Translation please

The most obvious difficulty about being in Paris that I think everyone realizes is the language barrier. What I never realized was that there is another language barrier entirely, that exists between me and an unexpected group of people: the English.

Other than the Americans in my program, the other foreigners living in Paris that I interact with the most are British people. They make up the majority of the players on my lacrosse club team, and there are a significant number of them in the english teaching program with me. At first, it seemed to me to be a way for me to "broaden my cultural horizons", without going through the hardship of learning/speaking (or stumbling through) a different language. But little by little, I realized that their language can be almost as foreign to me as the French language sometimes. It has gotten to the point where, when I am with a large group of them, they are constantly looking at my face to make sure I understand what they are saying. They often even immediately translate, because they know that there are certain words I won't understand. For example, they refer to sweaters as "jumpers", college is "uni" (that is more confusing to them than to me, so I have to be sure to refer to school as "university"), long spandex for exercising is not spandex (I still haven't gotten a specific translation yet), french fries are chips, chips are crisps, cookies are biscuits, and "have you got" is a perfectly grammatical and even more sophisticated version of "do you have".

The most recent one that caused a lot of problems was when my friend was talking to a few of us about her friend's wedding, and how she has to be home in time for her "hen-do". Embarrassed by constantly having to ask for translations, I just sat quietly hoping to get some clues from the conversation as to the meaning of this word. I couldn't even spell it, let alone figure out what it would be. I thought it was some exotic word borrowed from another language. Finally, noticing my furrowed brows and relatively spaced-out look, my friend looked to me and came up with the translation: bachelorette party. Apparently, a "do" is the equivalent of like a party or a get-together (ex. "just a little Christmas-do", this is a direct quote of an example of this word used in a sentence. it is the only one they could come up with). And apparently, "hen" is a colloquial phrase for women, and "stag" is for men, despite the fact that the species don't exactly match up (though I guess there is a reason they don't call it a cock-do).

To add to this whole struggle, most of the time the teaching materials my French counterparts have for their classes are based on British-English. So they hear someone speaking from a CD or singing a song, and then they have to listen to me pronounce it in almost a completely different way. Just trying to keep these 7 year olds on their toes I guess. But it wasn't a struggle for me, really, until I started teaching classroom objects. I held up the flash-card for eraser, and said the word. The teacher looked at me confusedly, however, and showed me that in her book they had written the word "rubber". Now I have a hard time saying the word "rubber" to a classroom of 7-9 year olds, because I'm pretty sure in America it has nothing to do with writing, pencils, or school. Nothing AT ALL. And I couldn't explain that to the teacher in French, in front of the entire class, because my vocabulary is not sophisticated enough to do so, and neither is my poise. So I was left blubbering nonsense for a few minutes, until the teacher realized that it was something to discuss at a later time. Though I now say rubber, because I realize it is easier for the kids to pronounce, I've never quite gotten comfortable with it but c'est la vie.

So I feel like I am learning just as much about the English language here as I am about the French. Though it doesn't have anything to do with the difference between British-English and American-English, the 11-year old students I tutor today asked me why we use, and how to categorize, words like "eaten", "taken", "been", "chosen", when we already have the past tense form: "ate", "took", "was", "chose", respectively (and why every verb doesn't have an equivalent form). I made some crap up, and eventually ended the explanation with something like "it's too sophisticated for you to understand". Tutoring is usually the only time during my week when I actually feel like I have the upper-hand on someone, but today Maybe someday their more qualified english teachers will explain it to them, and they can come back and tell me the real reason.

Thanksgiving turkey: 0, Me: 1

As many of you that know me know, I am not by any stretch of the imagination an expert in the kitchen. Yes, I may have perfected the art of spaghetti with butter or cheese and crackers over the years, but I've grudgingly come to realize those meals just aren't enough. I've discovered that if I just relax and open my mind a little bit, Paris brings (drags kicking and screaming, more like) a lot of that adventuresomeness right out in me. It peeked out two years ago, when my friends taught me how to sauté chicken and make risotto. But these last few months have made me into someone most people wouldn't even recognize back home.

 To begin with, the art of shopping for food in Paris is enough to make anyone want to get involved in cooking. You can't walk down the street and not look in the gourmet fromageries (cheese stores), boulangeries (bakery), patisseries (pastry shops), boucheries (butchers), or chocolatiers (speaks for itself). And the markets with their fresh produce is enough to make anyone crack a cookbook. Once I became familiar with the produce market across the street, I knew that the next step would be buying fresh meat from the butcher, instead of getting it frozen or vacuum-packed at the supermarket. When two friends from home came to visit, I figured it was now or never. So we bought some farce aux tomates, which seemed to be the inside of sausage or something (that was Jeff, I wasn't feeling that adventurous), and some prosciutto. We made omelets for breakfast, which turned out to be delicious! I was finally starting to feel like a relatively grown up Parisian person. Little by little I've built up my confidence, and made shopping at the markets on the next block a regular outing. I have actually looked up the different uses of thyme, parsley, and oregano; I can now tell the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber without cutting them up. My roommate and I even worked up enough courage to have some French friends over for a little dinner party. We roasted potatoes, zucchini, and Brussels sprouts, and made pan-seared salmon with a Hollandaise sauce. Yep, you read that right. HOLLANDAISE SAUCE.

Now that I had tackled fish, risotto, roasted vegetables, the local boucherie, and some simple sauces, the next task was a monster one: Thanksgiving. My roommate and I and a few of other american teaching assistants from our program wanted to celebrate the holiday together, and because the rest of them had small apartments or studios, we offered our apartment up. I, feeling brave in my utter ignorance, decided to cook the turkey. I had heard they were difficult to find in Paris, expensive, and of lesser quality than most American turkeys, but I decided it would be worth it. I stopped at a few places that seemed promising, until I discovered that it was 18 euros per kilo, and not 18 euros per turkey (a 5 kilo turkey is about 11 lbs). I finally decided order a 5 kilo turkey for 40 euros at the butcher's near my apartment. So on saturday morning, I waited in line at the butcher's and then lugged my 11 lb turkey home to begin the preparations. I had consulted multiple google sources, and my roommate and I had compared notes from our grandmas (which turned out to be eerily similar). Although I was thoroughly grossed out after lathering butter all over this turkey, inside and out, the actual preparation wasn't really stressful or complicated.

Three hours later, juices running clear and skin crispy on top, we sat down to actually eat. Our friends had brought all sorts of dishes: homemade mac'n'cheese, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pumpkin risotto, brussels sprouts, green beans and almonds, and cranberry sauce (which is surprisingly difficult to find in Paris). I finally cut into the turkey breast, with more than a little trepidation, and was pleasantly surprised to find it white and juicy, just like it was supposed to be! We were all thoroughly impressed with ourselves, and commenced a meal that really felt like thanksgiving, and almost felt like grandma's house. We had a lot to be thankful for!  Especially the three plates full of turkey leftovers... and my newfound confidence in the kitchen. Maybe it was beginner's luck, maybe I just needed to actually have some motivation to try it, but there is no denying that cooking something and it coming out how it was supposed to, not necessarily even fantastic or perfect, but just right, is a pretty empowering thing for me. And it is a great way to come together with friends! I just can't wait to come up with the next big adventure.

The kids I babysit are now addicted to Temple Run

I may have mentioned in earlier posts, but to supplement my income as a teaching assistant I have taken several additional tutoring/babysitting jobs. Working for four different families as well as the 12-15 hours a week I do at my schools fills up my weeks pretty quickly, but I like it that way. Anyways, I love every family that I have worked with so far, though it is fascinating to me to see their differences and thus the different ways they want me to interact with or tutor their children.

The family that I work with most often has two children, boys aged 8 and 6. I babysit them three days a week after school. But aside from picking them up from school and watching them while their parents are at work, my main job is to speak to them in English. They do understand me pretty well, seeing as how they've been learning English in school since kindergarten, and they go to class at the British Council on weekends. So it works out pretty well, and they always surprise me with how quickly they advance even from day to day. They're speaking isn't that great yet, so mostly I just speak to them in English and they speak to me in French (which often leaves me tongue tied, as my brain continually tries to respond to them in French also). Though I am not explicitly teaching them English, this approach seems to coincide with all the research I have read and studied regarding acquisition of a second language at a young age. And I really do see results; it is evident to me that each and every day they improve.

However, their parents insist that I do exercises with them in their workbooks, and make them write out sentences, and basically assign them homework in addition to their full week of school, the homework they do for about 30 minutes after school, and the hours they spend on Saturdays at the British Council.  I must remind myself that I am in no place to argue with the parents on how to raise their children, yet it is hard for me to force myself let alone to force them to do this much structured work. Especially when even in my training sessions we are taught to avoid teaching writing to the youngest learners (6-7 years old, who barely even know how to read and write in French) and we are taught to rely on games or more "dynamic" learning strategies. And thus, after an hour of excruciatingly slow and dull French homework and then English lessons, I somewhat reluctantly gave my iPhone to the youngest to fool around with while the oldest finished his homework... and lo and behold, he discovered Temple Run. Now they can hardly talk about anything else. They keep saying that my game is "trop bien", which is similar to "très bien" but instead of being "very good" it means "too good".  I justify it by saying that I only let them do it after they've finished their homework, and that I have been teaching them the phrases "turn left", "turn right", "jump over that", "slide under that", and "quick get those coins!". That's legitimate vocabulary, right?

This general philosophy seems more espoused in my interactions with another family I work with, a family with four kids (ages 3-9) with whom I work once or twice a week for two hours. The parents are still in the house, so I am not babysitting, my job is purely to expose them to a native english speaker. We play games, we read books, I tell them stories, we play dress up, basically anything as long as it involves speaking english. These children do have an advantage, because their mother spoke to them in English so we communicate almost seamlessly. As opposed to the other boys, the only writing or spelling involved in their play is hangman; I use monopoly to teach them about money; I am reading them Roald Dahl to help expand their vocabulary. These approaches couldn't be more different, and while one is definitely more fun for me (even after all of my education I'm still basically an 8 year old inside) I must make them both work. I guess we won't know which is better until the end of the year...

Watertown is absolutely gorgeous this time of year

I feel like being in an elementary school in the suburbs of Paris has awarded me a really unique opportunity to see a different side of French life, different especially from what I encounter just by walking around Paris, going to museums, going to bars, or anything else. I work in coordination with French primary school teachers, I sit and eat with them for an hour and a half at lunch, and I of course get to deal with French children. The children are adorable for all the expected reasons. Whenever they see me they immediately shout "hello!" and four or five of them will try to hug me all at once. They are all incredibly eager to try out any English words I say in class, and are always repeating whatever I say to the point where I have to hold up a sign with a question mark on it to indicate that I'm asking a question that they have to actually answer, as opposed to saying something for them to repeat. I couldn't be happier to be with elementary school children, their excitement and ability to just soak things up keeps me on my toes and always keeps it fun. I don't envy high school teachers for one second.

What I've also come to appreciate is my time with the teachers, either planning lessons or sitting and eating lunch for an hour and a half. They are all incredibly welcoming, even the ones I don't work with. I love speaking French with them, it is hard at first to follow their conversations when they are just relaxing during lunch. I mostly just nod and smile when they are all talking together, because I don't know the students they're talking about or don't understand exactly what they are saying. At each school they seem to be very tight-knit, despite their different ages and different teaching styles. Especially at one school, I feel like I have something fundamental in common with them, and I have even worked up enough courage to chime in the conversation every once in awhile. We talked about iPhones the other day (and how people are usually either staunch Apple fans or diehard PC advocates), about the movie "Taken" (and "Taken 2"), the election of course, and the hurricane that hit NYC (they were all very concerned about my family, so I had to explain that where I live hardly got touched by the storm).

Sitting around talking with these teachers, some not much older than me, I get a wholly different taste of French people and French life from what I experience in Paris. The atmosphere of aloofness that many people associate with Parisians has no place in this school, with these teachers. They stop at nothing to find common threads with me, and to bring my world into theirs. One teacher who has traveled pretty extensively in the U.S. even knew a little bit about Upstate New York; she said her favorite area is Watertown. Yeah, you read that right. She said, direct quote (translated obviously), "I love Watertown. Absolutely gorgeous". At first I thought she was joking, but then had to turn my snorting laugh into a fake cough. Not a point of view I have a lot to say about, but I appreciate the connection she is trying to make (and that she is the one French person who, when I say I live four hours north of NYC, doesn't think I live in Canada). All in all, I am really excited to see how my relationships with all these teachers grow in the next few months. And yes, I am unabashedly desperate for French friends, which may have something to do with my gushing for this entire blog post.

Obligatory election season blog post

*groan* I know I know, everyone and their brother and then his step-cousin twice removed has something to say about this year's election, but I'm hoping that mine will at least give you something new to think about.

Bear with me while I set this up a bit: during my recent vacation time I had two good friends from Syracuse visiting. One of them (Andrew) just came back from spending three months in Jerusalem, doing something related to the film industry. We had many many interesting discussions about the different ways that a lot of the Jewish people he met approach their own faith, and the demonstration of that faith. In a nutshell, if I understood correctly, he met a lot of people who either were born Jewish or converted later in life who had or have devoted a significant portion of their lives doing detailed research on religion and the history of their faith before converting or in order to better understand and represent their heritage. My friend, and the people he met in Jerusalem, was constantly in the process of debating aspects of the Torah, Jewish history, and how the religion is used on a daily basis even today. It was this inquiry, this passionate, in-depth, probing journey that actually solidified these people's faiths and allowed them to share ideas and explore new facets of Judaism. Questioning, and research, and reliance on fact do not negate their faith. Andrew even told me that many rabbis or students of religion in Israel openly accepted both the Big Bang theory and the story of the Genesis in the Torah, and developed theories of time that allowed the six days of the Genesis to actually represent the Big Bang itself. He seemed really in awe of this espousal of faith, and I was too.

I'll admit, like many other young people (and just people), that I have been severely disillusioned by American politics of late, and I think in discussing my friend's experiences I have finally come to a concrete conclusion of why. In America, obviously largely Christian, a lot of the every day values and morals that may or may not relate to government have been derived from religions precepts. And rightly so, because in the past that was the source of everyone's morality, whether you were Christian or Jewish or Muslim or Buddhist. It isn't a coincidence that they match up a great deal. However, what has troubled me and what I find too often goes hand in hand with today's version of Christianity in the US is a disapproval related to inquiry, probing, or questioning. Sometimes it is more subtle than others. Yet to me it seems starkly clear now that whether you talk about religion, patriotism, political stance, oftentimes a questioning attitude is seen as subversive, atheistic, or tantamount to an act of betrayal.

I thoroughly and utterly reject the validity of this notion. I believe, and it seems from talking with my friend Andrew that a lot of Jewish people (and probably others that I don't know about) believe this also, that questioning can be a form of supporting one's faith. I believe that deep inquiry can allow and actually forces people to be stronger in their faith. Then, discussion and debate are not ended by the phrase "that's just what I believe", but the discussions are opened with statements like that, and people seek to understand the nuances of another person's faith or political stance or patriotism, instead of trying to convince the other of supporting unquestioningly one side or another. In America, I see a lot of differing views and opinions which at one time in my life would have thrilled me. But watching people continually unable to share and explore their own or other views in a diplomatic or even remotely civil manner is abhorrent to me, and renders social interaction practically pointless. Let's not be afraid to question oneself, or to find out that one's view is not the only "right" view out there. It seems to me that a much richer personal and social existence is within reach with this simple change of heart.

A new obsession

Now that I am beginning to feel really comfortable in my knowledge of the main streets of Paris, and the directions of everything in relation to everything else, I finally worked up the courage to try taking a Vélib. The Vélib system is a bike share that serves the entire city of Paris. The stations are just as densely placed as the metro stations, if not more so. I couldn't benefit from them two years ago because I didn't have a French bank card. I have always been terrified at the thought of biking through the streets of Paris, for several reasons: 1) the roads don't really have lines on them, 2) bikers have to bike right on the roads with cars, 3) the roads are narrow, 4) parisian street signs confuse me, and, 5) you really have to know your route because its a lot easier to stop and look at your map when you are walking than when you are biking. But this time, I decided things would change.

With encouragement from some friends, I finally rented my first Vélib and braved the roads of Paris. And it was amazing! When the weather is nice but you don't feel like walking, bike riding through Paris is the most wonderful thing. I have titled this entry "a new obsession" because it really is like an obsession; once you are on the bike, all you can think about is where else can I go to make this ride last longer. I feel completely addicted to bike riding. Even though I don't need to, I have been taking them in the mornings on my way to work. So I take a Vélib for about twenty minutes, and take the metro another 30 minutes the rest of the way to work. Riding along the Seine just as the sun is coming up (at 8 am, it rises really late here) when barely any pedestrians or other bikers are around, with a few of Ile de la Cité (where Notre Dame is) and the Hotel de Ville and the beautiful bridges and bateaux-mouches, I feel like I'm in a tourism commercial. What an absurdly fantastical way to start off the work day.

In regards to my previous qualms about riding bikes in Paris, it is not nearly as intimidating as it seems. After the first ride, most if not all of them disappear. In most roads, the bike lane is the same as the bus and taxi lane, which is separate from the rest of the cars and motorcycles, so you really don't have to share that much. It also helps that Parisian drivers are so used to having bikers share the roads with them, that they are very understanding and comfortable driving with them. The most you would ever get is an impatient honk, but I have never ever felt in danger when riding on Parisian roads. There is one thing, however, that I still haven't figured out: how to make a left turn. Even when you are in the bus or taxi lane, the bikers still ride on the right hand side of the lane. So you either have to cut in front of traffic, and possibly be stuck waiting in the middle of the intersection for the cars coming from the other direction to stop, or, wait and walk your bike like a pedestrian (which I do more often than not, though I feel judged by the other bikers. Or I just avoid the routes where I need to take a left. It's easier than you'd think). I'll keep you updated on whether or not I discover the definitive etiquette for taking a left turn on a bike in a busy intersection. Until then, its all rights for me!

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.