Suburban Adventures

Today I got to see something I’d only heard rumors about, something that I was sure didn’t really exist, except maybe on Black Friday. But alas, there I was standing in line to get into Costco right with the opening bell at 9:30am on a Saturday. We arrived at 9:28 so we could secure the all important easy access parking spot and then grabbed a cart and waited in a queue that looked like complete disarray and reminded me of the “Parisian wedge”. I looked around and saw that young and old had gathered for their Saturday morning foray and desire to beat the dreaded Costco crowd.

Now let me tell you, if you’ve never been to a Costco in the suburbs on a Saturday or Sunday, take my word for it and don’t go. The aisles are full of people who’ve come to buy 5 lb mayonnaise jars and sample the chicken salad being offered up, pretending like they were really considering buying the 20 cans of chicken over their trusty ol’ friend: canned tuna. And if that’s not enough, the checkout line gets so long that no matter how much you were looking forward to the 20 muffins you bought or the 5 dozen eggs sitting in your cart, you’re tempted to just run away screaming and buy everything in semi-normal sizes at your local Safeway or Dominick’s.

Coming at 9:30am doesn’t sound so crazy now, does it?

I could see people arriving, with their Starbucks in hand, ready to tackle the shopping adventure that awaited. Some people came alone, others as couples and others even brought their children. At 9:33, when we still stood in the midst of a wedge, I heard a loud pounding. Apparently, one man had gotten so annoyed that Costco was not yet open (an entire 3 minutes behind schedule) that he decided to knock and remind them that there were people waiting.

As the gates began to open, the wedge condensed and people began trying to outmaneuver each other, because surely this had become a race. I saw a woman next to me, clutching her giant 2-pack of mustard, and trying to find some way to beat everyone inside and into the return line. Yes, she was there to return a giant 2-pack of mustard. Maybe she had come to her senses and realized that it would take her an entire lifetime to get through those 2 bottles, or maybe they were defective somehow. A part of me wanted to ask, but the more “rational” part yelled that I must focus on the line and not letting late-comers cut in.

And so, if you’re curious what it’s like to live in the ‘burbs, now you have a lovely picture and a practical suggestion: go to Costco early and you too may find a little bit of entertainment!

Back to blogging!

I’ve decided to continue my blog. Why you ask? While I’d like to say that this is due to popular demand, I’m fairly certain that my only true ‘follower’ the last time around was my mom, so that’s not really a valid excuse. So I’ll just go with wanting to document anything and everything mildly amusing in my life. I’m not sure that it’ll be nearly as interesting and captivating as my commentary on all things French and Parisian, but life in the suburbs has got to be somewhat amusing, right?

For those of you not in the know, I recently moved to the DC area (Rockville, MD to be exact) to stay with my parents until I figure out what my next endeavor will be. I decided that given the amount of “crap” I’ve managed to accumulate in 2 short years and my desire to see the countryside, I would drive from Chicago to Rockville: a 12 hour 11 minute trip that I broke up in 2 days. I looked up the car prices and given the amount of stuff I would have to pack up, realized that I would need either an SUV or a minivan to be able to transport it all. However, who in their right mind really wants to drive a minivan? So I quickly settled on an SUV.

However, when I showed up at the Thrifty counter at Midway, the clerk looked at me, looked at his cars and I could immediately tell that my trip would not start off well. He didn’t have an SUV for me, but upon learning that I was moving my stuff 680 miles, he offered me “the perfect solution”… a Dodge Caravan a.k.a. my nightmare: a minivan. No, I don’t think that nightmare is the right way to describe it. In fact, a nightmare seems light and fluffy compared to this. This was more like my own personal version of hell, or hell freezing over? No, more like an ice age hitting hell. Now, maybe this was the perfect solution, because in reality I actually would have needed to accumulate twice as much stuff to have filled the car up, but it was a minivan, and in my world, minivans are horrific inventions full of loud children that are driven by soccer moms at 50 mph on the freeway (in a 65mph zone).

I took a deep breath and got behind the wheel of this animal and decided that really it couldn’t be so bad. In fact, I have to say that the car itself was not so bad and drove quite nicely with me often catching myself nearing 90 mph. However, the one thing that I was quite amused by was the camaraderie that Caravan drivers seem to feel for one-another and the hatred that other people feel for this car (me included).

Now, maybe it was the fact that at my speed it’s really hard to compete, but even when I did slow down, other Caravans would not pass me. They would get behind me and ride my happy speeding wave. The creepiest moment though, was when, another Caravan driver actually waved to me. Yeah, seriously, he waved. I think if ever there was a case for Caravan drivers being weird, that would be the cherry on top.
However, I will say that other people are quite mean to Caravan drivers. Even when I was going 80 + mph, people would still give me dirty looks. Now, maybe soccer moms in the left lane going 50 mph might deserve a dirty look or five, but me, in the right lane, cruising along at 80… I think not! Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to pass Caravan drivers and have no interest in ever owning one of these things no matter how decently it happens to drive, but it does make for amusing observations.

Last day in Paris!

Per wiki, my source of all information: Grief is a multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed. Although conventionally focused on the emotional response to loss, it also has physical, cognitive, behavioral, social, and philosophical dimensions.
I would like to amend this definition for myself as being “the loss of the bond I have developed with Paris.”
As we all know, grief has 5 stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. And I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing all five.

Denial
I was supposed to be leaving this coming Sunday to go back to the US. So, I’d been telling myself that this time was far far away and that I still had plenty of time to soak in Paris and its beautiful sights, streets, food, nightlife and people (both French and non-French – aka my lovely new friends). Unfortunately for me, lovely British Airways has decided to strike. Now upon learning the news that my flight could be cancelled and that my best option would be to re-schedule and leave earlier, I refused to internalize this option and instead went for a walk and ended up climbing the Arc de Triomph.

Anger
Upon my return home, I angrily called BA and cut my trip short. My poor roommate had to deal with my complaining (as well as the entire facebook community) over cutting 3 days. But damn it, those were 3 days during which I was going to go to Mont St. Michel, do some overdue shopping, throw in some more night outings, meet up with new and old friends explore more of Paris, oh and finally find my French boyfriend… Stupid BA! I don’t want to leave Paris this early. It’s unfair. Stealing 3 days from me is just not nice!
Bargaining
Ok, so now instead of nine full days, I only had 6. When does the strike end again? Half way into week one of classes in Chicago? I wonder if I can come back then? I don’t really need to attend week 1, do I? I could stay in Paris, in the apartment until the 31st? Right? No? Why not? Ok, so all silly ideas aside, I’m heading home 3 days early. 6 days. How do I cram everything in. Loire Valley? Check. Climb Notre Dame? Check. Walk to Eiffel Tower and back? Russian Saints exhibit? Louvre visit #4? Check and check again. Who wants to go to L’As du Falafel? Cassoulet? Dinner with friends? Drinks? Foie Gras? Last minute presents? Check and check and… As a good MBA student, I made a list. I then prioritized said list into must do’s and only if there is time. I then worked out the best walking routes to optimize my time… Ok, so I wasn’t that thorough… (well no, I was, I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy…)
Losing three days? I guess I don’t have time to go to the gym. I must make use of the time I have, so I’ll just walk around the city!
But wait, if I’m losing 3 days here, I’m gaining 3 in Chicago. Fine. I’m losing one day with friends here. Well then, I’m going to line up breakfast, lunch and dinner plans for when I return. One day less of sightseeing here? Well, it’s no Tuileries, but the park north of the river in Chicago will just have to do for a walk. Maybe I’ll even rent a bike and ride it all the way to Kellogg ;) Maybe that will be my new Eiffel Tower.

Depression
While I was walking down the river Seine, I was overwhelmed by my love and passion for all things Paris. But as I went to my favorite places for a last time (as the Russian superstition says, never say last time, just last time during this trip) I was overwhelmed by a new thought. I was going home. And as happy as I am to be seeing my friends, this is the last time I’m eating L’As du Falafel, or having cassis Berthillon ice cream, or… you get the picture. And as I walked down the Pont des Arts, I even got misty eyed about not seeing couples making out everywhere once I’m back in Chicago. Even walking up to the 5th floor of my apartment (this is the French 5th floor…) I got… oh who am I kidding, this is one of the things I am super excited! Elevators here I come!

Acceptance
I’m going home. Paris, this has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I’ll miss you, but I have amazing memories of the last 3 months. While it’ll never be the same, it’s not my last time here. And in Arnold’s words, “I’ll be back”. I’ll bring my friends and I’ll take them to my favorite spots. Someday, I’ll bring my husband, and we’ll put a lock on the Pont des Arts, throw away the key and make out (on the metro). And, one day I’ll bring my kids, and I’ll show them where their mom used to walk and introduce them to L’As and Berthillon, and make them climb up Notre Dame to see the gargoyles (and of course, I’ll dress them in adorable French clothes!)
I have to bid au revoir to my new friends (in the French style, with kisses, of course!), but I can’t wait to hug my wonderful friends back home hello and catch up with them about the last three months and make more memories in Chicago! I guess it’s time to leave this magical forest and return to the rest of the fairy tale.

Attacked...

So last week, I was attacked on the streets of Paris. I had just walked all the way to the Tour Eiffel, and was walking by the pedestrian bridge near-by when I saw her. Yes, her. Or at least I’ve decided it was a her. Now, I’ve had plenty of situations where someone pegged me as a tourist and tried one of the old, generic tricks to rip me off. There’s the ever so clever ladies who walk around touristy areas asking if someone speaks English, or the men who come up to me asking for directions, while showing me a piece of paper (I’m assuming in an effort to get me to pay more attention to the paper than to my bag). And then there is my favorite trick - the one where I laugh at the person trying to swindle me – the ring drop. Yes, I’ve had this happen to me a dozen times, and at this point, I literally just laugh in the person’s face. In fact, last time I ad-libbed a “Sérieusement?! C’est très drôle!” – though I think the perpetrator was not nearly as amused as I was at my humor. It has come to the point where I’ve joked that I want to take these people aside and tell them that everyone knows this ruse and they need to think of something different!

So maybe I should be careful what I wish for and maybe it is my desire for a different type of attack that God decided to answer. No, my attack did not come in the form of being ripped off by any of these expected perpetrators or in any of the expected forms you are likely thinking of. Meet my perpetrator.



She looks cute enough. When I saw her, I pulled out my camera and began snapping away. Like a good little cat, she sat down on the steps, looked directly into my camera and proceeded to do cute things and pose. When I asked her to act like a tiger and make love to the camera, she did. I felt like a cat-whisperer as she obeyed my direction and I hoped that I got some great shots.

I then decided that I would try to reward her efforts by petting her, if she would let me. I was surprised to feel a collar around her neck and further surprised by her rubbing up against me and my hand, as if asking me to pet her! Truly, I was a cat whisperer! I had finally mastered the connection that I’ve rarely found with other cats.

Ahh, yes, how deluded am I?! At this point, the cat, mistaking me for a toy, decided to sit up on her hind paws, wrap her front paws around my hand and dig in! Yes, she bit me. And then, as I pulled my hand away, she scratched me. But then she decided to rub against my hand some more. Odd, were we playing? We must be. Either that, or I’m a glutton for punishment, as I decided to pet her some more. The thanks I got? Another “love” bite. After three or four attempts to reclaim my cat-whisperer status (apparently, I’m slow), I finally gave up, snapping one last picture of said cat and leaving to lick my wounds.

Paris je t'aime!

Many of my friends back home, when asking how my stay in Paris is going, make remarks about my love hate relationship with Paris. Fair enough since Paris and I have definitely had our ups and downs. The biggest down being the stupid and rude French bakery person, which happened to coincide with the day before I headed to London (hence, leaving on a low note here meant a really high review of London, not that London wouldn’t have been great otherwise, I’m just sayin’). In any case, since I’m now facing my last week in Paris, I’ve been walking every night and day and just taking in the “I live in Paris” feeling that one can only get by leisurely strolling through the streets and on the river bank.

It’s sad to think that I’ll be leaving in a week, when I feel like I’ve only now gotten my bearings. When lost tourists ask me where something is, I can actually tell them! Even when the French ask me where something is, I can normally tell them, in French! In fact, I swear, I think my French is finally starting to pick up, better late than never I guess (though it is causing issues in my poor brain, which is fighting to keep Russian, English, and French straight)! I guess I will just have to keep practicing until I come back to experience it all over again!

Yesterday, I decided to walk along the river to Pont Alexander III and noticed all the lovely couples and people hanging out by the water, so on the way back, I decided to walk right on the river! And that’s when it hit me. It was like a wave washing over me. I love Paris. Now, this may seem silly because I have proclaimed this before. But, I really and truly love Paris. Before Tuesday, I loved Paris because it was a beautiful city and had lovely landmarks and such, but after that stroll, it truly hit me that I just love Paris for its “ambience”. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s finally spring, and the city is alive, but just being able to walk on the river and see kids hanging out and people bustling all around me, I just felt like I was almost seeing Paris for the first time again.

I’ve talked to many a Parisian (and others as well) who says that Paris is so romanticized, when in fact, it’s not nearly that romantic. But really? How can you say that? Have you ever walked on Pont des Arts and seen the couples picnicking? The locks symbolizing eternal love? The trees on the bank that have lovers’ initials carved into them? Sure, maybe it’s hokey and silly, but it’s also romantic and sweet.


And so this feeling of absolute love washed over me. But in that same walk, I felt a bit of a panic because my time here is drawing to a close. It’s like realizing you’ve met your soulmate and then realizing that you have one week left with him. I know, I know, I sound hokey and sappy, but that’s what Paris has done to me (for better or worse). The time I have spent in Paris, thus far, has been amazing and knowing that I am about to be separated from my ‘love’ makes me want to spend every waking moment with it. And so, I shall. My list of sights now includes the Loire Valley, climbing Notre Dame and checking out Invalides. But the most important things that I intend to drink in will simply be the walks along the Seine and through the gardens and little streets. My favorite walk (which I’ve done each of the last two days) is from Bastille, to Hotel de Ville and Notre Dame, along the river to the Louvre and the Tuileries gardens to Concorde and up to Champs Elysees, then to Palais de Tokyo, over to the other side and then back across Pont Alexander III, then taking the steps down to the river and walking all the way to Pont des Arts, where I cross back to Rive Gauche and walk back to Notre Dame and then through Ile St. Louis and then back to Bastille. So if you’re looking for me in Paris, this is where I’ll be every evening of the next week, drinking in every Parisian moment that I can 

Paris, je t’aime.

Paris avec mes parents

It’s been a while since I posted, but that’s largely because I’ve been busy exploring the city. Last week, my parents were in town and I tried to show them some exciting places in Paris. Now, keep in mind that my parents have been to Paris at least half a dozen times! So I was a little bit hard pressed to find things they would not have seen and give them a new experience.

We did a lot of walking (exploring Quartier Latin, Champs Elysees, Jardin Tuileries, Sacre Coeur, etc). I think I may have made my poor parents walk too much though! My mom kept saying that my dad was tired and we should rest, while my dad kept telling my mom that I was tired and we should rest. Neither one of them seemed to want to admit that I was being a slave driver and forcing them to walk far too much! Nonetheless, we did get to explore a lot of the city and I showed them the Marais which they had, surprisingly, never explored, while they showed me Sacre Coeur which I had not yet visited!

We also indulged ourselves with a lot of eating. I took them to my favorite places like Le Loir dans la Théière and Chez Paul, both of which were met with approval, and also decided to go to Angelina’s. Now, everyone who knows me, knows I have a heck of a sweet tooth. What you wouldn’t know is that I inherited it from my dad, as opposed to my mom, who is oblivious to all things chocolate and such. There is a running joke in my family that my dad can smell where chocolate is stashed in the house (since my mom likes to hide chocolate in random places in the kitchen). So when my mom went shopping, I decided to take my dad to Angelina’s for their amazing hot chocolate and desserts. Now, my dad and I never met a dessert too sweet or chocolate we did not like. But, having finished his mont blanc, and having drank the equivalent of 2 or 3 cups of more or less melted chocolate (which we both loved!!!), my dad and I looked at each other and realized that this may have been the very first time we went too far when it came to sweets. In fact, when we finished our dinner, about 6 hours later, my mom wondered out loud what she should have for dessert… at which point, my dad and I wrinkled our noses in disgust and proclaimed that we would never want dessert again… actually that’s an overstatement and we revised it to for the next day or two!

Lastly, we took a heck of a lot of pictures. Now, my dad is a phenomenal photographer! And I do mean, phenomenal! (Look at www.graizer.net if you don’t believe me!) So between him and I, walking around with our Canons, we took way took a LOT of pictures. Unlike me, who takes pictures of pretty building and settings and random red-headed children), my dad likes to pretend he’s a spy… meaning that he wants to get the quintessential feel of Paris, thus he walks by a table of Parisians drinking their cafes and smoking cigarettes, and snaps pictures of them like a covert agent. My favorite moment was when we saw a Parisian protest (with possibly more cops in riot gear than there were actual protesters) and my dad started snapping pictures of all the dashing Parisian police officers. After the 50th picture or so, one of the cops told my dad that it is not allowed to take pictures of officers on duty. My dad nodded in understanding (he speaks fluent French…) and proceeded to walk away. However, upon reaching the next bridge, full of more cops, he decided that the rules no longer applied and started to take pictures again… My dad likes to break rules apparently. Where-as I was thinking of what on earth I would say (and for that matter how I would say it in French) at the police station when I would have to come to bail my dad out… Luckily for all those involved, the cops ignored my dad breaking the rules.

There was also the moment when a drunken homeless guy decided to yell at my dad! Apparently, he didn't want my dad taking pictures of his scraggly looking dog! In order to relay this message though, he yelled that if my dad so much as thought about taking said dog's picture, he would kill him. And here I thought that anything spoken in French sounded pretty ;)

Anyways, I had a great time exploring Paris with the parents! I’m glad I got to share some of my Parisian experience with them and they got to see Paris through my eyes a little and I got to listen to their stories and see the sights they love!

Portugal story time

So last week was our lovely spring break here in Paris, meaning that we had the opportunity to travel for 10+ days straight as opposed to quick 5 day trips ;) So I headed to Portugal and Spain with some new friends!

I will start this with declaring my love for all things Portugal! I can tell you all about the yummy food we ate and the kind people we met and the lovely sites we saw in Sintra (which is a magical place!), but instead, I will tell you some fun little stories!

On the first day, after paying 7 euros for bread (yes, there is a trick in Lisbon, where bread is brought to your table along with appetizers, which you never actually ordered but you pay an arm and a leg for if you eat them), we decided to drown our sorrows with ginja (a brandy like drink with cherries sold in little shops on the streets ) and then after riding a tram all the way up a hill and back down (in search of the castle, which we didn’t find until much later in the evening, and I blame this on the ginja!) we drowned our sorrows in nutella coffee (yum!).

On the following day, we explored Lisbon with a bike tour. Now this may sound innocuous enough, but, if you are me, and you haven’t been on a bike (other than in cycling class) in, oh, maybe a decade, and you are a klutz like me, this could be problematic! Now I thought I was doing ok, and getting the hang of all this, and then we veered away from the bike path and joined traffic. In fact, before joining full on city traffic, our guide told us to be careful because the streets have tracks for trams, and we needed to be careful because our bike tires could get stuck. So, now you can picture me, on my bike on a cobble stone street, sharing a lane with cars and trams, trying to drive straight, stay away from the tracks, ignore the honking by angry motorists all the while thinking that while a car can actually go around me, if a tram were to appear, I’d be slightly dead since there was nowhere for me to go. Having survived this lovely portion of our bike tour, our guide then told us that we would have to go up a small hill. Now, a hill I can do, at least I can in cycling class and I figured this would not be a problem. Ahh, I can be so naïve. At this point, I saw a hill unfold in front of me, and indeed it did look fairly small, but steep, though most importantly, said hill involved motor traffic. But when I say motor traffic, I’m really not giving you the full picture. What you have to see is me, peddling up this hill, standing up to try and get some leverage (as I’ve been taught to do in cycling class), realizing that there are cars going by in the lane next to me, and thinking that at any moment I just might roll back and then realizing that there was a bus behind me and that rolling back would, well, not result in anything good! Obviously, as evidenced by my live status, I obviously did not roll back and made it up the hill.



Now, our last stop in Portugal was Porto, where, since we only had a day to explore, we decided to do a hop-on-hop-off tour and headed to their information desk to figure out the details. MC and I decided to talk to the man in charge, who was a good looking young guy and, at this point wearing sunglasses, looked at us and told us to wait a moment until he was finished with another client. MC and I stood around, waiting for this guy to pay attention to us, annoyed that he wasn’t helping us immediately, and then he came back… In fact, he sauntered back and, with a move reminiscent of a supermodel walking out of the water and shaking off her wet hair, he removed his sunglasses and revealed his superpower – his eyes. His beautiful, unexpectedly deep blue eyes, which caught both MC and I off guard and caused us to stammer and lose our train of thought. As MC put it, he was ‘deceptively’ good looking! In fact, as we found out, if you want to find a good looking man in Porto, you should head to this bus tour area as this company seems to have cornered the market on good looking men in this town!

In fact, those may have been the only good looking men we saw in Porto, until we arrived at the airport that is. We were flying Ryanair, which has a lovely policy of one carry-on (ie, your purse had better fit into your other bag!). Since each of us had a carry on plus a purse, one of the Ryanair employees decided to give us a warning. Now, I looked up, to shoot this man the evil eye and argue with him about the fact that in theory my purse can fit into my bag, and that I would simply rather keep it close so I can have easy access to my book and music, but when I looked up, I managed to lose all semblance of speech and simply smiled and nodded that yes, we would put our things away. In case you hadn’t guessed, this man was tall, dark and quite handsome! I shoved my purse into my bag, making it fit, and as we stood, he came back and said that he was working the plane and he wanted to help his customers so we wouldn’t get into trouble later. All I could do, was smile, nod and say thank you. He asked how Porto was and if I liked Portugal, I smiled, nodded, and said that I loved Porto and Portugal. Then we got on the plane, and things went from shameful to worse. He checked my ticket, I said hi, he said hi, and then, I’m 99.999% certain that I said hi again. I sat in the aisle seat that MC and Teena had kindly forced me to sit in (and by forced, I mean they jokingly suggested it and I thought, why not, I can flirt with the steward, but alas, that was not meant to be), and smiled back at him every time he came by my row and offered me a smile. Yes, I know, my actions (or lack thereof) are despicable, but at least they should be funny to everyone but me, and really if you can’t laugh at yourself… well, then that’s unfortunate, so in the spirit of laughing at myself, the story is here for everyone to see 

If you can't beat 'em...

Today I had a lovely Parisian day. I took the metro out to the Arc de Triomphe, walked all the way down the Champs Elysees, through the Tuleries, to Notre Dame, where I attempted to veer towards the Luxembourg Gardens, but somehow ended up doing a giant circle and ended up by the Pont des Artistes (before heading back to Notre Dame, up rue Rivoli and then home).

Upon arriving at Pont des Artistes, I was met with many many lovely young couples – doing what you may ask? Making out of course! Now, in my pre-resolution life (no more complaining, about the small things at least!), I may have complained about the situation, but post resolution I decided that if you can’t beat them, join them. As such, I grabbed the nearest man next to me and decided to join in the fun. As luck would have it, this man was Joaquin Phoenix, who immediately declared his love for me and… oh wait I’m confusing this with a dream I had… Ok to be clear, lest my mother (who may actually be reading my blog) think I’m going around kissing random Parisians (or that her daughter is delusional), I’m just kidding and I’m not going around kissing random men on the bridges of Paris.



In any case, I rounded out my day with a visit to the Louvre and then yummy Japanese food in Paris’ Japan Town. All in all, a wonderful day! Paris, j’adore.

Resolutions!

So I know that it’s March and the time for making resolutions has long passed, but I’ve had a revelation of sorts and have decided to make a resolution that will make me as well as everyone around me (I hope) happier. I am going to do my best to stop complaining and enjoy things around me. As someone French told me, the French love to complain, however, I guess this is just one of the “Olympic events” that I will not be competing in.

How did this come about, you may be asking? Well, I keep realizing that my life is quite good. So every time I complain or think of how sucky something is, I remember that really, I’m quite privileged. Now, I’m not talking about being upper class privileged, I’m talking about being privileged experience wise.

On Saturday, the last night of our spring break, MC and I turned to each other and noted that we didn’t want our vacation (more thoughts on the actual vacation later) to end and go back to the real world. Upon further contemplating the situation though, we each realized that our real world was Paris. We were heading back from our adventures in Portugal and Spain, to continue our Parisian escapades. Really, life is not *that* bad!

So in lieu of complaining, I’m going to walk around with a permanent smile and relish the fact that I still have 4 weeks in Paris, after which I will be sad to leave, but I get to go to Chicago and see all my lovely friends and take amazing classes and enjoy Chicago life. Really, life is, simply, not that bad.

Week at a glance

So this was my last full week in Paris until I take off for Portugal/Spain on Thursday for about 10 days and I wanted to make the best of it.

I had a few recommendations of places to explore, but unfortunately, as the weather did not comply, I only did a little bit of exploration outdoors. Things I did this week:

1) Parc des Buttes Chaumont - Beautiful little park with a temple/oracle/rotunda in the center. Very nice and quite place to explore if you want to get away from the big city feel. Also, on a clear day, the view from the temple is absolutely amazing! One thing though to mention, if you take the metro to Buttes Chaumont, when you get off the train, there are two "sortie" signs, one points to stairs and the other to an elevator. Take the elevator! I looked at the sign and figured that a few steps wouldn't kill me and I wasn't about to go and take a smelly and tiny elevator up, what, a floor or two? I mean come on, I climb to my 5th floor walk-up every day (sometimes 3 times a day!). Yeah, so in my wisdom, I took the stairs, and I felt like I must have climbed to the 6th or 7th floor. In fact, from the bottom, I couldn't even see the end!! Take the elevator people.

2) Louvre - I bought my carte jeune which, for 30 euros, allows me entry to the Louvre, the temporary exhibits, allows me to bring a guest twice a week during special evening hours and also allows me to skip the lines for the next year. A good deal, methinks. I began my exploration by going to see the Richelieu wing (beautiful paintings as well as the apartments) and then checking in on the Mona Lisa for a quick minute. I think I might go back this Wednesday before heading on "vacation".

3) I got "lost" in the Marais and found a lot of little side streets with cute little shops and finally made it to Place des Vosges. Luckily, while it was super cold on this day, it was at least sunny!
At Place des Vosges, I saw the cutest little redheaded boy, who was a complete troublemaker - then again what redhead isn't? This kid stole a scooter from his big brother, attempted to steal a ball from a kid that was younger than him and then proceeded to dig a hole in the dirt (all this in the 10 minutes or so that I stalked him with my camera). Ahh, a kid after my own heart :) I think I could have passed him off as my own if I had stolen him!

Oh and for this week, and this week only, I will not be commenting on my annoyance at having a couple pretty much making out on top of me in the metro and I will chalk it up to Valentine's Day.

That's about it, on top of my near daily walks to the Notre Dame area. I have a lot more to explore though and I will get back down to business upon my return. March promises a visit to the Loire Valley castles, maybe (hopefully) Mont St. Michel and of course, as a good Jew, who can forget all the churches in Paris!

Food review

This past week, we decided to try a little restaurant called L'Ambassade d'Auvergne.

When the first two people in our party arrived, they were told that since they had no reservations, the restaurant did not have room. However, upon our arrival, my roomie was able to charm them into finding us a table. We sat down and were handed menus. In French. Not a big deal, right? I mean food is generally easy to understand, right? That would be a no.

For instance, there was a dish called "Saucisse de Parlan & Aligot". Sausage with something. But with what? There was also the "Filets d'Omble Chevalier poêlés aux Amandes, Purée de Potiron" where the words we understood were filet (of horse?!) with almonds and puree. After much examination and attempts at translating the menus, I finally broke down and asked for an English menu, and low and behold things actually made sense (though we are still not sure if that really was a filet of horse on the menu).

The waiter brought us bread and pork pate (yum!) to hold us over until our food was ready. One of my friends ordered the lentils, which were actually fairly decent and had a bit of an onion-y spice to them. For the meal, I had the aforementioned sausage with mashed potatoes with cheese (or is it actually more fair to say cheese with mashed potatoes?). This dish was absolutely delicious and I would highly recommend it. I also stole a little bit of the cabbage millefeuille from someone at the table and it was quite good as well (this coming from someone who tends to hate cooked cabbage). Unfortunately, we did not have room for dessert portion of this event, though we all dreamt about the mousse au chocolat. The table next to us told us that they had ordered one mousse au chocolat which came in a big tub with enough for 3-4 people to share easily!

Definitely a thumbs up and I intend to drag my parents here so they can try the sausage and potatoes and I can indulge my sweet tooth!

Late nights and bike rides?

So last night as I was leaving a club and bidding adieu to my friend, despite being offered a place to crash until the metro came back to life, I assured her that I would just catch a cab and be home within 10 minutes. Ahh, yes, for those familiar with Parisian night life, you can see how silly I was!

I walked to the main square at Republique, sure that there would be millions of cabs. There were hundreds and hundreds of cabs. Unfortunately for me, and everyone else, the cabs were all full. I then saw that there was a queue of people waiting for taxis and decided to abide by the rules and get in line rather than try to poach a cab. I stood in the line for a good 5 minutes and quickly realized that I hadn’t moved nor had I even seen an empty cab pass.

At this point, I realized that there were night buses and made the rounds, searching for a stop where I might actually catch a night bus that went to Bastille (all the while, still hoping against hope, that I might see an empty cab). During my search, I also came across people trying to rent bikes, for what I can only assume, was their trip home. Now, in case you are not familiar with this, Paris has bike stands all over the city (and I am told that there are cities in the US who also subscribe to this phenomenon). There are something like 10-20 bikes at each station. You sign up online, come to a bike stand, rent a bike for some tiny fee, and ride it where-ever you want. You can even ride it from one stand to another and drop the bike off there. As I searched for a taxi or bus to take me home, I started wishing that I had one of these accounts because despite the high heels and dress I was wearing, I would have gladly hopped on a bike and ridden it home.

Lest you be concerned about my welfare, I did indeed find a bus and took it home. Upon getting off at Bastille, I was greeted by about 10 kids riding their rented bikes home from a late night out. I guess riding bikes doesn’t constitute a DUI here. I am however debating investing in a bike membership for my last month here, if not for the convenience of being able to explore the city by bike in addition to by foot, but also in order to be able to get home late at night with as little hassle as possible considering we have a bike stand a block from home.

Whimsical stories and complaints galore!

On to (what I think are) whimsical observations of life in Pa-ree, fun stories and little things I’ve learned this past week.

This past week, a bunch of us decided to go out to Barrio Latino and do some salsa dancing. It helps that this place is literally right across the street from our house, but we were sad to find out that the cover is 20 euros (though this does include a drink and is actually worth it for the fun dancing). However, since my roomie is wonderful with bouncers and seems to know how to charm them, I (literally) pushed her to the front of the line to make friends and try to get us in for free. According to Olivia, the following morning, as a way of making friends with him (or maybe a form of blackmail), she was trying to tell the bouncer that she can see him changing from our 5th floor apartment! (More on this in a minute). However, from my understanding of the conversation (in broken French and English), what she actually said to him, was that since we live on the top floor, across the street, he could watch her change… not a bad deal for him with such a bribe, me thinks? All for just letting us in! Then again, by this point of the evening, I had downed ¾ of a bottle of red wine, and maybe, just maybe, my French understanding was slightly impaired.

As for being able to watch us change… so the very first day we moved into our apartment, we had an agent come with the contract and while we were talking to said little old lady, I glanced across the street, and what did I see, but two large windows into a locker room. It can’t possibly be a locker room, I thought to myself. But alas, it was (and is). So while signing the contract, I was thoroughly distracted when there was a half naked man in the window across. Yes, from our living room, we can, apparently, see the changing room for the male staff of Barrio Latino. And every day, we get a show (if we choose to watch). Hence why Olivia’s story that she can watch him change makes sense, but I think that her offering to let him watch her change is simply funnier and thus what my brain decided she was offering in exchange for his help.

What would my blog be without a complaint? Afterall, I am in Paris (according to our tour guide from Saturday, the French like to complain), so when in France… I bought a lovely going out dress on Wednesday (the first time I actually bothered to go out shopping). Now, this is week 4 or 5 of the soldes, so in other words, very few good things can actually still be found. Thus, I bought boots (on sale, go me!) and a dress (not on sale, but it was hung on a redheaded mannequin and I figured it was a sign and fell in love!) I decided to wear said dress on Friday night, but when I went to look in the mirror, I realized there was a little hole. Not the type of hole that appeared because the stitching ripped, but the type of hole that was likely made by moths. So I decided that I would go to the store and try to exchange the dress. I worked through the words in French and how I would explain that I did not make the hole, but that it was already there and while I love the dress, I should get a new one that is not quite as hole-y. Well, having practiced the phrases over and over in my head, I arrived at the mall. On a Sunday. Yeah… while this is a big shopping day in the US (since, you know, people aren’t working on Sundays, and it makes sense for them to shop), this does not hold true on Sunday. So of course, the mall was closed. As my friend Alex would say, *le sigh*. Oh well, it’s not like I have classes on Tuesday, so I will try my luck then.

Speaking of practicing my French. I think it’s getting worse if that’s possible? I’m sure I look like a deer caught in headlights every time someone tries to talk to me. The week started off well. I was stopped by a young man on a motorcycle who asked me for directions and I was actually able to help him and formulate coherent sentences. The following day, a woman asked me how to get from one side of a platform to the other, and again not only did I understand what she wanted, I was able to explain to her where she should go. I was able to converse with the falafel man and explain what I did and didn’t want on my falafel and I was able to talk to the woman in the shoe store about the boots I bought (though then I realized she was Russian, and we switched over to that…). But then there was Friday night when every single guy I talked to and every single conversation that was started in French, ended with “D’ou est-tu?” (Where are you from?), followed by “Tu parle francais?” And upon my answer of “un peu” switched over to English. My ego was not helped, when on Saturday night, at the chanson place, I could not understand a word that the grandpa next to us was saying. Maybe it was the fact that he was slurring his speech? Or maybe my French is just that crummy. Yeah, I’ll go with the latter and maybe it’s time for me to bust out the Rosetta Stone again and practice my French some more.

And now for a moment of – did that really just happen and me being too shocked to even respond (which appears to be a big theme in my world). I was at the gym on Sunday morning (yes, I know, only losers go to the gym on Sunday mornings and Friday nights, but at least I wasn’t there Friday night so that should count for something). And since 2 of the 5 treadmills at the gym are broken, I had to wait in line to get on. Well, I noticed a man who came up and talked to his friend (who was on a treadmill) right before I got in line. While I was doing the perfectly American thing of waiting patiently on the side, he came back over to his friend, who proceeded to get off the treadmill and yield her spot to her friend, who happily got on and began to run. I must have looked like a sad lost puppy because I honestly had no idea what to say other than “qu’est-ce que vous faites? J’etais ici…” but then I held back because God-forbid he do something other than simply get off and agree that I was right. Luckily, about seven minutes later (yes, I did count out of bitterness), I got a treadmill. Unluckily for me though, this treadmill did not have a working incline. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

That is all for this edition of random stories and complaints, though I am in Paris for another 10 days before heading to Portugal and Spain, so do not despair, as I’m sure that I will have plenty more thoughts on my love of most things French!




And a quick disclaimer for those concerned, I may have overestimated my love for London. Well rather, I did love London immensely, but Paris has this “je ne sais quoi” that was unquantifiable in my comparative analysis and I guess it’s enough to say that you have to embrace all things French and just say, when in France…

FOOD!

Ok what kind of tourist would I be if I didn’t comment on the food? Simply, a bad one. So, let’s amend this trend. With all my travels the last two months, I’ve had some delicious food! From the goulash in Budapest, to discovering that I LOVE roasted eggplant in Marrakech to delicious bangers and mash in London… and of course the wonderful French food that I can’t seem to get enough of!



I’ll start with London where I finally had authentic bangers and mash and fish and chips. Unlike my experience in Marrakech, where I discovered that the tagines that I knew and loved were not the authentic thing (yes, a very sad discovery, indeed), London surprised me with yummy food! The first night we ate at Canteen where I had amazing bangers and mash, I then dabbled with some Chinese and Indian food the following day and had great fish and chips with pear cider at a local pub on our last night! But the height of the London experience was having afternoon tea at The Dorchester! (Where is Lindsey when you need her fake-British accent). Though the price seems slightly steep at about 38 pounds (60 dollars), the experience is definitely worth it! We were treated to 5 different kinds of sandwiches (chicken, mozzarella, egg, cucumber and salmon), with the cucumber and egg sandwiches being my absolute favorites! The second course consisted of chocolate mousse and the third course was yummy little desserts and scones with jam. Oh and of course there was tea! I had very strong, yet delicious Russian tea! Overall a great experience.

Ok, now after that little detour, let’s get to the main event… food in PARIS! Simply, food here is absolutely délicieuse!



I’ve had many a crepe – from the little stand on our corner to random little restaurants! The most memorable were at Breizh Café where at the end of our meal we split an amazingly delicious crepe with caramel and pears! Words can not describe how yummy this was! (Yes, I used the word yummy, get over it, it’s a very sophisticated word along with icky and such!) I also had a wonderful crepe at a little place in Provins (Mammy Gateaux) that had potatoes, cheese and bacon. Wonderful breakfast, indeed.

Another memorable place was Angelina. This is a salon du the, and famous for its hot chocolate! We had amazing hot chocolate there along with a cheese plate and a macaroon. The hot chocolate was rich beyond belief (though possibly too rich for some and actually a bit much even for this choc-a-holic who had to chase it with some water) and came with real cream! The macaroon was full of fresh raspberries… what else can I saw but yum?

The highlight (food-wise) of Paris, though, is L’as du Falafel. No, this place does not need any more advertising, but I have to mention (or rave) about how amazing this place is! The first time I went there (yes, I’ve been there 4 times now and will likely head there again at some point this week), I nearly had a heart attack over the length of the line, but was assured that I would have a falafel in hand within 15 minutes, and indeed, I did! The falafel is beyond amazing (5 euros for take away or 7 euros if you decide to brave the wait and sit), with very fresh and crispy yet soft falafel balls, plenty of cabbage, cucumbers and my new favorite, eggplant, all stuffed into a pita that looks like it will burst into pieces at any moment! I also tried the schwarma there, but it wasn’t nearly as amazing, though that’s a high standard to live up to and realistically it was still quite good, just not as good!)

What else have I had, you may be wondering? Some amazing wines which cost about 3 euros a bottle! A lot of good crepes, baguettes, potatoes and delicious desserts like begnets aux pommes… Actually, now that I think of it, I haven’t actually had anything bad! Not a single thing! Even, the sandwiches they sell in our cafeteria (with crawfish!) and the salads there are all yummy! If there’s one thing the French know how to do, it’s make amazing food! I’ll keep you updated with my food adventures, though I’m off to Portugal and Spain in about a week and a half, so the next foods I will be highlighting will be tapas and olive oils and all those sorts of yummy things! Can’t wait!

Back to our previously scheduled programming...

And now we return to my see-saw relationship with Paris, which is on the upswing this week! Maybe I just needed a little break from Paris (and got it in London), maybe it's the fact that the sun came out to play this week or the fact that I got to go out salsa dancing, but I am genuinely happy that I spent this past week(end) in Paris and will be spending the upcoming week here as well!

This week was a very touristy one for me! I went to Musee de l’Orangerie and Musee D’Orsay (grinning like an idiot when I walked into the impressionist room where I could marvel at all the Renoir, Monet, Soutine, Pissarro and Utrillo paintings my little heart could handle). I also walked around Paris (both alone and with a lovely Parisian tour guide), ate a lot of cheese (13 different kinds to be exact), went to an old Chanson restaurant where I (attempted) to sing French songs and ate some yummy French food! But something this week, made me love this city more and turned my previous annoyances around.

For instance, at the Chanson restaurant last night, we were the only Americans and the chanteuse was ridiculously nice, constantly explaining the meaning of the songs to us and making sure we were having a fabulous time! We also showed up sans reservation (albeit 30 minutes before the restaurant even opens) and the owner was kind enough to actually create space for us (i.e. bringing out extra chairs and a table for us!). We spent the evening singing, drinking and talking to the French family sitting next to us. In fact, there was a grandpa sitting at the table next to us who was there with his nephew, his daughter, her husband, their son and some random man. The grandpa plied us with wine all night, chastising me when I refused to drink, and continuously filling up MC and Teena’s glasses. The daughter was not so nice, and her husband kept looking at us apologetically as she shoved her cousin and tried to get him to stop talking to us, while grandpa warned us that his nephew was dangerous! But the daughter can be excused in light of the fact that everyone else was ridiculously nice!

Before the Chanson restaurant we took a tour of the center of the city with a guide from Paris Greeters who took us around and told us some of the history of the city and pointed out some places that were meaningful to him (such as where his son took his first steps, where his dentist is and where he lives – so now we can officially stalk him!) We actually had a great time making fun (all in jest we swear) of how French people can be arrogant and grumpy and talking about the cultural differences between our two countries and we also learned that at least one Parisian did not hate all Americans (we also clarified that many Americans really do love the French!)

Lest someone be concerned with my love of all things Paris this week, the urine stench is still present in the metro, I would still like to put in my complaint that it is not a good place for making out, though every single couple still feels the need to do so (or if not there, then at the table next to ours at breakfast, lunch or dinner), but all this aside, Paris, je t’aime.

The Brits do it Better!

I spent the past 4 days in London and my travel buddies can attest that I spent the entire time comparing London to Paris on a multitude of very sophisticated dimensions and the final verdict is London wins hands down.

The Tube vs. Le Metro
Flat out this is a tie. Both are very convenient. Both smell of urine. The only concession I will make is that the Tube had escalators which were quite lovely after a full day of walking. Also, the ads in the Tube are quite fun and semi-interactive which was cool! But neither of these items hardly warrant an entire point!
London 0, Paris 0

The Poop-o-meter
Even with a lot of print advertising in Paris (which is something to the effect of a beautiful beach scene with dog poop in the middle and a line that translates as “Doesn’t look good here? Why would it look good in our city?”), I often see this juxtaposed against a street full of dog poop. London, where I encountered just as many dogs as I have in Paris, had no dog crap, so this one goes to London.
London 1, Paris 0

People – aka niceness and service
Ok, so maybe I only spent 4 days in London, after all, after a week in Paris, I kept mentioning how nice everyone was here as well. Maybe it’s the fact that while my French isn’t awful and I can communicate what I need, I’m obviously fluent in English. But nevertheless, no matter how nice they are in Paris, I really do feel like I am constantly being done a favor when someone allows me to spend my euros in Paris, where-as in London, people actually seemed to act like if I was paying, they were going to be nice.
(Also, ahh the British men, maybe it’s the accents?)
London 2, Paris 0

Romance
So, first a note about my previous entry. My mother, having read my last entry, looked at me via our Skype video chat and said (sounding quite disappointed in her daughter) “You’re becoming a wee bit prudish…” Now, trust me, I’m no prude, but making out in a subway that stinks of urine… well that’s not something I would call romantic or quaint or, well, necessary. In fact, I would say it’s fairly icky and actually tacky. In fact, I ended the last entry with a few suggestions such as the river, the bridges, the gardens, and lo and behold, it seems that the Brits got the message. In fact, I saw many couples walking along the Thames holding hands, girls resting their heads on their partner’s shoulders and kissing. I saw men putting their arms around their ladies while sitting in a church and listening to beautiful choir music. I saw them strolling hand in hand through the parks.
But then I also saw far too many couples making out on the subway while taking the last (midnight) train home and I’m going to assume that this must be a European thing: making out with a wafting urine stench.
So while I wanted to give the Brits this point, I’m afraid I can’t.
London 2, Paris 0

Fashion
You’d think this would be hands down a win for the Parisian. Aren’t they the most stylish people in the world? Is this not the fashion capital of the world? Not from what I’ve seen. The French wear a lot of black. And I mean A LOT! They know what’s in and what’s not. Unfortunately they lack any semblance of creativity. What’s in now? Leggings. Long shirts/short dresses. Wide boots. Guess what every French woman wears? Leggings with a shirt and wide boots. Every. Single. French. Woman.
The Brits are also aware that this is the “in” thing right now. And a good percentage of women also wear this style. But they also dress it up with funky leggings or a funky dress or boots. The ones that don’t, wear fun dresses (i.e. not black) and fun shoes and tights and jackets. We briefly explored the shops which were full of fun styles that I would love to have had time to actually scoop up! Thankfully though, I didn’t have time and my suitcase was far too small so I made out with very little damage to my wallet with a funky aqua dress and funky ring and earrings. And now I’m debating a trip back to London just for some shopping.
Sorry Paris, you lose big on this one!
London 3, Paris 0

Tourist Attractions
The Palaces in London were nothing spectacular but the churches definitely were! However, I wasn’t able to actually go visit Westminster Abbey or St Paul’s since the entry fee for each was 15 friggen’ pounds! Are you kidding me??? Even a visit to the Louvre is less! Fifteen pounds?! That’s just outrageous beyond words. (Also if someone happens to see my jaw on the ground, outside of Westminster Abbey from when I saw the price, please return to owner).
London 3, Paris 1

Expenses
Every time we saw a price in London, we kept saying that if it was in dollars, it would be fine (not Westminster though, $15 would be too much still!) Apparently according to the latest rankings, Paris is the 13th most expensive city to live in and London is 16th (having been 3rd last year). I’m going to say that 3rd sounds a bit closer to the truth. Apartments in London are far more expensive from the prices I saw, the tube is 4 pounds per ride (or 5.60 for a day – compared with something around 1.20 euros per ride in Paris) and restaurants and plays and the like are just ridiculous. Simply put, London is far too expensive and I spent more on the trip to London (4.5 days, excluding lodging and transportation) than I did on Romania, Bulgaria and Budapest combined (and that was 12 days or so). There’s just no excuse to not pricing things reasonably! If it costs $50 in the US, there’s no reason to make it 50 pounds. None.
London 3, Paris 2

I don’t think I’d want to live in either city, though in London I simply wouldn’t be able to afford it, it seems. However, if I had to choose, I’d take London hands down as it felt like a cleaner, nicer, more hospitable city (oh and did I mention our amazing afternoon tea at the Dorchester? With scones and cucumber sandwiches and all?)

Slight Quip...

Ok so I know that Paris is the city of love, but I need to get a quip in here! Why does everyone feel like making out? And why do people feel the need to do this... everywhere?! And I do mean, everywhere.

Yesterday I went with a couple of girls from Kellogg to Provins where we took a tour of the underground storage system (essentially a long series of caves under the city that date back centuries). Romantic right? I didn't think so either, but that didn't stop a couple from making out, full force (with sound effects and all), in front of us, stopping the cave tour traffic.

And I'm not the only one who thinks this is weird... When I was on the train yesterday, it obviously seemed like my lucky day since when I sat down, a couple next to me decided to start making out. When they got off, the pair of German women that were sitting across from me started making fun of the couple's kissing technique and laughing!

Ok, you may chalk that one up to the fact that the women were German, and obviously, the French must think this is normal and that it's just us, Puritans, who shy away from PDA... right? Well, the first week I was here, during our lovely 50 minute train ride from Cergy, there was a teenage couple that joined us on the train and proceeded to go to town with their makeout session! And I do mean go to town, considering they did not come up for air for 5 minutes at a time (yes, I'm that petty, that I timed it). Now, don't get me wrong, love is a wonderful thing and all that, but really? On a train? Full force? (In this case, full force equating with - they may as well have been at home on a bed as that seemed to be the logical next step with how much into it they were!) But at one point, a lovely french woman, probably in her 20s got on, and found herself standing between the couple and myself. Well, let me tell you, she was as grossed out as I was, and she kept making eye contact with me and rolling her eyes, and checking on the teens every few minutes in hopes that they had stopped (but alas, no luck).

Really people, this is the city of love and maybe if you found better places to make out than the germ and urine-infested subway or the historical caves, I may let it pass! May I suggest the banks of the Seine (yes, I know it's cold out there, but if it's romantic in the summer months, it can be romantic now too), or the beautiful bridges, the movies, the gardens...? Surely these are all more romantic places than the subway.

Ok quipping over, back I go to enjoying the magnificence that is Paris.

Out and About..

Ahh what does a girl do after a long full week…. ok who am I kidding? I had two long and arduous days of school (which included listening to two lectures on luxury brands such as Dior, YSL and Chanel and what their ads meant and their history, plus a lecture on strategic alliances followed by a French class…), I know, this is hardly the hard life.

Yesterday, I finally made it to the gym (yes, I joined a gym in Paris, though I’m not sure what the purpose was since I’ve been walking 4-6 miles a day just exploring the city), but more importantly, I finally made it out to the Catacombs. Spooky stuff I must say! I can’t say that the bones were spooky, so much as the long and narrow and seemingly abandoned passageways with sparse lighting. You know what they say about people who are such scared-y cats, that they would be scared of their own shadows? Well, normally that’s not me. But, in the long passageways, I kept feeling like there was someone right behind me, and I kept seeing weird shadows that I was convinced were not mine, and with no one else around, it really was not helping my fragile mental state. Luckily, I managed to knock some sense into myself and realized that the weird shadows were a result of where I was in relation to the lamps, and thus were nothing to shriek about or run from. If you're laughing at me... well, you have every right!




After this, I found myself walking around Paris, and soon enough, I found myself near Notre Dame. I seem to have an affinity for it, since it’s now the third time I’ve been here during this stay! I walked around some more and by the time I got home, I was exhausted. In fact, at about 6pm, I could barely keep my eyes open and had to take a nap! I woke up around 8:30, puttered around as my friend Alex would say, and went back to sleep around midnight and happily slept until 9:30 am today.
Today, I had grand plans for the day. I would get up early, climb the Arc de Triomphe and then head to Musee de l’Orangerie or Louvre and then walk around the city some more (probably ending up at Notre Dame again…). That’s not quite how things ended up. I met up a couple of girls from school for lunch and then we decided we would head to the Fashion Museum. Well, unfortunately for us, the Fashion Museum was closed… indefinitely. However, we found ourselves right next to the Eiffel Tour so we went with it and proceeded to find as many beautiful vantage points as we could to take pictures! We then walked down to Pont Alexander III and then walked through Jardin des Tuileries where we sat around a fountain (or at least that’s what it is in the hot summer months) and planned on a picnic when it gets warm enough and then continued our walk to the Louvre. To cap off the day, we got to witness the Eiffel Tower all lit up and sparkly!





I know, it’s all very touristy, Notre Dame, Catacombs, Pont Alexander III and all of my gaping up at the Eiffel Tower, but you know what, that’s what I am… a tourist. I proudly look at the map in the subway to get my bearings, and do my best to reconcile the street names I see to what’s on my map and to add the cherry to the top of this ice cream sundae (or maybe macaroon since we are in Paris, afterall…) I hang my camera proudly around my neck and take zillions of pictures of everything in sight!

Tomorrow promises to be a rainy day (per the 3 different sites I need to consult in order to actually have an accurate assessment of the weather), so this tourist intends to finally make it to Musee de l’Orangerie and then maybe start the exploration of the Louvre.

Marrakech.

This week was a doozey! Since the weather was miserable in Paris last weekend, we started brainstorming warm (and cheap) destinations. At the top of the list was Marrakech and so we went with the mood and booked our tickets. Four girls in Marrakech. I had my trepidations but all in all the trip was a lot of fun!
The trip nearly started off with a bang (the bad type) when Olivia and I arrived at CDG and were told that the walkway to our terminal was closed (we assumed that this was due to a bomb scare as we were met with a dozen military guards, followed by the bomb squad). Interestingly enough though, we were easily able to walk into a different terminal to cross over to where we needed to go. After nearly a 2 hour delay, our adventure was finally underway. Let’s start with the fact that we stayed in a hostel. Now, I’ve never stayed in a hostel, so this was a first, and what a first! Thankfully, we paid for a transfer and guide to get us there because the streets in Marrakech do not lend themselves to easy navigation.
Every night we relaxed in the hostel and drank Moroccan tea (aka Moroccan whiskey) and smoked hookah with new friends. In the evenings we explored the nighttime Jemaa El Fna markets where we were met with many men trying to get us to dine in their markets. In the same respect, when we explored the souks in the daytime, all the shopkeepers were eager to get us (and every other tourist) in the door by greeting us in every language imaginable and promising us good prices and at times that everything was free (right….). During this trip I learned that I am absolutely awful at bargaining. And I really do mean AWFUL. Apparently, the rule used to be that whatever the shop keeper offered, the fair price was about half. Well, people caught on to that and the shopkeepers figured that if that’s what the tourists expected, why not quadruple the price or quintuple or… you get the picture! So, walking into the shops, where I had absolutely no idea what the fair price was, made haggling darn near impossible! I bought a necklace for 50 dirham (~7 dollars) for which I was told the price was 250 dirham, but I also bought a wooden box for 130 (~$18) which was offered for 180 at first (and apparently 150 was a fair price according to the hostel workers). So there’s absolutely no hard and fast rule. This made it very difficult because without a clear idea of a fair price the last thing I wanted to do was offend someone!
For the shopkeepers it’s all a game. They tell you the price, and in the same breath, ask you what you’d pay. For me, I would rather have seen a price tag and known how much something is so I could walk away or buy it based on a specified price. Another thing I learned was that it depends on who exactly you talk to. I walked into a store that had two gorgeous shirts that I wanted to buy and was told that each shirt was around 450 dirham, an outrageous price! I went back to the hostel and asked the manager (pictures in hand and all ;) ) how much I should pay and was told 350 for both would be a fine deal. I went back the following day and was told that the price was 450 for two (by a different man). Knowing that it should be worth 350, I offered 200 (assuming we would meet in the middle after a bit of discussion). Well this man called over the man I had talked to the day before who told me that it was actually 650 for both. At this point of course, I should have known that this negotiation would not go well, but I tried to get back to the fair price. Unfortunately, this man didn’t even want to negotiate and I left without the shirts. Thankfully though I found two gorgeous pairs of earrings to acquiesce my wallet.
Overall Marrakech was fun, though I don’t think I could have spent one more minute there. On the plane ride home I kept hearing the shopkeepers in my head, screaming “Hello miss” (in a lovely British accent), followed by “Hola” and several other greetings. I kept hearing the phrases, “How much you pay?”; “What’s your final price?”; “Wait, come back!”, and then of course there were some of the less than nice phrases when we refused to pay exorbitant prices or walk into shops (such as calling us Fish n Chips – not a term of endearment aimed at the British, or the heckles of how ugly or whatever we were). Now I know this is just how things are in Marrakech and how the shopkeepers behave, but really, after 2 and a half days, I hit a wall and I think had one more person said another word to me, I would have gone off on them.
As for the treasures of the city, I actually really enjoyed seeing the old El-Badi palace and the Saadian Tombs as well as the gardens and the overall architecture of the city. The Saadian Tombs had me in absolute awe of the amazing detail that went into the walls and decorations and the fact that it has survived from the 16th century. I also found the geography of Morocco quite fascinating as, somehow, I was not aware that the country had the 2nd highest peak in all of Africa and had beautifully snow covered mountains!
The trip was definitely a success. For anyone going, definitely drink as much of the tea as you can! Also, have as much fresh squeezed grapefruit and orange juice as you can in the plaza. Heed what your mother taught you, don’t talk to strangers as they will try to lead you to random shops and expect a tip for their effort. Another lesson that I learned, apparently what I always thought was tagine, is not really the true tagine. This would be fine and well, except that apparently (and unfortunately for me) I prefer faux-Tagine as presented in the US (dates, raisins, rice and all). Oh and since I’m commenting on the food, have as much eggplant (aubergines) as you can! I never knew how yummy it is!
Instead of parting thoughts, I’ll share a fun story (as told by our hostel manager): A German female tourist broke the zipper on her pants and wanted to get it repaired, and in order to explain herself to the shopkeepers, she kept pointing to her pants and saying “zep”. One male shopkeeper, upon seeing her gesture and say the word, didn’t miss a beat, cracked his knuckles and told her to “get in the back”. Well, apparently, “zep” refers to a certain male organ…

Monetizing..

Just a quick note. I decided to allow AdSpace to add ads to the blog - and if you click on them, I get $$ (not a lot of it by any means), but any that I raise will be donated to BADRAP (Bay Area Doglovers Responsible About Pitbulls) - as for those of you who know me (semi) well, you know that this is an organization that I absolutely love and have worked with in the past. So your clicks will help raise money for sweet pitbulls :)
Shameless plug:
http://www.badrap.org/rescue/index.html

Week 1

This week was full of lots of new things and accomplishments! I am taking 4 classes here at ESSEC (International Luxury Distribution, Alliances and Partnerships, Consumer Behavior and Luxury Brand Management). Needless to say, I (happily) found out that the classes are nothing like what I'm used to and should therefor, not infringe on my plans to explore the city and the continent :)

I was thoroughly amused that our orientation on Monday meant that I had to miss one of my classes, and on top of this, I learned that classes are canceled this coming Monday. So in other words, I won't have the first meeting for one of my classes for another week and a half. Actually, when we learned this, we all debated taking a last minute flight to Lisbon or Morocco, but alas, decided to get settled in Paris first (there are worse things afterall, than having to put off a trip and staying in Paris).

I do have, quite, the lovely schedule, with classes on Mondays and Tuesdays, only. Thus, while, I'm worn out on those days (since I have to wake up at 6:30am to get to Cergy by 9am, and return home around 5:30/6pm on these days), it does mean that I have a 5 day weekend. I swear, it's not really supposed to work like this. Not that I'm complaining. I have always wished that the work week were 2 days ;)

At this point I've seen Notre Dame (which was just as beautiful as I remember), checked out the crazy sales (and managed to refrain from buying yet another Dior bag), and trekked out to Versailles where I finally got to see the Hall of Mirrors. The last time I was in Paris, 5 years ago, the Hall of Mirrors was undergoing renovations and I was sorely disappointed by this fact. But there was a trade off, as this time the grounds were covered in snow and exploring the gardens was out of the question in the freezing cold! I will say that after having seen Peterhoff (St. Petersburg), maybe I'm insane, but I wasn't as amazed! Yes, I know that Versailles was the original and the Russians "stole" the idea in creating Versailles, but in this case, Peterhoff surpasses it by a mile (afterall, it is a palace, so the grander the better, right?). Usually, I prefer the original, but somehow, all I kept thinking was that it was beautiful with all the frescos and the gold, but the Russians did it better! I guess imitation is the highest form of flattery... (Or maybe I'm still bitter that I didn't get to see the Hall of Mirrors 5 years ago).

Anyways, as for my greatest accomplishment of the week... Yesterday I went to the store and bought a terribly expensive, yet tiny, bottle of nail polish. After climbing 5 flights of stairs and unpacking my bag, I realized that, though I had paid for the nail polish, I managed to leave it at the store. Today, I went back and actually managed, in mangled French, to explain what had happened. The lady at the desk actually took pity on me and allowed me to grab another bottle. Yay! My French is still super rusty, but maybe this shows that there is some hope?

Paris!

Ok I know that I still owe my thoughts on Athens, and I'll get to it once I get through my pictures. But meanwhile, I'm in PARIS!

We arrived yesterday (Saturday), got to our apartment, and as it turns out, to even enter the yard of the building, we needed to call up, which of course we couldn't do since our landlord never told us the code. After knocking and pushing random buttons, a nice woman allowed us up, and we climbed to the 6th floor (as we are living on the last floor of the walk up), and then, as it turns out... we were in the wrong stairwell. With no phones and no way to contact our landlord, we asked a nice neighbor to call him, but alas, no one answered.

By the time we got down to the yard, a nice old lady was there waiting for us, who sheepishly looked at all our luggage (really only one suitcase and bag per person) and either pitied or wanted to laugh at us.

In any case, we ventured out in the evening to pick up some necessities to tide us over until today (breakfast stuff and tea and all). Since I'd been dreaming about French yogurt for months now, I decided that I might as well find some immediately. Well, this ended up taking about 15 minutes as I started by simply staring at the shelves, then picking random yogurts up and examining them in a feeble effort to understand which was best.

The adventure didn't end there. Since Olivia and I had been traveling for 3 weeks, we were both due for some laundry, and as luck would have it, our apartment has a little washer/dryer combo unit. Well... after staring at the French washer/dryer, I thought I set it to the right setting, but obviously not since my clothes were not even remotely dry. I then found the manual, which again, was in French (and the vocab for working a washer/dryer was not part of my classes in high school or college)! I swear, the machine washed my clothes two more times even though I set the machine to stop washing and they were more or less dry by morning.

This morning I wrote a list of everything I needed to buy (at the street market and the supermarche) plus joining a gym, getting a phone, figuring out how to get to the RER A, etc. The first gym was closed (to be expected as it's Sunday in Paris), the RER A was an experience and I tried to break out my lame french, which was ok-ish, and will help in dire straights, but overall needs to improve immensely! In any case, we then headed to the market and I bought fresh veggies and fruits!) Our trip to the supermarche was not very productive, as, surprise, it was not open! I walked around our neighborhood a bit more and finally found a little shop that was open and I got to pick up some essentials like carrots and salt (so I could make some yummy chicken soup).

Anyways, thus far, I'm liking Paris. Even the walk up to the 5th floor isn't so bad! The French are quite nice and they have no problems speaking English or slowing down to make sure I understand. So thus far, all is well!

Classes start tomorrow, so hopefully all will be well on that front.