Bonjour

Well, here in am in Paris, almost two weeks into my trip, and I finally get a free moment (albeit brief) to try to write. Thus, I will try to cover things as quickly as possible while still catching you up...

I left the 30th of September in moral terror. I was nervous about everything, as I had never traveled alone before, let alone to a foreign country, so I was worried I would somehow mess something up along the way. As I went through the security / scanner thing at the airport, I waved good-bye to the family, which obsessively waved back. Past the first security checkpoint, I received a call, which told me to look over my shoulder. I waved again. "Go USA!" my dad yelled. I blanched.

They do manage to at least shepheard you well at the airport, which I guess I knew, so I guess I didn't have that much of a reason to be worried. I was through the check quickly, and then it was off to wait for several hours. That was strangely calming. I read through all the trip papers and course packets to calm my nerves and tell me what to expect and make sure there wasn't any advice I had missed (though at this point at the airport, I don't know how much good most of it would have done anyway). Then I settled in and cracked open Bret Easton Ellis' new book, Lunar Park, which then (and so far) proved to be a corking good read. Part autobiography, part social satire (natch), part horror novel; fascinating.

This Indian guy sitting next to me was hacking up a lung, so I found something to do elsewhere for a bit and then took a different seat when I returned. Eventually we borded, and I was seated next to this French student who was vaguely dressed up. He kind of reminded me of Mazzone, but that was only because he was wearing a suit.

The flight was all right if uneventful. I read my pre-class reading for the first few hours, which was doable, but fairly uninteresting. (It was on the Gauls; come to find out it was written by Cesar.) Dinner was a weird boef burguinon thing, with which I took a little bottle of red wine, feeling like a classy bastard. The thing I've realized about airplanes is that they're quite good at tricking you into thinking you have a fair amout of food, since they give you miniscule portions but of many, many things. Water and wine and tea? Holy shit, I must be flying first class! Sure, they're in two-ounce cups, but...

After that they turned the lights out and it was time for the children to go to sleep. As predicted, I was unable, though I was surprisingly tired. I lay there for a little bit, then got tired of doing that and turned in the TV, wishing I could read to get that assignment done. I had tried watching Fracture, with Anthony Hopkins, during dinner, out of bizarre curiosity, but it was too hard to hear the dialogue through the crappy earphones. For that reason, and the fact that I would probably never see them again, I opted for the French movies this time. I tried something called Pur Weekend, which should literally be "Pure Weekend," but was translated as "Wicked Weekend," so it must be slang. It was a textbook foreign Hollywood rip-off -- nice production values; a by-the-numbers story (friends on camping trip don't realize their friend who is on weekend leave from prison has actually escaped) where everyone has a clear dilemma which will be solved over the course of One Wacky Weekend; and, like all good foreign Hollywood rip-offs, a soundtrack full of out-of-date American tunes. I was shocked to later find the film was from 2007, in fact, as it used so many Smashmouth songs (at least two, if not three) before I turned it off that I thought I had flashed back to my first plane ride to Paris in 2001. Anyway, as I stated, I turned this off about half an hour in, since it was doing absolutely nothing for me, and tried to sleep again.

Nope. Tried something called Le Prix a Payer ("The Price to Pay"), which concerned a rich guy and his chauffeur who decide that since their wives don't show them enough affection anymore, they should stop providing them with their earnings in exchange. Like most French-style French comdies of late, it starts out somewhat funny and quickly just turns depressing, what with its themes of coerced affection and spousal abuse and all. I couldn't help but wonder what French women think of this thing. Having looked it up later, I think it may have actually been directed by a woman, but I can't remember. Interesting. At least it was original enough to get all the way through.

Eventually I peaked out the window and saw the sunlight breaking over the crest of the world; it was rather eerily beautiful. We were served a light breakfast, and the two teenage idiots in front of me were begging the steward for whiskey. They'd been drinking the whole trip, and he was like, "I'm sorry; that's not allowed at this time," and they kept protesting and begging for whiskey. Dude, it's fucking breakfast. Have some coffee.

It was raining over Paris as we descended, leaving the view from the windows a sheet of white taht vaguely resembled a trip to purgatory. Finally, the clouds broke and Paris revealed itself, and we touched down int he drizzle. Hearded off the plane, a tram took us to the other side of the airport, where the signs told us where to retrieve our bags. It was all quite simple, though I was unhappy to find that my phone didn't seem to be getting service there when I attempted to call home. Now that I was here, alone, and off the plane and having to take care of myself, I was starting to feel that need for a familiar voice again.

Having retrieved my bags, I wandered around until eventually I found a currency exchange, where I got some Euros. I then went outside and found a cab. The guy wasn't sure quite where my thing was, but together we figured it out. It came out to around 40 euro, which is like $60, but it was nice to just fucking be at the place without having to fuck around with public transit, and besides, it was someone my parents' money, which they had wanted me to use as such.

Arriving at the residence, I made myself at home in my room and finally started feeling my fatigue. I took a video of my room with narration, but it turned out I didn't like it in retrospect. I hope to take another, better one, so you can see my digs, or perhaps I can be coerced into posting the original. Whatever the case, I will try to get a video up of it, because it's just easier than spending three days trying to describe it. Suffice it to say it's a little room with a desk, a bed, a bathroom and a little kitchenette thing. Make sure to demand the video, if you're reading, and I will do my best to get that up.

After that I wanted a nap, but I wanted an actual (read: non-airline) meal more, so I headed out into the neighboorhood. The place where I am is called Port-des-Lilas (Door-of-Lilas), which is apt, in that it is just on the inner border of Paris before the start of a suburb called, naturally, Lila. It's certainly not postcard Paris, but whatever. It certainly is diverse, with lots of kebob and middle-eastern places, in addition to some random chinese places and the various butchers, grocers and bakers of Paris. Not sure what to do and unable to find the ultra-French quiche I was craving, I settled on something called a "Greek sandwhich," which was basically gyros, vegetables and mayonnaise. And mayonnaise for the fries. They like mayonnaise.

I ate this and then collapsed into a stupor until 330, when I readied myself for the tour of the neighborhood. Our resident head guy, DJ, took us around and pointed out a few interesting and necessary things, and then we went to the metro to buy cartes oranges mensuelles ("monthly orange cards"), which are the metro passes. The great thing about their Metro, versus the CTA, is that while the CTA's "best deal" allows them to automatically keep taking money for you to pay for every ride so you get alienated from your money and don't think about how much you're fucking spending on CTA trips, the Metro's deal is actually a deal, wherein you buy the card for a set price (53 euro; for reference, fare is 1.50) and then receive unlimited rides. And what a transit system. It's not failing because people actually ride it, and people actually ride it because there are frequent trains (if you're waiting longer than five minutes, you have ceased to exist in our universe) and it's clean. Of course, there are frequent trains and it's clean because people actually ride it, so there is motivation, but I don't know. The monthly deal is encouraging. And civilized. Nice.

I can't for the life of me remember what I did for dinner that evening, but then we went out and bought a bottle of champagne, since it was the birthday of Nick, this guy in the program. Then we sat and drank the champagne and laughed and talked. And it was nice. And then I went to bed at 10.

The next day I rose bright and early for class. We were lead there on the metro by DJ and then shown around. The U of C campus is almost Cronenberganly clean and neat, though it was a cute little garden and stuff, so there's a bit of humanity to it. We had our first class, which was class, and then broke for lunch. I got a sandwich formule for lunch (they have these things called formule everywhere wherein you can get one of several sandwiches, drinks, and sometimes deserts or sides for a set price). I got a salami sandwich and a Coca-Lite. The sandwich was fucking delicious (I eventually determined that the secret ingredient was butter), though the Coca-Lite is disappointing in that, even though it replaces Diet Coke, it doesn't have that same delicious taste. Oh well. It's just getting me to drink less...

For there on, things require less exacting detail. We were given two giant sheafs of like 350-pages each, which are our readings for the first two three-week courses. It's been brutal; I had no idea it would be like this. Ever since the first night, I've been reading right until I go to bed (usually around 1 or 2, because I have to wake up at 8 to be able to get to the place on time by bus), which, clearly, has left me with no time for anything fun that isn't part of our already regimented schedule. We've been working out way in fits and starts through ancient and middle Europe, and will eventually finish in the 1600s, I think, at the end of this three-week first course. It's fairly brutal, I must say, as the readings can often be rather complicated and take a fair deal of effort to decipher and are often extremely, extremely boring. As is class. Because it's 2 hours and 15 minutes, which is far, far, far more history than I can stand (which is generally "any" not concerning movies or debauchery). Our teacher, Arnaud, is nice and tries his best, and he's clearly passionate (evidenced by his consistently keeping us 10 to 20 minutes late...), which is nice for him, but still. It definitely feels like I'm completing a requirement. It also feels like I'm being gang-raped.

I was still really jetlagged for the rest of like the first week, and getting five or six hours of sleep a night certainly wasn't helping (I require a lot). I was grumpy and bitchy and whatnot, and I didn't have any food in my kitchen. I finally got into things when I went to a real Paris fruit stand and bought some bananas and apples and whatnot. That was just so wonderfully not America, with the little guy bagging everything by hand and weighing it and the total being so ridiculously low that I couldn't help but get in the spirit, and I immediately went out and bought a bagette, too, and made myself a sandwich.

Anyway, events that need addressing:

Wine and Cheese Tasting--Five wines, five cheeses, all with French names, so none of which I remember. They were generally good, though. I liked most of the cheeses (as I am wont to do) and the wines were generally good, though as they got stronger I got less happy. However, I also got more drunk (since no one was spitting out the wine), so by the went we were all kind of tipsy and having quite a good time. It was funny to watch decorum kind of break down during the course of the event, as people became more open and ridiculous.

Chatteau de Vincennes--Since posting pictures always gives me a terrible time, I will try to put these up as soon as I can in a separate post, so that I don't end up ruining everything that I've written here, formatting-wise. Besides, I'm on a roll and I don't want to stop. Anyway, Friday afternoon we took the metro to the Chatteau de Vincennes, which was rather interesting. We had a lovely tourguide who gave us a nice tour in patient, clear French (and who seemed kind of weirded out that we weren't being more active participants; I wonder if the French are ooing and aahing all the time at their chateau). We saw the various chambers of the king and whatnot in the tower, and as we were watching a boring video I got tired and started sleepily playing around with my camera and took a series of pictures of a friend, Timon, as he sat sleepily with his head in his hands. I'll post those, too. It also bears noting that de Sade was imprisoned in the chatteau, a fact which I think I knew but escaped me until the woman said it. I found that interesting, and wanted to ask if she could show me his cell, but I thought that would seem creepy.

Friday night--After leaving Vincennes, I tagged along with a bunch of people as they headed over into the Latin Quarter in the heart of Paris. It was hugely relieving to finally see all the cliched postcard and movie shit (especially movies). Walking along the Seine, we passed the sidewalk booksellers and saw all the historic monuments and all the buildings lining the waterway. I took a long, Godard-esque pan that I also hope to post soon of my walk along the Seine. Surely it won't capture any of what it was like to be there, but it can try. I also took pictures, which will make their own appearances.

In the Latin quarter, we got ice cream and then walked around a little longer before sitting down to dinner. I ate with the aforementioned Nick and a girl named Jane and partook of a Croque Madame, which is a Croque Monsieur (ham sandwich on big white bread slices with cheese on top melted) with an egg on top. Get it?

After this, we had more ice cream -- actually gelatto -- upon the recommendation of this one girl who raved about the nutella gelatto. It was pretty good, I will say, though nothing to freak out over. Nick had a conversation session to get to (I'll backtrack and get to mine later), so he left and Jane and I took the metro back. I then bumbled around for a little bit before meeting up with a bunch of friends and being dragged out for the evening to go drinking, despite the fact that I was massively tired and was considering just going to bed and trying to catch up on my sleep.

We took the metro to Belleville, I think, though honestly I was so tired I felt like I was already drunk and can't really remember it very well. We wandered around for a while but no one could decide on a bar or find one that could accomodate our eleven people, so eventually we split up, with the people that wanted to go dancing going one way and me and the rest going another, which took us somewhere with a long name that I can't remember (every place has a gigantic name here). We wandered around for a while more, but still couldn't find a bar that could accomodate like six people, so we split again, with Timon and thsi girl Avery going one way and myself, a girl named Tina from my old sex class, a girl named Shreya, and the aforementioned Jane, all going to another bar where we crammed ourselves in and ordered glasses of wine. Shit things are expensive here! It was 5 euro for the glass, which wasn't that big at all, and we eventually went through three rounds, with each of us buying. (It was learned that "another round," in French, is "un autre tournee.") I then had a beer and the girls cosmos and then we split and joined Timon and Avery, all of us cramming into another bar. I had another beer and everyone was quite drunk and having a deal of fun. I have various memories of explaining the history of porn to Tina and the role video plays in this, the two of us deciding that we should try to find a sex shop for fun, Shreya flirting with these mid-thirties French guys (sad) and whatnot and so on.

Since it was after one, the metro was closed when we left. We hailed a cab but couldn't all fit, so we sent three of the girls (minus Avery) and then Timon, Avery and I took the night bus (Noctambus) back, which I do not remember at all because, apparently, I fell asleep. Tina and I also sang ABBA while running through the streets of Paris.

Back at the dorm, we ended up congregating again in Timon's room, because we all got back around the same time, apparently, and we talked until like 4 or 430, at which point I went back to my room and slept until the same time the next afternoon.

Nuit Blanche--The next afternoon (or night), after just waking up, I was headed out to get some food at Champion, our local crappy supermarket, when I ran into someone else from our program, Bryan, who convinced me to come to the Latin Quarter with him, Jane, and a girl named Sung to have dinner and then try to watch the rugby game. I told him repeatedly that me and a rugby game wouldn't mix, but eventually he lured me in with the promise of dinner. We ate at this place in the Quartier Latin called Le Tango du Chat (yes, "The Cat's Tango"), and it was quite good. I got mussles, and learned how to eat them properly (apparently you scoop the others out by using the shell of the first one like pincers), some sort of meat for dinner that I no longer remember, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Following, we headed over to where a big screen had been set up at the end of the street to show the rugby game, since apparently it's like the finals or something and apparently people care about that here. There were lots of people and there was lots of screaming and there was lots of annoyance, and I told everyone I would call them after the game ended and walked off, but then I realized my phone was out of batteries and so felt like a douche and decided to come back. I found the three surprisingly easily and we ended up budding off into guys and girls, actually, because Bryan and I found a bar but only the two of us could fit in. It was cramped in the bar, with the handsome waiter constantly pushing past to deliver people their beers. I could only half see the screen for a while, which was fine, since it still made as much sense to me anyway; and instead I turned my focus to watching two mothers and their children, who had run off somewhere that the mothers had to extricate them from. Once they left, though, there was nothign to hold my interest, even though I was now able to move in a little and get a better view of the TV. The commercials, I will say, were interesting, and I did try to enjoy the game, but alas, I could not manage. This British guy kept moving in front of me in really awkward and cramping positions, too, and kept yelling and shit, and since I wasn't enjoying staring at the back of his balding head and feeling him grip me whenever someone did somethign to his liking, I again took my leave, this time for good.

Back in the Quartier Latin, I passed a theater and was shocked to find it was playing Koji Wakamatsu's The Embryo Hunts in Secret. Since the last show had already started, I decided I would return the next day and took the bus back to Lila. As I was entering, I ran into Tina and Shreya, who were heading out to go to the Centre Pompidou (the city's big modern art museum), and I ended up joining them.

It was Nuit Blanche that evening, which apparently is this cross-European thing in the cities where everyone stays open and people stay out all night partying, so Tiny and Shreya were going to the Centre since it would be open. (I really hope I'm spelling Shreya's name correctly.)

Arriving there, we found the line to be massive, and despite the fact that it was moving quickly, the girls weren't interested in waiting, so we moved on. After wandering around for a bit, we went into a bar and managed to get a bottle of wine a emporter (to go). As we were waiting for the guy to uncork it, we witnessed this belligerant guy being thrown out, which was great fun. We then walked around Paris in the midst of the revelry as people darted about celebrating the game (France had apparently miraculously won) and the whole city basically made a drunken ass of itself.

We eventually parked alongside the Seine and sat and drank and talked and generally felt very French. We then resumed our wanderings and eventually stopped at a small cafe and ordered invidual pizzas, which were quite good. (They, too, had egg on them, though unfortunately no mayonnaise). After that, we wandered around a bit more, and I was surprised to see a friend from highschool, Dan Choi, whom I hadn't seen in years, quite randomly in the middle of the street. We exchanged numbers and decreed that we had to get together. We'll see if that happens.

We thend ecided to head home, on the Metro which everyone was saying would be open "all night." Apparently, however, everyone was wrong, because, while the main lines were still running, the smaller auxiliary lines, like the one to Lila, were not, and we would hear later that eventually they all closed. Luckily, we ran into thsi girl from the yearlong program who knew the busses well enough to tell us how to get back. Nevertheless, it was a fucking ordeal. Finding the first one wasn't so bad, but the second was a real bitch. We eventually found its little waiting spot, but it said it was out of service. We waited a bit and eventually a bus pulled up, though it was empty but for its driver and a little man in a suit who informed us that the line was not running. "We need to get to Lila," we said in French, and he told us that that was on the other side. After much, much, much searching, we eventually found the mirror stop for the bus going in the other direction, which was more like a funhouse mirror stop in that it was several blocks away and facing a different direction. I guess that's what you get for having a city where no one block stays straight or flat for more than seven consecutive feet. Some drunkish guy kept telling us that this bus wasn't running, but we got the distinct impression that it was as there were still a lot of people there, and sure enough, eventually, it appeared and we, exhausted, trudged on.

Some guy from "the great state of New York," as he called it, began talking to us. He seemed to fancy himself quite the bohemian, with his little guitar and his shoulder-length hair. The girls thought he was flirting with them until he mentioned his girlfriend, at which point they lost all interest, until he mentioned that he had been mugged, at which point we figured he merited at least the interest of sympathy. It was his stop then, though, and he got off and we rode the rest of the way home, getting in at about four.

Despite this, I ended up staying up until 7, talking to Shiraz and various others online while looking at all the listings on this site that lists every movie playing in the city of Paris for the week. Since our conversation girl said that Paris is the city with the most cinemas in the world (which is pretty amazing, I think--again, I'll get to Conversation later), you may imagine that this is quite a lot of films. However, if one knows the French translations of most of John Ford's catalogue, one can eliminate the chaffe (most of John Ford's catalogue) rather easily.

Cinema--The next day I arose at twelve after a whopping five hours of sleep (I knew I would be kicking myself in the morning but I'm nothing if not thorough) and headed back to the Latin Quarter to catch that film, which I will write about at the other blog. Needless to say, it was utterly wonderful, and I had a delicious gyrosy thing beforehand, too, to up the day's delightfulness quotient. I then headed back and worked on homework obsessively until I collapsed at two. Ah, back to the schoolweek...

Conversation--Moving back, and forward, we have these conversation sessions every week that consist of a group of about three or four of us and a French university student going out and doing activities and generally just talking, in order to, I guess, show us more of the culture and to, obviously get us to practice our french more outside of the classroom. Our girl is named Lea, and she is very pretty and metropolitan. She's sweet as punch and smokes like a chimney, and is an architecture major at the School of the Louvre, or whatever it's called (the school run by the Louvre). The first day, we headed over to a nice little cafe and sat and had drinks and talked. The others, Timon, Tina, and another girl, all had coffee, though since I detest it, I followed Lea's lead and got a grenadine-and-water. Amazingly dorky, but I choked and just said I'd have what she was having. Apparently the guy running the place though that was kinda lame, because when he brought the drinks, he set mine down and said something about it being "the baby drink" or something (appropriately translated); and then, as he handed Timon his coffee, looked at me and said "et pour monsieur." Eye roll.

It was a nice time, though, and Lea is fun to talk to. Our next meeting took place just yesterday, and headed over by Pompidou again to get dinner. We walked first through the gay neighborhood (quartier gay) and then into the jewish neighboorhood (quartier juif), where, to our dismay, we found most of the restaurants to be closed for some Jewish reason, presumably. Nevertheless, we eventually found a nice place and had a good dinner. Most everyone got falaffel, though I opted for the curry chicken. It was a little pricey, but quite good, and any enjoyable time, though it was harder to hear.

Mamma Roma--Tuesday, to let off some stress and because I though I had an upper hand on my homework, which I would eventually find out was completely wrong, I headed over to the 5th arrondissement to the Grand Action cinema on the Rue des Ecoles ("Street of Schools," though I only saw one), where they were playing Pasolini's Mamma Roma. Again, I'll probably write this up at length, but it was very nice. I got there a few minutes before the middle showing, but it took me like half an hour to find the fucking place because of the confusing streets, so I ended up with an hour-and-a-half to kill until six o'clock. I stopped at a little patisserie and got a lemon mirange tarte, which had the best fucking mirangue on top I've ever tasted in my life. It was orgasmic. I ate it slowly, oh so slowly, as I did my reading, allowing myself only one bite after every gigantic paragraph of Martin Luther's prattling (which I actually enjoyed simply because it was clear and structured and therefore I could understand it through the fog of the French), though I did allot myself a few extra bites when a minor fender-bender occurred in front of me and I got to watch middle aged French men yelling and gesticulating wildly. Good times.

I got some sort of gyros pita thing again, which seems to be my dinner of choice (I believe I had it for a meal three days in a row, Sun through Tues, and Wed, if you count the Jewish, which was very close), and then headed in to see the movie, which was typically delightful. Thankfully, since I know it by heart, the French subtitles weren't a problem, though I was pleased to find I could generally understand them anyway, and fill in the blanks with my prior knowledge when I couldn't.

A Note on Homework--Finally, this catch up posting, which I think has now finally nearly reached its end, could not be complete without a long ramble about the education here. Like I said, the main class itself, history, is typically boring, in that it is history, despite the passion of Arnaud, our professor. Like I said, though, the keeping us an average extra 15 minutes definitely is not cool, however.

Two days a week we have a second class after lunch, wherein we are divided into groups, obstensibly by tested skill level though not seeming to reflect it and, really, not seeming much different to my eyes. My class, the higher one, is taught my a woman named Sylvia Garnier, who reminds me of a more proper and strict version of my high school teacher, Mme Rano (for those who were with me in high school, I wasn't sure if others would be reading this, which explains the seeming redundancy of that qualifier). Generally I like her, though, though she can be a little tough sometimes. We're learning something called the style soutenu, which, as far as I can tell, basically just means "proper language," which is quite complicated. Depending on the way things are phrased, there are lots of random and seemingly redundant subject pronoun repetitions and inversions, and parts of speech are obsessively grouped together in the name of "clarity." I kinda sorta get it, but really, I'd rather throw myself down a well. This hurts. I don't want to write French French papers...

The other group has a woman named Isabelle Folletete, which, yes, does translate as "Isabelle Crazyhead." Poor thing. Aparently, though, the name is quite apt, as no one seems to like her. I have to say, I kind of wish I were in that class, because then maybe I could be at the top instead of at the bottom, but whatever. I guess that's the theoretical point of being in the higher, isn't it--to push me on?

Anyway, a typical night consists generally of me coming home, usually wanting to go get some piece of shit thing fron the Champion, somehow finding dinner (usually not by my own hand, though I have been experimenting with pasta and liked what I can do, so hopefully that will change and I can start on the road to becoming a more functional adult human being), and then checking my email and delaying the inevitable until around 8, when I start the reading or Sylvie's homework. The reading generally takes forever, due to a mix of procrastination as a result of how fucking boring it is and the fact that it is extremely long, extremely dense, and extremely in French, all of which are massive imediments to both me understanding me accomplishing the task, which usually requires lots of backtracking. Generally, I get my work finished around one or two, depending on whether I have one or two classes the next day and whether I started exactly at 8 or not, and probably several other factors. Nevertheless, every night is packed to the gills with beween 30 and 40 pages of French reading and, often, some sort of worksheet, so it's very tiring and very disheartening to finish and then have to run straight to bed for fear of being utterly exhausted the next day if I don't. I generally collapse into a sleep, exhausted at the end of every day. I've got to say, this is not that I expected Paris to be like. But when it delights, it really delights.

All right, I think that's more than enough for now. I will see about getting those pictures up, hopefully quite soon, though I would also like to see if I can salavage a little partying this evening, since we get Fridays off and I'm thus willing to put off homework a little bit. Nevertheless, I ought to get to bed quite early, as I need to wake up at 6 tomorrow for our trip to the chateaux of the Loire valley. I will, of course, take many pictures, and I will try to manage short little postings for now on, no matter how late it is or how tired I am, now that I am up to date.

I love and miss everyone, really, truly, dearly (and mostly because when I am around you I have less homework, and the desperate response is now pavlovian).

Au revoir, et a bientot!