Citation profonde

Schopenhauer:  "One thinks differently in every language, (...) our thinking is modified and newly tinged through the learning of each foreign language, and polyglotism is, apart from its immediate advantages, a direct means of educating the mind by correcting and perfecting our perceptions through the emerging diversity and refinements of concepts. At the same time, polyglotism increases the flexibility of thinking since, through the learning of many languages, the concept increasingly separates itself from the word."

Sent to me by Madame Pascal-Anne Brault, bien sur!

Les Passages: Lumineux, mysterieux, adventureux

Of all of the many amazing nooks that Madame Brault has opened our senses to on this trip, my personal favorite is the collection of what is called "The Passageways."  Created between buildings in sort of alleyways, these covered passageways became a haven of bustling shops, and sometimes prostitution in the 19th century.  There were some 200+ passageways in their time, and only some 30 or so remain today. They are becoming more attractive to tourists that are looking for something off the beaten path, and are mostly frequented by locals or those looking for specialty items.  Some still house shops (mostly couture and high-end fashion for the wealthy that want a secretive and private shopping experience) while others lay dormant or in the midst of renovations.  They are spectacular with their combination of natural and artificial light, and shimmer like diamonds in the rough of Parisian antiquity with their gilded decor. 

 One certainly feels privileged to find them, as they are more easily stumbled upon than found when looked for, and exits feeling as though they have just been a part of a well kept secret---eager to tell a friend, but apprehensive about sharing their clandestine treasure.   

Je flâne....

I recognized that I was fortunate to have been able to come on this trip the moment I received the acceptance letter, but I am realizing more and more, just HOW fortunate.  THIS trip is a special one; this study abroad is like no other. Pascal-Anne Brault, my advisor, professor, and mentor, is the coordinator for the trip and is determined to educated us in every possible aspect of Parisian culture and history.  I feel very deeply privileged to be by her side and to be soaking up every drop of knowledge she happens to let drip, or rather cascade, from her ever overflowing cup of the wine of Wisdom.  

Reading Balzac and Baudelaire--both of which have changed my life a good bit, both in shaking of my approach to thinking, my perspective on the world (and my immediate circle), and also in simply inspiring me in a way that I have not felt since reading The Grapes of Wrath in high school.  I cannot seem to find ultimate satisfaction, and am constantly thirsting for more.  If I had the chance, I would probably sit and read Baudelaire out loud all day long (hoping to do it any justice at all) just to hear the sounds lapping over each other, slowly, like chanting or a sort of singing.  

Our long walks are not only "bon pour le santé," but are "bon pour l'esprit" as well. (I really wanted to use "sanité" there for the alliteration but alas, not a word in french).  I have officially chosen the topic of my 6 page french dissertation to be "Le flaneur" which has no direct english translation that can do it any justice---only that it is the idea of the bourgeois gentleman of the 19th century that spent his time walking through the crowds and simply people watching, observing if you will, the changes of his era.  I have chosen this topic because, ultimately, I feel as though I am its updated version.  I stroll about attempting to filter the tiniest elements of my new surroundings, understanding the language well enough to communicated thoroughly, but mostly to eavesdrop on conversations swarming around me like bees to a hive.  I am still very much a foreigner, more at home in a crowd than in individual conversation, and like the flaneur, become a sort of detective trying to solve the mysteries of all that is change.  We are communicating, myself and this archetypal character, through timeless portals of literature and tiny parisian streets, and I find his style of courtship more and more addictive as we progress in our relationship.  

je t'aimais, je t'aime, et je t'aimerai

So today it happened: the cliché.  I have fallen for it... love in the city of love in the season of love. I had just left a sort of dinner party, when after descending the most charming old staircase and exiting onto a street bustling with charming people, I too felt the charm.  I turned to face the sun, surprised to find that it was just then setting, and my breath was swept away.  It was perfect, like all those paintings by little old men in berets  that seat themselves on the banks of the Seine hoping to impress a tourist or two into buying their life's work.  Some Gothic tower framed the colors between its ornate structural beams attempting to create its own stained glass equal to that of Notre Dame or St. Chapelle.  I felt myself begin to swagger, as if to show the world that those windows were for me alone, and that I am worthy of such an expression of love.  I had only one thought.... head towards the Seine.  It was almost a kind of dance I was performing with the others in the street,  my pace quick, but not rushed.  I reached Notre Dame just as the bells were sounding the setting of my sun.  I stopped and turned to watch them, unseen, singing to the tourists at their feet, and all fell into place.  A little boy dispensed his energy in the square, ending his sprint just as the bells fell silent.   I took a breath of the city air, intoxicated by its strangely sweet and refreshing redolence.   I felt as though someone had just whispered something, meant for only me to hear, a secret between us two.  Yes, indeed, my love is Paris---not the Greek personage, though I hear he was quite the lady-killer---it is the city.  It is indeed the city of love because you need not fall in love with someone else while in its presence, only the city itself.  

Lose some, win some; a look at the urban canvas

I have discovered on this trip, more than ever before in my life, that I am incompetent at directions (be it giving, following directions, or telling where I am) and that I am also inept at planning vacations for myself.  In my haste to not bypass a good deal or have a trip cost more than it should, I do not read the crucial fine print.  I will not discuss the detriment to which I found myself this morning when, after planning a trip to Lyon, had to cancel it for an outing with the DePaul group-----an outing which, mind you, is not certain, and if it does not happen, someone will have to hold me down to keep me from hurting someone/thing (including myself).  Regardless of my ultimate realization of my incompetencies, I did manage to make good and carpe diem.  

After struggling with finances, I finally managed to make it out of the house before noon (having woken up at 7) and take a venture to the Grand Palais to see an exhibit in its last view days of viewing.  The exhibit was called "TAGS" and was a display of graffiti art created specifically for the collector.  The artists were asked to copy a tag of a previous era, then continue the style or inspiration onto the rest (1/2 half) of the canvas with the idea of Love.  I personally am fascinated by graffiti as a sort of forbidde

n, rebellious art form.  The written discussion upon entry compared graffiti to Jazz, which I found profound and very insightful.  The exhibit ranged from (inspirationally speaking) 1960s-2009, and was held in one room. 

Perhaps it is my love of vibrant colors and/or controversial subject matter, but I feel that graffiti art embodies the kind of understanding of a culture in chaos that the rest of the world can only begin to grasp. In indirectly quoting the discussion previously mentioned-- it is the personal expression of those attempting to cope with the severity of their surroundings.  It is often a humorous take on a serious subject--not such a foreign concept, using humor to break up depressing circumstances--which simultaneously characterizes the competitive nature of the culture, emphasizing the need to prove one's worth to survive.  

Interestingly enough, my current study of the Impressionists centers on the term "Modernity," that is to say, the true sense of one's time, nothing romanticized, idealized, but rather split-second analysis of one's world as is in the moment.  In their time, it was the creation of a new era, the beginning of an industrial world  as never thought conceivable until that point in time.  This exhibit, while not grappling with a new industrial age, also expresses a sense of modernity.  Graffiti art is a glimpse into the world of the underprivileged through their eyes.  It is not an outside observation but a personal impression of a momentary emotion, state of mind, state of being.  Pregnancy, racial hatred, self-hatred, ethic pride---these are the signs of modernity for these young people, these new Impressionists.  Their canvases are forgotten places, though not necessarily hidden---as a matter of fact, usually not---but rather those overlooked day after day, much like themselves.

And thus, I would like to suggest that whenever you feel down and discouraged, go view some graffiti and feel uplifted by its optimistically colorful approach to life's challenges; if nothing else, the colorful spirit of the images will take your mind of your troubles for enough seconds for you to then successfully move on with your day. 

"Voila le carrefour de la vie, jeune homme, choisissez"

As Honoré de Balzac so elequently explained: 

"Voila le carrefour de la vie, jeune homme, choisissez." 

Translation: "Alas, you have come to the crossroad of life, young man, choose your path." 

I feel that this quote has been present in my life from day 1, and that I have always been eager to turn my back to it.  As many of my friends and family know, I have an aversion for making life decisions, which I attribute to my slightly controlling nature--I want to be the decider of my own destiny and when I cannot tell the future outcome of a decision (which is always the case) I am uncomfortable and relatively unconfident.  I dance around the subject trying to create

 eloquent arguments in hopes of eventually convincing myself in the way of one of them.  I have a tendency to take a pole, a survey if you will, of what others think with the idea to push myself in a particular direction.  This has not changed throughout my 22, almost 23 years of life, and probably will never change.    

In regards to the most recent of my life dilemmas, I have to say, I managed to make a decision all by my grow-up self with only asking 1 person for advice--and ultimately knowing that he would not steer me in a clear direction.  My problematic situation was this:  I was accepted for a teaching assistant position in Nice, France, my dream destination, but not before I was informed by someone currently in the program that it is not as romantic as one would think.  She is not in Nice but some small town somewhere else in France, but regardless, it does not change the fact that the assistants are paid just enough money to live and are expected to live off savings for the first 2 months until the payments from the school go through.  It was a bit of a downer to get this news, in combination with that little piece of info she mentioned about them taking most anyone---i.e. they are not as picky as I had thought.  As someone who is keen on competition and prestigious opportunities, I was a bit disheartened.  At this same time, I had received an email asking for an interview for an internship position with Shakespeare

 Theatre Company in Washington, DC, wherein the 2 chosen costume interns work for 1 year in different positions and on different aspects of the costuming process; they are housed and paid a stipend.  This whole time, I am waiting to hear anything from Cirque Du Soleil for which I compiled an online profile for a particular job.  

One would choose the second option, most likely, with the thought of saving money AND taking part in an incredible opportunity to jump-start one's career.  That being said, the problem lies in my constant struggle between my lifelong passion for french and my more recent ambitions in the world of theatrical costuming.  While not untalented at either, I find that I am far more confident in french and feel far more stimulated as opposed to frustrated.  Would this jump-start for my career be beneficial if it is not the career I truly wish to pursue? 

I am certain these words are not sitting well with those reading who know what the last four years have been like, and what they have prepared me for.  Could it be that I just like a challenge and that once the goal has been accomplished and the mysteries have been solved, that I become to easily disillusioned or bored? Probably.  Yes. But is this concept really so horrible? In my mind, I have a desire to know everything... not in the sense of all knowing and all power, but rather in the sense of having many curiosities and needing to satisfy them.  I want to be Leonardo DiVinci and Thomas Jefferson.  The saying "Jack of all trades, master of none" would perhaps apply, but then, in having an arsenal of competencies, I am not only more marketable, but more interesting, and can better communicate with those of whom I make acquaintances throughout my life.  A friend of mine once told me of his life goal, and it so struck me as profound, yet simple, that I decided to plagiarize and take if for my own. 

The challenge is this: By the end of one's life  (if not before) to be able to hold a 5 minute conversation on any topic with any person from any walk of life.  

And so my choice, while not at all clear or easy to make, bent towards France, and I accepted by position.  I came to the realization last year or so, that while I was artistically stimulated at the Theatre School, and thrived on this phase of artistic expression and honing of skills, I felt trapped by a lack of academic exploration.  I found my escape, my salvation in french.  It has become even more apparent now, here in Paris, with my brain throbbing from the culture shock, that I more driven, passionate, excited and excitable when I have intellectual topics to occupy my mind. 

 The dreams of the Impressionists sing to me are like Sirens--- their attempts to capture modernity resonate as timeless testaments to the idea of the fleeting. They go past simply recreating and recording an event,  but rather, embody the emotions of that moment--the energy that radiates and then is gone.  It is such an allegory for life as a whole.  I want to live in that moment and feel that same energy... record it using whatever talents within me that are just waiting for the perfect moment to show themselves.  I do not feel that I will find them by being static, stable, stationary.  No, it isn't necessarily the safest mindset, and believe me, I do not feel the need to squander away my savings to live like Balzac or Baudelaire or Oscar Wilde, but I do want to know that when I come to the end, I have filled every second of my life with something interesting. 

L'education: The grass isn't greener on the other side, its just a different type of grass

There exists in America, particularly among those academics in European foreign language departments, that education in Europe far exceeds that in America in excellence.  Of course, the term"excellence" is always subjective, but on the whole, it is said that European schools are more intense and promote independent thought through argument than schools in the US.  Competition is brutal and success hinges on a survival of the fittest approach to learning.  French students are expected to be the best, whereas American students are mostly encouraged to do their best.  I am speaking in general terms, obviously, with no intention to discredit those institutions or students in the US who do indeed strive  excessively to succeed in every aspect of their education--specifically friends of mine at the Theatre and Music Conservatories of Depaul who have spent the last 4 years killing themselves to be #1 in every class and to prove their worth to the artistic world.  To those people, I say this: live "Carpe Diem," but realize that while you may be exceptional and the exception in America,  you are not the exception in the eyes of the world and will thus be met with the full force of those who know nothing but extreme competition and success.  

Competition is crucial for more avidly pursuing knowledge, and thus with extremely comprehensive knowledge comes a ora of power or perhaps superiority.  I feel that this is how Europe is viewed in the eyes of many Americans--as a pretentious but all together intimidating force of knowledge and intellectual critique.  While not untrue,  it is important to note about the education system that while the grass may appear greener on the other side, it might just be because it is a different kind of grass, not necessarily better grass.   

I was shocked to learn that in France, where all is intellectual, debatable, and freely accessible (funded by the state), that students either sink or swim.  I suppose that this observation should not be so surprising, and it seems a little naive even as I type it, but I guess I just always thought that the french education system embodied all the good traits of US schools and was free--thus making it perfect in my mind.  Au contraire, the grass is simply an altogether different species.  It is really a bit of a trade off, and goes like this (university level):

US

privatized and expensive  

Many options for financial aid and scholarships

smaller classes 

more individual attention to each student

many/most students work to pay for school, many subsidized by parents

--distraction from school work

decisive majors later on, if not until graduate school (try many things so that you are certain of your life path and goals)

Practical experience is crucial and the best programs are judged on the resources in place to get students working in their fields before leaving school-- make connections

Through practicum, learning whether or not one likes the field of interest and what elements in particular one wants to pursue or not

Success after graduation: the view is classically american--the little train that could--anyone can succeed if they try hard enough (Land of Opportunity)

FRANCE

Funded by the state

Scholarships only awarded to the very poorest of poor (nothing for middle class students)

Large class size

Little to no individual attention to each student

most students DO NOT work while attending school and are subsidized by parents 

--no distraction from school work, unless the student's family is too poor to fully support them, in which case they must work, putting them below their comrades (less time to study)

decisive majors early on: choose a field, stay with it, and become an expert (there is no other choice)

Mostly, if not solely theoretical education and experience.  No connections other than professors and family/friend connections made during school

No practicum, so once entering the real world, one might realize they do not actually like the field they are in

Success after graduation: if you have been privileged enough to make it through a Grande Ecole, and not just a Université, you are among France's elite society---most minorities and students from immigrant families do not make it this far and remain at their same social niveau

All in all, for those that believe education MUST be free for all, the thought is a noble one rooted in good intentions, but FAITES ATTENTION! Not all that shimmers is gold and the grass is really just a different species.  Think hard before you criticize what is in place in America and realize that nothing is perfect.  The land of No Exceptions is no exception.

French+German=Good

French+German=good... even when it transpires in the way of the past two days.

At the last minute, I had decided to take a trip to wherever was relatively cheap to get out of Paris for a while.  I refused to stay in Paris for at 3 day weekend.  And so, I booked a ticket for an early train (Saturday) to Strasbourg in Alsace, and departing to return on Monday night at about 10 pm.  Somewhere in there, I had the impression that there was plenty to do in Strasbourg to fill a three day trip... This is true if you A) have a car, and/or B) go on a weekend that isn't EASTER.  Still, I felt that wandering around might take 3 days. 

My train was to depart at 7am at Gare de L'Est, about 20 minutes away from my house on the metro.  I set my alarm for 5am, and ended up going to bed at 2am in desperate attempts to finish homework and pack without forgetting anything.  When I finally crawled into bed, there was a pinging/banging in the wall and I could not sleep.  Somewhere around 6:35 I awoke in a panic to realize that I had mistook my alarm clock for the pinging in the wall and turned it off. I jumped out of bed and bolted to the metro, making it to the train station as my train was pulling out.  I managed to get a ticket for the next train 2 hours later by paying 25 extra euros... not too awful, but definitely annoying. 

I attempted to read the paper and do homework on the train when I finally boarded, but alas was exhausted from the crazy start of the morning that I passed out instead.  Upon my arrival in Strasbourg, the weather was gorgeous and quite warm--I was overdressed and desperately wanted to find my hotel.  I wandered around with some guidance from my Guide Michellin and stumbled upon a used book market where I bought the most captivating perfume adds from the 1950s. Just gorgeous. 

It was fun, until I realized that I was quite toasty and recommenced my search for my hotel.  After wandering around lost for what seemed like forever (difficult, I know, considering how small Strasbourg actually is), I asked the tourism office and was pointed in the right direction. It turned out to be 2 blocks from the book market!  I arrived to find the cleaning lady, but no receptionist---she was off taking a 3 hour lunch break; and thus I wandered around for another 1/2 hour.

My room was tiny and adorable with a pretty nifty view of some charming rooftops, and suited me just fine for a 2 night stay.  Originally, the booking agency had stated it as a "double" and I had invited someone else along to split the cost. Thank god it did not work out, because there was no way we both would have fit in that bed. 

I spent the rest of the day exploring the small town of Strasbourg and realized that mo

st everything would be closed on Sunday and Monday for Easter, and tried to decide what to do with the rest of the day that things were open.  I decided on drinking a beer, and when the cafe filled up, I was joined by three young gentlemen who really just wanted a place to sit.  Sort of creepy? Maybe, unless you know that the french don't really care much about you.  After a while, we began to talk and I learned that they are students studying in Strasbourg from

 Morocco---excellent for me because I am interested in going to Morocco---good resource to tap for info.  We talked at length about the US, politics, Strasbourg, and eventually they mentioned that Germany was only a 1/2 hour walk away! WHAT?! It gets better---"Would you like a ride? We can take my car!" said one guy.  Um, I'm thinking.... no. My mom and host mom, and Prof. Brault are all screaming at me in my projections of the future.... No, that's ok, thanks. I'll walk. 

But alas, it was 6pm and things were closing, and my camera batteries were dead. What was I going to do for the next two days without batteries if all I could do was photograph architecture? Nothing, so I frantically tried to find a store still open that wouldn't charge me an arm and a leg for batteries.  I stumbled upon a little epicerie (like a 7/11) and its handsome

 employee... "Ive got batteries like that!" Thats not all you have, handsome....  We chatted for a bit and I awkwardly left (this comes into play later).  

I passed the rest of the evening photographing Strasbourg, including my meal... very touristy, I know... and passed out from exhaustion.

The next day, I awoke for mass at Notre Dame de Strasbourg (gorgeous pink limestone gothic cathedral) and scarfed down my bread, jam, and coffee, to run to church in attempts to beat the rest of the tourists.  The place was nearly empty. No one else had bothered to get up for the 9:30  mass and it filled closer to 9:30 with locals.  The mass was beautiful: 2 organs, a huge choir, soloists, and an orchestra (for lack of a better term) of string instruments (from what I could see).  

After mass, I began my walk to Germany only to remember that there was a showing of the astronomical clock at the Cathedral at noon. It was 11:45.  And yet again, I found myself running.  I made it there, huffing and puffing, to discover mass still going on from 11am and that they were not going to let us in to see the clock until 12:30. Then the waiting game.

The clock is quite fascinating because it is housed beside the altar in an adjoining  room all to itself.  It is a intricately detailed mix of religion and science illustrating both the plac

ement of the earth to the sun and Jesus with his disciples.  At noon the petit figurines of the disciples parade in front of Christ, and at the strike of each hour, a depiction of each stage of life passes in front of death (a skeleton).  Pretty and neat, and pretty neat.  I managed to bolt to the clock and be one of the lucky few to catch the end of the disciples' parade since they let us in so late.

Realizing that I had little to do in Strasbourg and much to do at home, I went to the train station to try and change my ticket for an earlie

r time.  No such luck, but there was a ticket for that night for 30 euros.  I had not yet paid the receptionist and she had left for the day when I returned to the hotel. "Merde!" Translation: "Shit!" The cleaning lady is the true hero of this story because I ended up leaving the money with her with a note after calling the emergency number and explaining that I needed to leave early.  For all of this chaos, I made out like a bandit. The hotel was supposed to be 40 euros a night and I was charged 35 all together including breakfast because of the room I was given. I guess she let me get away with leaving early and just didn't charge me for the second night I was supposed to stay... 

 With a sigh of relief, and in determination to not spend my entire visit at the cathedral, I commenced my walk to Germany and finally found the correct path after asking 3 different people.  It took 1 hour and I stopped just across the border to eat at a perfectly hilarious

 "cantina." This joint was a bit bourgeois in its decoration but its menu was mexican inspired with english adjectives/titles for food, and

 descriptions in german.  My waitress spoke neither french, nor english, and I was handed of to an english speaking waiter who was new and kept dropping everything.  I drank my first beer in germany with my mexican inspired soup, and turned around to go back home.  I would have spent more time wandering, but being alone, in a country where I don't speak the language, and did not have a map, I figured that I should head back and not miss the train again.

My adventures continued rather subdued when I walked by the place that I'd bought the batteries in one last attempt to flirt with the cute frenchie, and made a bit of an ass of myself. Oh well, I will never see him again.  I waited for the train, and the platform number was not posted until 15 minutes to departure... and I yet again made an ass of my

self asking where I needed to go. Usually I am good at that--I spent all weekend practicing--but my brain had shut off at that point.  I made it into Paris 20 minutes before the metro stopped running and jogged my way to the platform to catch the last metro home.

In truth, I got plenty of exercise to burn off the cookies and spetzels I ate.

Sinclair and Baudelaire

Leaving for Strasbourg in Alsace in 6 hours... still have to pack (and by that, I mean throw stuff in my backpack).  The massive amount of homework that is being pelted at this study abroad group is disheartening and I have to constantly remind myself that it is indeed the reason I came on this trip.  I did not come to be a tourist--as did few chosen members of the group--I came to conquer the french language and nuances of culture.  I have to say, it is rather difficult--not that I thought it would be easy--it's just that the french are remarkably private and not open to foreigners.  

This comment does not refer to my host family in the slightest who have treated me as though I have been here for months...  My host mom, as I have stated previously, is PHENOMENAL!!! Today, before leaving for a quick vacation, she gave me a beautiful bag of Easter chocolates! Not to mention the other day when she arrived at home around 5 (our tea time break) and mentioned that she had a surprise.  The woman had gone to a patisserie and picked up these tantalizing apple crisp/tarte/somethings for us to have with tea... just us two.  I discovered that afternoon, after chatting about heaven-only-knows what interesting topic, that  when I have run out of time in my day, it is because I have been talking with her for the last 2 hours.  Not a problem I am disappointed to have.  Quite the opposite. We end the conversation and I go back to my room to do homework and wonder, "what just happened? what on e

arth did we talk about for 2 hours??" Somehow there is a twilight zone where our conversations are lost in translation in my brain's memory bank and don't quite make it to the long term department.  

On a completely different note, today I found the bookstore "Shakespeare and Co" across from Notre Dame.  This charming find is surrounded by tourist stands, little old men selling antique magazines from carts, antique bookstores, and don't forget the cafés! I bought a 1945 copy of Sinclair for 10 euros and a modern copy of Baudelaire's comments on the different effects of hasheesh and wine on the artist. Just thought that everyone in my immediate group back home would appreciate it (Owen, Anna, Kristin, Kelly).  I do not credit myself with finding this hotspot, knowing full-well that it is now a bit of a tourist joint (thank you Sex and the City), but do feel privileged to have experienced its quaintness. 

As for Baudelaire, I love his work for its fluidity and imagery, but I have to say, it is by no means the most uplifting thing to be reading in Spring in Paris.  Quite depressing really, but nonetheless, very powerful and impressive.

As for class and massive amounts of work, scheduling goes like this:

Mon 9-12 language

Lunch

some afternoon excursion/class

5p/6p Tea

9:30p dinner

10:30-12 homework

Tues 9-12 language

Lunch

2:30-6 Culture (City and Text) in english

6p tea/homework

9:30 dinner

etc

Wed no AM class (errands/homework/exploring)

Lunch

2p-4p Civilization in french

6p

9:30 dinner

homework etc

Thurs 9-12 language

lunch

1:20/2-6p ART in english at a museum (ex Louvre, D'Orsay, etc)

7p tea

9:30 dinner

homework

Friday no AM language

lunch

1:30/2-6 ART in english (see above)

Dinner etc

IF NO FRIDAY ART CLASS--LEAVE FOR LONG WEEKEND TRIP

Weekends free except for planned excursions and necessary last minute visits to museums and the like.

L'architecture incroyable

This past week has been packed full of 

architectural discoveries, and I have

found my two new favorite buildings in all of Paris. 

I am sure they will be replaced shortly, but for now, they have my favor. 

 They are St. Etienne-du-Mont Church and the wonderfully famous Panthéon.  Absolutely breathtaking and just next door to each other.  They are perfectly located in the Quartier Latin full of cafés bustling with local students, and restaurants of every type of food you can imagine.  Cobblestone streets wind you through a maze of boutiquey storefronts  

and wine stores with

 their overabundant merchandise spilling out onto the street by the basket full.  I bought a bottle of wine for less than 3 euros, and while it turned out to not be the best wine by

 any stretch of the imagination, it was damn good for under 3 euros.  Perfect way to catch your breath from

 viewing the glories that are the Panthéon and St. Etienne-du-Mont.  

(above: St. Etienne-du-Mont;

 below: Le Panthéon)

The glorious interior of the Pantheon shines with contradiction and an odd juxtaposition of symbols: the lives of France's patron saints decorate the walls in monumental frescos, statues of figures of the Revolution charge proudly into the fight from the center of the room, and France's greatest philosophers are buried in its crypt.Our group gathered for the view... spectacular.

Notre Dame de Paris is in the forefront with Sacre Coeur standing proudly in the distance.

*Sigh* L'amour...

So one thing that perturbs me about Paris is the amount of lovin' going on in the streets.  I am not one for public displays of affection in the US, but I can sometimes appreciate the connection between two people that do not want to hide the way they feel... That being said, this is out of control.  People young and old, mostly young, simply make-out everywhere at every hour of the day.  Park benches, cafés, waiting to cross the street.... I mean, REALLY PEOPLE! Unnecessary.  I can say, however, that such a nuisance is easily remedied by the fact that drinking openly in public is allowed, and one can carry an open bottle of wine through the streets, taking periodic swigs and no one will even look at you twice.   

NICE!!! TEACHING APPLICATION ACCEPTED

Dreams coming true before my very eyes..... I JUST RECEIVED MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER FOR TEACHING IN FRANCE!!!!!!!! I will be a teaching assistant in Nice, France, and yes, I said NICE, for the 2009-10 school year. I do not know yet what grade(s) or how many schools, but it is teaching english to french students.  The age groups range from 1-12th grades (their system is a bit different), and neighborhoods vary, i.e. I may not be in the heart of Nice, but in the suburbs.  I simply cannot believe it, getting a dream job in a dream city while reading the email in another dream city....  juste incroyable.  Je ne peux pas le comprendre ou le croire...  

Voici le site web:  http://www.ac-nice.fr/  

les escaliers de la butte

            

To quote one of my favorite french songs..."The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh/While windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and I."  Montemarte is quite the wonder.  I explored first the beauties of Sacre Coeur, which I found more modern than I remember studying, but beautiful nonetheless.  The mosaic above the alter was just breath-taking and the light pouring in from the dome above fought for my attention from the glittering masterpiece.  I then traversed down into the lovely tourist-engulfed area next to the basilica where all the artists congregate to sell their work to tourists with money burning holes in their pockets.  It was suffocating, really, with every artist you pass asking to draw your portrait.  

I found some solace in the nearby views of Paris---charming tile roof tops and clay chimneys, and lost myself in the winding cobblestone streets.  Literally, I was lost all day. The best part about it was that for once, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do.  Ok, by nothing I mean that Balzac was screaming through my backpack that I was still only on page 70 instead of 200, but why would I want to torture myself with 19th century depressing and longwinded Parisian literature when I could much more easily and enjoyable adventure through the sacre coeur of Paris itself?

Random: I came upon the most interesting and rather inspiring graffiti in a random stairway traversing down the hill.  I feel like such art as graffiti is just as interesting and just as worthy of attention as the beauty of a basilica or the colors on a canvas in a square of artists.  It is almost more telling of the culture, at least the youth of the culture, than anything else, because it is not contrived for tourists, but rather as an expression of needs, dreams, and desires.... or just artistic expression---très cool.  

 

Alas, I played tourist and wandered into a boulangerie where I was snarked at by the owner for not making up my mind quickly enough and then not having exact change... c'est la vie. Still hungry, of course, I made my way to a creperie where I was the sole customer, and proceeded to partake of the best part of french culture---the food.  Cidre de Normandie est incroyable and if I can bring some home, I most certainly will. 

An hour and a half later, after I felt that I had sufficiently stuffed myself and had taken my time ( in the true sense of french dining habits), I made my way down the hill to where I was told I could find fabric stores.  I was informed back home in the US that they were primarily located at the base of Montmartre, but the enormity of the collection of shops was never discussed.  These stores wind on and on, street by street, with their bolts of fabric spilling out onto the sidewalk calling you in with signs reading "Promotions!!!" (sales).  And I mean, who can resist a sale sign, especially in Paris? Not me.  As this whole section of town directly ties to my independent study for The Theatre School, I made a point to take business cards and addresses, and make notes of the establishments' selections.  Of course everyone that passed me with my little book in hand on the side of the street, not so discreetly scribbling down numbers, looked at me with suspicion and a look that read, "ça, c'est bizarre."  I found some good stuff, as they say, and with a splitting headache, ran out of time for it all.  

I guess I'll just have to go back.... 

Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît

Ah, Paris and its million cafés.... I had my first parisian café experience two days ago at a typical and busy café on the corner of Blvd Montparnasse and Rue Brea.  It was not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, being situated on a bustling boulevard, but for the awkward and entertaining experience that it was, ça suffit.  I needed to read Balzac's Pere Goriot, and felt that it would be most appropriately read at a café.  Up until this point, I was under the impression that you just plop yourself down at any table and wait for service, order, and pay (no tip).  And that is just what I did.... but not before walking past the café a few times to make sure it was ok to order seulement un espresso (only an espresso).  In america it is engrained in us to wait to sit, or to be sure to order something sufficient if taking up a table, and of course, to tip.  So, I nervously sat down toute seule, and commenced to journal my recent experiences, anxiously awaiting the server to tell me to leave or something terrible.  But alas he did not. In fact, he did not come around to take my order for several minutes. Quel horreur for someone who worked in a restaurant where you have 2 minutes to greet your table.  I was not upset, just nervous that I had done something wrong.  I looked around for a sign that said something like "order here" or "wait to be seated" or any signal of people ordering before they sat down.  I must have looked so foolish, especially on such a busy boulevard with people passing to rush home from work.... 

Anyway, the server finally came, and I tried to calmly but quickly order "seulement un café au lait" because I felt that I would somehow be cheating him if I ordered something as cheap as an espresso (café au lait is more expensive by about 2 euros).  He brought it with the bill and left. I placed the money in this funny little dish with the bill without any tip (as I have been trained), and he picked it up.  That was the end of things. He did not give any indication that I was to leave when finished with the drink, so I stayed and attempted to journal and read.  

 

As the sun was beginning to set, an american couple from the east coast asked the woman next to me for directions.  I listened intently to the interaction and to the kind voice of the english-speaking parisian.  When they had finished, I felt compelled to tell her how nice it was that she was so kind to them.  Interrupting people in public places, except to ask for directions, in not something common in Paris because of the unsaid rule that everyone keeps to themselves.  In any case, I felt that if I were to talk to anyone, it would be this woman, who had so kindly spoken to a couple of very american tourists. I leaned over and said, "Excusez-moi madame, mais vous etes tres gentille!" "Excuse me, madame, but that was very kind!" And she responded in french, "Well really, it's no problem. Im from Paris, so I should be able to help out those who are lost." I told her that I was american and that it is difficult to find people who will respond kindly to those americans who don't speak french.  And immediately we struck up a conversation about the different cultures within the US, ie the differences between the people in NYC vs. Chicago vs. California and Texas... Her perception of these different regions was pretty spot on, and I was impressed.  

When we parted ways, I realized that Paris is not always the cultural and social bully that it presents itself to be.  Il faut chercher des interactions si on veut decouvrir la vraie culture.