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.