “dinner at the house” mean on our itinerary? These queries mixed with the morning’s events created a cesspool of melancholy and annoying uncertainty into which, I believe, we all drowsily dived headlong during the train ride.

…And the spell is broken!
After arriving at our destination, we met our art history instructor and loaded into two vehicles for a short ride to the museum at Giverny, where we would be staying. Giverny is a small village northwest of Paris that formerly contained a small artist community. The former location of the artist community has been turned into a rather untraditional art history museum that highlights French as well as American artists. Our purpose was to learn about the history of the area, especially as it relates to French impressionist painter, Claude Monet.
Upon our arrival to Giverny, everything changed. Our first mission was to absorb as much caffeine as humanly possible to supplement the lack of sleep and prepare us for a two hour art history lecture. One of the caretakers of the museum led us to the ambiguous “accommodations” for Thursday night. We walked through a maze of bushes and trees down a small gravel path until we reached a beautiful area of land and the caretaker said, “This is your garden…” Whatever she said after that was lost in the whir of thoughts that rushed through my head. This was our what? We had a garden and an amazing one at that! It was huge and absolutely beautiful. The spell of melancholy was instantly broken; neglected digital cameras emerged from amongst the pouches of book bags and the beginning of feverish attempts to document the indescribable beauty of Giverny began…

Our garden

Please excuse my prolonged absence from "J'adore Paris." My new schedule does not seems to consistently permit me to visit my beloved blog; even now, I am awake far past a time suitable for the current setting of my alarm

My schedule has increased considerably. My french language instructor assigns quite a bit of work and now we are preparing for our first excursion for art history. Thursday and Friday, I will be traveling to Giverny and Auvers (two towns a outside of Paris) to visit some museums and the church depicted in van Gogh's painting l'Église d'Auvers (Church in Auvers). What's awesome about our excursions is that U of C pays for them completely (train tickets, hotel accomodations, meals, etc.); its kind of their way of compensating for not giving us devoted French language students a break 7th week like the other programs.

For your information. Over the past week, conversations, comments and emails have indicated that there are a few aspects of my trip, which are unclear; thus I submit the following section for clarification.

• Paris is 7 hours ahead of Chicago.
• I am not a foreign exchange student as there was no student exchaged for me but rather I am studying abroad for a quarter.
  
• My dorm, MPF is apart of a large area of dormitories called Cité Internationale , which consists of various "houses " for different nationalites of students. For instance, the U of C students , who do not speak French, live at the Fondation des États-Unis (The American House). There is also an Armenian House, Suisse House, etc. My dorm is primarily composed of students who live in French provences, thus the name Maison des Provences de France.
  
• Although my living arrangements are secured with the University of Paris, I attend the University of Chicago. Here in Paris, we have a satellite school. Amongst its various other exoribitent purchases, U of C has a built the University of Chicago Paris Center, where all students studying abroad in Paris take their classes. Whereas, I am living at U of P, I am still studying at U of C.
• A final note about my blog. First of all, thanks to all of you who read it, whether consistently or occasionally. Please feel free to comment on any or all entries. Perhaps you have a question about the Parisian transportation system (see 4 octobre); or you agreed that "The Laughing Cow" is a funny name for cheese (7 octobre); or maybe you think that my writting style is pretentious, wordy and excessively unamusing--whatever may be the case, I welcome and encourage all comments, corrections, additions, etc. I really want to hear from you so don't hold back anything; if you say anything, say everything. Whether you choose to comment or not, thank you for your continued support.

Another day in Paris

That's right, another day and I'm still here. The days feel so short for some reason. It seems like its 20h before I know it and I need to start getting to bed to prepare for an early morning. I feel like I'm always going somewhere or potentially going somewhere, which is unsettling. Today for instance, I woke up around 7h30 heading for class. The M4 was closed at my stop, Porte d'Orleans, but luckily I was with another classmate so I wasn't late to class alone (not that that makes it particularly better, just more comfortable). That may not sound like a lot but getting to class required great finesse, considering that the station was closed, the PC1 we boarded did not go to the end of the line so we had to wait for a PC1 to Porte de Charenton and we missed our stop and had to backtrack to get to class. Then, of course there's three hours of French about which I still have mixed feelings. After class, I went to lunch at a pizzeria with some friends and then returned to MPF to do virtually nothing. Tonight, a couple of classmates are hanging out in a college district but I really wasn't up to hanging out. My days are top heavy so in the evening I just want to relax--so much for a night life. It’s just that when I get home it’s already so late and I feel like I haven't done many activities but a lot of walking and riding and transferring between train lines. The in-between stuff, although enjoyable, makes me tired. This weekend will hopefully rejuvenate my energy. In truth, I really don't need much free time though; inactivity makes me miss being with....

On a lighter note (There’s always a lighter side. I don’t want anyone to think I’m having an awful time. I really like Paris, honest.), I have finally found my favorite French cheese--a delightful alternative to my nameless stinky cheese. This particular fromage is called La vache qui rit, the laughing cow. Now, before you judge, I am already completely aware that this is not real French cheese like Brie and Camembert. La vache qui rit is cheese fondue. It spreads perfectly and tastes kind of like Velveeta and kind of like cream cheese. The name alone tipped me off to the fact that it probably wasn't real cheese and the taste, being far too perfect, added to my suspicion. What sealed the deal was the mini-décors (scenery) that was packaged with the cheese. It depicts a banker being held up by a gruff looking man and an old woman in a bonnet (at least I think it’s a woman, the face isn’t visible). However, if you're ever in Paris, stop in at your local Franprix grocer and pick up a pack. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Quote of the day: "Velveeta is analogous to chickens on steroids; it’s enhanced with unnatural products."
-Me

Today I am French

Of the six days that I have been in Paris, today is the first day I have felt like a resident of the city. Previously, I felt like something between a tourist and a complete stranger.

Class today started at 14h30 and I decided to sleep in after staying up late last night. I woke up this afternoon around 12h, giving myself plenty of time to get out early, in case there were problems with the trains. On my way out of MPF, I passed three other students from my program. Yesterday, I definitely would have stopped and tagged along with them but since buying my book of maps and making careful observations while traveling previous days, I decided to have a go at it on my own. I'm not amazing with directions; I'm just getting to the point where I understand Chicago's geography but that's easier, because Chicago streets basically stick to a grid system. Parisian streets do not. I'm more of a visual landmark navigator; I may not know the name of the street but I know what's on the corner of it. Thankfully, this system also works in Paris. Over the last two days, I memorized the look of the streets we used to walk to train stations, restaurants, etc. Sure, it’s probably the lazy way out but it works for me. With my wonderful waterproof map though, I will start to pay attention to street names as a means of insuring that a familiar looking street is actually the street I think it is.


The view outside my window at MPF.

A true sign that I have become settled in a new place is that I am not afraid to venture out alone to points beyond walking distance. I caught the M4, transferred to the M14 (the magical train from the future), walked down la rue de Tobiac to buy a crepe and arrived to class on time.

I thought that it would not be easy for me to become an island while in Paris as I am at U of C because I am completely unfamiliar with the city and needed to follow someone everywhere. Today, I discovered that it is not impossible, which in some way is positive because I can be independent but in more ways it is not. As proud as I am of new independence, I have enjoyed the company of my fellow students and thus will not abandon them for solitude, although it’s appealing. In keeping with the challenge of living in a foreign country, I will continue to challenge myself to be social, without losing my intrinsic ability to peacefully exist in solitude.

Today, I am French.

What a day! The transportation workers are on strike today. This is no surprise; the strike has been in the works for some time and was planned specifically for today. Thus some of the trains were not running and the buses—at least in the direction we needed to go this afternoon—were running very slow because more people were driving. We had class today at 14h and six of the eight students in our class met to take the PC1 (a bus) at around 13h35. Yesterday, our coordinator told us that it’s uncommon to wait 10minutes, at most 5 minutes for a PC1 but this afternoon we waited nearly an hour. At the stop outside of MPF (our dorm), we waited for about 45 minutes, then we decided to walk down to the next stop, which is about a 7 minute walk—still no PC1. By this time its after 14h, class has started, so we decided to walk to the University of Chicago Paris Center where our classes are held. What an incredible walk! The length didn’t bother me but the wind and the insanity of the construction along the middle of Boulevard Jourdan and Boulevard Massena did. Paris is in the midst of creating the Tramway, an amazing new above ground train that will make their already amazing transportation system another 100 times better than the CTA. Right now though, the construction is just awful. It reduces both the street and the sidewalk to incredibly small widths at various unannounced intervals and allows for crossing Jourdan or Massena only about once every mile or two on curlicue paths set out with metal dividers. Some sidewalks aren’t even accessible and pedestrians have to cross the street to continue traveling in the same direction. In the end, we saw only two PC1s and the six of us arrived to class about an hour late but considering that we would have spent 3 hours just talking to each other in French, it wasn’t so bad.

After class, some of us traveled home on the train lines that were not on strike. In particular we rode, the 14, which is the most amazing specimen of public transit that I have witnessed to date. The 14 is completely underground and completely automated. I’m sure this type of system exists somewhere in America but wherever it is I’m sure this one is better. The train itself is enclosed in glass so that when it arrives at a station, two sets of doors open, the glass encasing and the train doors. The station at which we boarded looked like something out of a futuristic sci-fi film with its chrome fixtures and ominous blue ceiling lights (I should have taken pictures). The trains come often and are huge. Once I boarded, I looked down the car toward the middle of the train and I honestly did not see the end of it; it looked as if it went on forever! The seats are very comfortable and the train travels at probably 60-70mph. I felt like I was going through a space pod at warp speeds—it was amazing!

After the 14, we transferred to another train the RER B, comparable to Chicago’s subway. The underground station was extremely crowded—a pick pocket’s dream—and very hot, again like Chicago’s subway. Most of the trains were delayed and when one came, we couldn’t even board. There were like 5 “layers” of people between us and the train doors. Nearly all of the 5 “layers” were able to board and they were packed onto the train like sardines. At the door we were waiting at, a man was barely on the train and another passenger, who couldn’t fit on the train physically, stuffed him into the car. It was hilarious to see the train take off. It moved very slowly so I could see faces smashed against the doors. One guy was pressed against the door sideways with one arm halfway in the air. I’m not used to being rude, so when the next train came and we were right in front of the door, it was hard for me to push and shove in order to hold my spot but I was able to get on the train. Although, when someone was exiting, I was almost steam rolled into a guy standing behind me. The whole time I was afraid someone was going to take my room key card out of my back pocket. I don’t know why anyone would want it but I just didn’t like being pick pocket distance from strangers. The most bizarre thing about this train ride was that people only started making their way toward the door when the train arrived at their stop. No one tried to pry their way through the crowd before their stop. The other students from my group attempted to do so before our stop because they were sitting but no one would let them through. I was standing opposite the door I had to exit and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get out. Standing amongst the seats or sitting, I would have thought I’d have been stuck on the train but thank God we made it home. What a day.

A Lesson in Selecting French Cheese

Now, we've all heard about France and its stinky cheese but I would like to introduce you to perhaps the worst smelling food I have ever had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering. Ladies and gentlemen, I present Léger, fabrique au Normandie (made in Normandy). I purchased a wheel of this incredible cheese today. Léger actually smells like a farm with about 50 cows grazing on a recently well fertilized pasture. Why, you may ask, do I own a wheel of Léger? It’s quite simple, really: I know nothing about French cheese; if its not brie or camembert, I’ve never heard of it. I just went to a grocery store and picked out an interesting looking but moderately priced wheel of cheese to accompany my very long baguette. When I opened the carton and unwrapped the wheel, my nose was instantly inundated with the odor. Believe it or not, I actually forced myself to cut a wedge, which was kind of stiff on the outside and gooey like chilled caramel on the inside, and taste it. Surprisingly, it did not taste bad. I just had to open my mind to the possibility that the smell, although overwhelming, should not necessarily influence my overall judgment of the cheese itself. The texture—great for spreading—and taste alone make Léger a great cheese but the smell, which fills the immediate area surrounding my fridge every time I open it, forces me to dispose of it. Lesson learned: When selecting a new cheese, always let your nose be your guide.

[My alarm clock is slowing down. It’s plugged into a transformer and I set it 10 minutes ahead of local time but each time I look at it, it’s closer to the current minute. I'll have to make better observations so that I can calculate the approximate rate at which it is slowing. I think perhaps it loses 1min/5-7min.]

Today was nice. There is a great park down the street from MPF (Maison des Provences de France—my dorm) that is absolutely beautiful! I walked through it today with some new friends from my program. We also went to dinner this evening. We had our first conversation together as well. Conversation is just a meeting we have with a native speaker (the assistant), during which we speak only French to him. (Sometimes we speak English amongst ourselves for clarity sake.) Our assistant is Mathieu. He took me to buy my first Carte d'Orange (a monthly train ticket). He's a nice guy and I think he's funny too but I can't always understand what he's saying so I don't always get the jokes.

All of us (my conversation group of 3 other students) are pretty good at faking it when we don't understand Mathieu but don't have the heart to ask him to repeat for the 7th time or are too exhausted to ask “Quoi?” (What?) for the 10th time. Its bad when a person starts a story and you get so lost as soon as it starts that 2 minutes in, all you can do is nod and react according to their expressions because understanding would require probably about 7 minutes of arduous recap. Conversation group 2 has definitely mastered the art of smiling and nodding.

First, to dispel a myth: The flight was not 16hrs as I had estimated prior to departure (Thank God!) but rather a mere 8hrs (whew!). Instead of taking a train I was able to meet two ladies from my UChicago and we split a cab. I’m here and exhausted. The initial excitement of having finally arrived in the country of my dreams has worn off considerably. I don’t mean to sound disgruntled but I am already kind of tired of hearing French and trying to translate it, let alone formulating coherent phrases in my tired brain. As drained as I am, I have been advised not to sleep too much today so that I can transition between time zones. In fact, I should wait until about midnight to go to sleep. Lucky for me it’s only 1:15 in the afternoon. I don’t think that plan is going to work.

I moved in rather abruptly, which means I’ve thrown stuff all over the place so my room is not exactly in an acceptable condition to be photographed. Rest assured that I will post some pics of my space.