A tumultuous love affair

I'm sure you can all tell that I love Paris, I don't need to list all the ways that I have made this obvious, but this first month being back in the city that I know (or think I know) and love has been somewhat unexpected. Getting to know a new city or a new culture is never easy, and is especially bizarre when you think you already know the important things to know about that culture or city. And despite my assertions that I do in fact love this city and this culture, it has not been easy to love it. But I in my stubbornness insist on doing so.

Whereas two years ago I relied heavily on the metro, this time I decided to begin reacquainting myself with Paris by walking as much as possible. I grew to know and love the metro, perhaps partly because I had a pass that allowed me unlimited trips for one monthly fee, or because its freezing in Paris in the winter, or because I have never really experienced city transportation before. But popping out of the ground at random places does nothing to help you learn how to orient yourself. So, this time, I walked everywhere. Sometimes I would walk for three or four hours in a day, just to do one or two errands. Within three days I felt like I knew the city better than I had in three months of living here as a student. This is both wonderful and somewhat alarming, because I realized how much I hadn't really known about the city before. I finally started to make connections between all these different monuments and places, and I added street names to mental images. I even began refusing to allow myself to look at a map when I was out walking. Paris is truly best experienced through walking, whether you are visiting for three days or living here for three years. Nothing I see ever bores me. I am constantly in awe, constantly aware of the history, of the cultures past and present that give life to such a vibrant city.

Since those first three days, I have discovered the Marais, the Canal, Chinatown, and many other picturesque neighborhoods in Paris. And despite the somewhat monochromatic architecture that is characteristic of this city, I am finding that its neighborhoods are pretty distinct from one another (and are especially distinct from where I lived before, in a more residential neighborhood in the south western part of the city). Much is the same, and there is always a beautiful gothic church or a small cobblestoned street to be found, but I am picking up more and more on some pretty significant differences. This fact only makes me love my neighborhood, the Marais, even more, when two years ago I had barely ever set foot in the third arrondissement. I love the tiny jewelry shops, antique stores, vintage stores, the artisan boulangeries or charcuteries, the markets, the small streets and alleyways, the random majestic buildings that you see suddenly upon turning a corner, the way you can walk in the street because cars come so infrequently. I love that I have a view of Notre Dame from the corner of my street.

Thus I continue to discover new things in this city, which only intrigues me more and more. Despite all the financial and administrative obstacles: I may not be getting paid for a month and a half; I may have to wait three weeks for internet in my apartment to be set up; banks may be closed on weekends and Mondays; my classes may be cancelled but I may only be told AFTER an hour long commute at 8 am to my elementary school; metros and buses may be out of commission every few days because of random strikes; I may be stereotyped, ignored, bullied, or made fun of, because of my nationality. But Paris, it would take a lot more than that to make me fall out of love with you. 

*Sigh*, they only want me for my English.

What I had conveniently forgotten until about five days ago was that the only reason I am in France right now is to teach. I think at some point this past weekend I realized with a considerable amount of anxiety, wait a minute, I have to be responsible for the knowledge of English and the US that a group of French kids will get over the next eight months! With all of the bustle about an apartment and getting a cell phone and enjoying the city, I hadn’t considered this yet. Weird I know, but it just seemed so peripheral to me with everything else going on.

However, as soon as I went to meet the Inspecteur Académique of my circonscription, and all the teachers at my schools, all that anxiety dissipated immediately. Everyone was incredibly nice and accommodating, interested in me, excited to have me there, and more than willing to help me get settled as easily as possible. I found out that I will be teaching at three different elementary schools, with around 9 or 10 classes ranging from ages 6 to age 9. There are some kids that have had private instruction in English outside of school, but other than that they hardly know how to say hello and goodbye.  And yet, I am still supposed to be speaking only English to them! I have no idea how this is going to work, especially because some of the teachers I am working with have a really difficult time speaking English themselves.

That being said, I am actually more pleased than not that my teachers and students don’t speak English, because it does mean that I’ll get to speak or at least hear French a little more than all of the other teaching assistants. That’s really what I came here, whether or not that is selfish of me, so I am grateful for that. And I’m sure that as the year goes on, these kids will absorb faster than I expect all that I am saying to them, whether or not it seems like they understand. At this point, though, it is mere repetition and memorization, as I sing songs like “head shoulders knees and toes” or “old macdonald has a farm” and they try to make the same sounds that I am saying. It is difficult, and involves a lot of wild and emphatic gestures while speaking very loudly and slowly. It took me a while to explain that there is no body part that is called “kneesandtoes” but that it is two separate things, knees, and toes. In another class, with older students, the teacher was trying to teach them the geography of the UK while having them practice the English names for these places. When she asked the students where London was, the vast majority of them shouted out “New York”. That was a difficult one to explain. I guess that’s why I’m here though, right?

The "living" part of "living in Paris": a hard fought battle

There has been a lot going on in the past few weeks, so I have written several blog posts for it all and will post them all at once. Hopefully I won’t spend an entire post on one day, as I did above, for every other day that I’ve been here… but as Mark Twain has so aptly put it: “I didn’t have time to write you a short letter, so I’m writing you a long one”.

After that first day, which I handled surprisingly well I think, I began the long and arduous search for an apartment (with a little reacquainting myself with Paris thrown in every day as well). To make a long story short, it’s hard. There are a lot of rejections, a lot of super awkward messages (speaking French on the phone is much harder than it is in person) and a lot of doing the same thing all day every day. But, as there is often a silver lining, the one possible tangible benefit of it all (aside from actually getting an apartment) is that my French improved immensely within a matter of days. Making dozens of dozens of calls to people that have no sympathy for your slow French and horrible accent and who have no desire whatsoever to slow down or enunciate to help you out in any way can really force you to pull yourself together.

So I did, and after a few weeks my chosen roommate (another teaching assistant, whom I met on the group list serve) and I found ourselves a reasonably priced apartment. For those of you that know Paris, it is in the Marais, or the 3^rd arrondissement right by the Centre Pompidou with a clear view of Notre Dame right down the street. Very central location, which is nice because my roommate and I are working in complete opposite parts of the district of Créteil, which made it surprisingly difficult to find a location that suited both of us. Even so, we both still have a commute of about one hour, which isn’t horrible and is a price we are willing to pay to live in Paris.

Slowly but surely we are beginning to organize our three room apartment, buying furniture, decorations, etc. I am really looking forward to this whole process, and I really feel like we lucked out (only spending 2 weeks or so looking, when many people spend a month or more). It looks pretty plain now (Pictures to come soon!), but I am in no position to be dissatisfied with anything at this point.

Unfinished business

I should hope that the title speaks for itself, but in case it doesn't, and to explain what I'm doing in France once more, I always felt that three and a half months simply wasn't enough. I'll probably feel that way about 8 months after this is over as well, but it is better than a measly three. I couldn't help feeling like there were some aspects of "authentic" french culture and living that I simply missed before. And so, I am back again, grasping at everything french and hoping it will somehow satisfy the unsatisfy-able. 

Even though it took me three weeks of being here, I am finally writing my first blog post. This time, I will try to write more frequently and write shorter posts in order to make sure I cover as much ground as possible. Voilà, on recommence finalement!

I guess I will start at the beginning, my first day in Paris, September 18^th, 2012. Two years and 13 days after my first day of my semester abroad. I was tired but optimistic as I lugged my fifty pound suitcase (and its smaller 20 lb companion) through the giant airport and then on the metro to the city, determined not to spend the 70 euros on a cab like the tourists. I managed with relative ease until I got to the actual city, where there are fewer elevators/escalators in the metro and where transferring from line to another could mean a five minute walk and 5 or more flights of stairs, with angry French people pushing and shoving if you pause even a minute to catch your breath. At this point I was sweating more than a little, but still managed to keep my composure. I couldn’t get in to my friend’s apartment where I was staying temporarily because she was at work all day. So, the plan was to go to the apartment of another friend (both from the lacrosse team that I met two years ago), who had left me a spare set of keys under his doormat so I could leave my bags in the apartment for the day.

To say that I struggled up the six floor walk up would be an understatement. When I finally got to the door, after taking three trips to get all my bags there, I couldn’t figure out how to work the keys. Desperate for a shower and food, I finally worked up enough courage to knock on the neighbors’ doors to try to find anybody that was home that could help me. I imagine that I looked like a mess, my hair matted with sweat, no shoes on (my boots were giving me blisters) and exhaustion plain in my face. An eight hour flight, and of the 5 hours I shut my eyes I did not sleep a minute. After knocking on 3 or 4 doors, someone finally took pity on me.

Showered, changed, relieved of luggage, I spent the rest of the day with two friends from the men’s lacrosse team at Cornell who were doing a tour of Europe, and happened to be in Paris that day. It was nice to have some people I knew in the city that first day. That night, I collapsed on Natasha’s futon (it was much easier having two able-bodied guys carry my luggage around than me doing it myself), and proceeded to sleep until 5 pm the next day. Not exactly the best way to get rid of jetlag.

A tale of Two Teams...

As most of you probably know, I play lacrosse at Cornell. I plan to continue playing this coming spring, so naturally one of the most important thoughts in my mind this semester was keeping in shape and making sure I get to practice some lacrosse. I really had no idea what that was going to entail, whether I'd have a track and a field to play on, or just a brick wall to throw the ball against and park to run laps in. It actually turned out much better than I had ever anticipated.

I decided to try a google search, and the first thing I saw was a link to a website called Paris Lacrosse. I wasn't sure whether it would be all french girls (and boys, they practice at the same time on the other half of the field), and if I would have to talk on the field in french (for those of you who don't know, lacrosse involves a lot of communication and it is very quick thinking, so the prospect of doing it in french really frightened me). After mistaking a southern (american) accent for russian, I soon realized that most of the players there are like me: americans who are living or studying in Paris who had played lacrosse in the states and wanted to keep it up. There is one girl who played club at Michigan State who is doing graduate school, another from Maryland who played at a pretty competitive high school program, and one who played club at Penn State (and who just ran a marathon in Athens, craziness). There are two others who lived in the states but who are also french, and have spent time in both countries. We also have a girl who played on the english national team, a japanese girl (our tiny, yet very sturdy goalie) who is doing grad school here, a german girl who played on their national team and who is studying here also, an australian girl, and finally, our one token frenchie. The skill level ranges from literally just hearing of the sport (the french girl) and playing for 10+ years (me, and almost the other american girl). I soon realized that although the lacrosse may not be at the same level as my college team, or even my high school team, I was in for an amazing fall with these girls.

I have never played, or well, practiced, without a coach; very quickly during the practices I found they were all looking to me, even though I am the youngest by about 3 or 4 years. I hadn't really thought about what learning/ playing a sport would be like without a coach until this semester, and more so until talking with one of the guys on the national team (the boys that play are mostly guys on the French national team). Devin learned in England, playing first on a mixed team then with just guys. Even now, on the French national team, they've had coaches, but from what he's told me they haven't taught him much. He was telling me how much he would love to be told how to do things and what to do, instead of having to just try stuff and figure it out on his own. He really wants to go to the states to get his MBA, and he is trying to see if he could get involved with the college team wherever he goes; I naturally asked if he would consider trying to be a graduate assistant coach, because I know they do that. Not only did he insist that he doesn't know enough about the sport, but he assured me that he knew nothing about coaching. It really struck me, because even though I wouldn't necessarily say I've had wonderful coaches all throughout my lacrosse career, I have had coaches, and although I don't say even now that I know everything about the sport I have never really been at a loss for how to coach (that might just be me though, I don't know). He said he would kill to have a really good coach to learn from. In just talking to him, you can see how much he wants to play on a team; he was hanging on my every word when I was talking about practices 6 days a week, lift and conditioning, and film sessions. But most of all, I think he really wants to just be part of a team, that is connected through hard work and sacrifice, knowing that everyone there has one goal and that everyone works toward that same goal together every day. It really made me miss my team, and just the experience I have with my team every day, working as a unit, getting better and being a force to be reckoned with. I also felt kind of embarrassed next to his sheer desire to play, because I am sure that many of the athletes who play D1 sports don't have the type of yearning that he does, and it probably comes from the fact that he has been deprived 0f an experience, of an entire lifestyle that many of us take for granted. He follows U.S. college lacrosse incessantly, and knows more about many of the players and teams than I do. I really, really hope he gets the chance to find a team and experience that wonderful camaraderie and success.

So I am starting to be sad about leaving this team, as excited as I am to return to my Cornell team. I already inadvertently missed the first ever girls game played in France, and I am a little bitter about that still. I am also missing tournaments in the spring in Madrid, Amsterdam, and Prague; I'll just have to come back and make up for it. Women's lacrosse really has come so far in the world, and I feel like I've witnessed much of that growth this fall, as connections have been made with teams throughout Europe, and tournaments that were previously just for guys have been opened to girls because now there are enough teams. It is so inspiring to see other girls who are as passionate about the sport as I am! What's more, they have to work hard every day just to get to play; to get enough people, to get a field, to get equipment, to get opponents. I have never in my life had to work to play any of the sports I love, I have always had that opportunity, and I hope in the future it will be more available to people everywhere, because it has had a really positive effect on who I am today. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have found this team (and to have my Cornell team too, for that matter), and these individuals, not necessarily the best athletes, not necessarily the most driven, but who love this sport and love the way it brings people together. I feel like I have made friends that will last me for a long time, and I sincerely hope I can come back to France soon and get to play with them again.

palm trees make everything better

Especially coming from a place that resembles Syracuse in its weather. Now I love Paris obviously, but it isn't exactly a tropical vacation spot, so Rome was a wonderful November weekend away. And there are more reasons than just the palm trees and 75 degree days with cloudless skies.

Rome was probably my favorite destination outside of Paris yet. Although I hate to say this (I hate to feel it even more), but being in Europe has kind of desensitized me a little to the amazingness of some of these experiences; I'll admit, I wasn't freaking out about the fact that I was spending the weekend in Rome, like I probably would have a couple months ago. Heck, I see the Eiffel Tower almost every day and walk under the shadow of Notre Dame about as often as I eat bread, which if you know me, is frequently. But I was awed by Rome, the way I was first awed by Paris when I came in September. However, Rome unfortunately is a city that lives in the massive shadow of its past, leaving the present with not much to its own name.

We had three days to wander around this city, and we had more than enough to keep us busy. One of the first things I noticed that is starkly different from Paris is the everyday coffee shop. In Paris, if you want a good cup of coffee, you go to a café or a brasserie, sit down with a friend or two, and spend an hour and a half drinking and chatting. In Rome, you go up to a bar, wave a receipt in the waiter's face, slam back the espresso and you're outta there. Kind of refreshing to be able to grab a coffee on the go, but at the same time the French version has its merits. Yet another difference I remarked is that the main part of Rome is pretty small. To my friends that are studying there, a 15 minute walk is long. The fact that I could hit all the major sights walking around for about 3 hours blew me away, coming from a city where a 40 minute metro ride is common. Don't get me wrong, I am certainly not complaining, it made being a tourist that much easier.

Some of the obvious features of Rome: the many piazzas and their ornate fountains, the beautiful churches and greco-roman architecture, the ancient ruins, and the little cobblestone streets with tiny restaurants at every corner. I ate well, to say the least (including gelato at least twice a day. And they certainly are generous with their portions). In between the eating, we went inside some of the most magnificent churches I've ever seen, even in France. Another striking difference: I saw one gothic church in all of my wandering around Rome. These buildings did not look like what I would think of as a church from the outside, but the insides were the most intricately worked pieces of art, with gold everywhere, grand columns, and stunning grandeur. These churches were on a scale that rivals the gigantic naves of Notre Dame and other gothic cathedrals, but in a way I never would have imagined. Above all, there was St. Peter's Basilica, the most extensive display of embellished architecture and general artistic power. Which brings me to the other reason you go to the Vatican: the Sistine Chapel. Dark and quiet, this moderately sized room on first inspection seems no different from the many other rooms with mural paintings covering the walls (the Raphael rooms), but one closer look and you find yourself breathless. In order to share with you my experience, at great personal risk I took this picture of the ceiling, despite the signs saying no photos allowed (great, great personal risk).

Although the many churches were almost (almost) enough to make me want to convert to Catholicism, I'd have to say my favorite part of the trip to Rome were the ancient ruins. It blows my mind that these two histories could live (and still do) side by side in the culture that makes up Rome as it is today. They seem vastly different and even contradictory, yet they make up the legacy of the same city, reflecting a tumultuous and also often contradictory evolution of humanity itself (sorry, I just can't help it). The Colosseum is clearly a mind-blowing testament to an ancient time and people that remain enigmatic, yet equally memorable are the ruins in the Roman Forum, where the main part of ancient Rome once stood. The stones, columns standing alone without walls to support, and bereft shells of arches and buildings were haunting but at the same time inspiring. As obsessed with ancient Greek and Roman history/mythology that I am, I could hardly imagine the characters I've read and thought about so much living and breathing and touching this Earth. To walk among the ruins is really a humbling experience; I could not help but wonder what sort of remains we are going to leave on this earth for people to find thousands of years after.

Travels: Barcelona and Dublin

Sorry this has been a while coming, but I figure that means I am out living life instead of sitting at a computer all day every day just writing about it.

So Barcelona being my first trip out of France, it was definitely an eye-opening experience. It seemed to me like a giant tropical party compared to Paris. Although I loved visiting, it was funny to me that after a while I felt a little "homesick" for Paris (and for a language that I could understand). It was a beautiful, beautiful city, and I would say this whether there were palm trees there or not (palm trees do make things soo much better). I saw a lot of the greener aspects of the city, including Park Guell, which as a breathtaking view of the city nestled in these mountains overlooking the Mediterranean. At night, we walked along the beach next to all the clubs that attract many of the American students "studying" here (not Abby, of course). Aside from that major difference, the rest of the city was an interesting contrast to Paris, being a lot smaller and for the most part a lot newer. I had a wonderful tour guide give me the history of the older, almost claustrophobic parts of the city, which date back to the ancient Roman Empire. Apparently the Catalans were walled in by the Romans, and so couldn't expand their city for centuries. Finally, only about 200 years ago they were allowed to build outside the wall. As a result, most of the architecture is art-nouveau, aka really recent. It is kind of cool to say that I was in Barcelona during (and that I witnessed) the building of the massive cathedral Sagrada Familia (which looks a lot like a drip castle, I have to admit). I do think Gaudi must have taken a page out of Dr. Seuss's book for some of his buildings.

I was excited to go to Dublin not only because I am largely Irish but because I wanted some more stamps in my passport (everything else is in the stupid Schengen region). Dublin again was a refreshing contrast to what I've grown accustomed to in Paris: smaller, like Barcelona, but it seemed to me a lot less European. Grafton Street (the most famous tourist stretch) was just as I'd imagined / heard it would be, cute, cobblestones, little shops and bars. Temple Bar was also a picturesque Irish emblem, and I couldn't pass up trying a Guinness (very creamy, and not served warm). We also saw Trinity College, a beautiful little park that looked amazing with newly fallen leaves yet still green grass, and the Jameson Distillery. What I and all of my friends who had come with me from Paris were thrilled about especially was the fact that we could get a bagel toasted with cream cheese for breakfast! I hadn't thought much about missing bagels, with the whole "amazing baguettes/ bread" thing in Paris, but when I had one in Dublin I was reminded how much I love them. However, my favorite parts of the trip were when we took the train for a day to some of the areas on the coast just outside the city, including Dun Leary and Howth. If you picture quintessential Irish countryside with a cool, brisk breeze and cliffs overlooking stunningly blue, clear water, and then throw in a white horse or two randomly grazing in the hills, you've got it. It really takes your breath away, and reminds me why I sometimes feel a little stuffy in big cities. If there is one place I have to go back to in Europe, it is the countryside, especially in Ireland and France. But for now, I guess some famous thousands-of-years-old cities will have to do.