Today I bought my first French CD. Though technically she's from Montreal. But still. French enough.
13.6.10
Hair and vodka salon: snip & sip
Once upon a time
I wrote a long blog post regarding my spring break touring the British Isles (+ Ireland if we’re going to be correct here). Sadly my computer was stolen by some hooligan in a Barcelonian café, leaving me therefore Microsoft Wordless. But after 2 weeks of living in seclusion, living off nothing but the water and salt from my tears, I have managed to pick myself up and rekindle my tenacious love of life. As a result of this rekindlement (?), I now present a new post…
April 16 – May 1:
A volcano erupted, causing me to miss a scheduled day-tour of Stonehenge and seeing Rob in London. But after 3 days of delay I was on my way to Oxford, England, a journey that required 14 hours rather than the original 2-hour flight time. The whole experience should have been documented because it would have been a blockbuster: 1 metro, 1 boat, 2 trains, 4 buses, X km of running and XX angry stranded people all ready to kill to get from point A to B. (I felt like I was a character in Rat Race, save the million dollar reward.) I arrived at my Oxford hostel late that night and got to see Clara the following morning, a great friend I hadn’t seen since grade 10. She and I spent the day touring the historic town, exploring the botanic garden, indulging in scones, clotted cream and jam, facing near-death experience while punting on the river, climbing the steps of Hogwarts, and addressing the need to catch-up on 5 years of separation. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
After only 1 day of paused-traveling, I hopped back on the train to get to Coventry to meet up with another friend. The town of Coventry is rather unattractive. Rebuilt after bombs destroyed the town not too long ago, the architecture strives to depict history while clearly failing. But geography aside, it was great to see Meagan and meet her friends; it’s always nice to experience “a day in the life of”. Another day of catching-up and being tourists led to a night of cocktails and club-hopping. I got little sleep and before long I was yet again on a train. Destination: York, England.
York is probably the cutest town to exist, and I jumped to this conclusion seconds after stepping out of the station. York is surrounded by an old stonewall that makes you feel like a character in a fairytale. The iconic York Minster takes over the center of the town as does the beautiful park found next door. The architecture is exquisite! The cobbled streets, tiny passages, and outdoor markets only add to its quaintness. And the hostel at which I stayed was the best yet, found inside a converted old English home.
Meat pie in hand, I ran to the train station at 5h30 the next morning, incredibly excited to be heading to Edinburgh, Scotland. When I was 6 I had a Scottish best friend who had a miniature lassie and whose dad had the thickest Scottish accent and spoke often of his time in Scotland; ever since I’ve dreamed of going to Scotland, and Edinburgh was a fantastic introduction to the reality of this dream. Edinburgh was in many ways miserable: grey, wet, and very cold. But the surroundings (the combination of the medieval Old Town and the…Georgian??... New Town) and the company (Ross) made my trip far worth it. Over the course of my 3 and a half days in Edinburgh I did plenty, the highlights being listening to fiddles in Sandy Bell’s pub, climbing Arthur’s seat, eating haggis, almost successfully sneaking into the castle, strolling the Royal Mile to the sound of Bagpipes (which I don’t actually like, but it seemed appropriate), and playing in the science center of the National Museum. I could have stayed longer but on Monday I repacked my bags and moved West to Northern Ireland.
If I didn’t have a friend who lived in Belfast I probably could have done with skipping this part of the trip. Not that it wasn’t beautiful (which it was, I spent hours touring Queens University as well as wandering in and out of old pubs and various buildings), but it wasn’t spectacular after what I’d seen the preceding week. It was more contemporary than many British cities and fairly industrial. My hostel was also in the sketchy Irish boonies on a street where literally NO ONE lived. I did, however, enjoy seeing Louise, eating traditional Irish stew in a quaint pub and Cadbury crème eggs, visiting the birthplace of the Titanic, and learning about the still-present religious conflict between the Catholics and Protestants (as a religion buff, not a cold-hearted person).
A couple days later I arrived in Dublin, my last destination, where I stayed for a little over 2 days. Dublin itself was a great city with plenty to do. The free-walking tour was incredibly informative and the Chester Beatty museum was perhaps the best museum I’ve ever been to. But even more incredible was the last-minute trip I decided to take to the Irish countryside, where I experienced the Ireland that I (as well as many Americans I’m sure) had conjured in my mind before arriving (check out photos in slideshow below).
Wicklow and Glendalough were visions! where I could have happily spent the entire 2 weeks sleeping in green pastures next to herds of sheep minutes away from old monastic cities and still lakes. But I guess the hustle-and-bustle of the Parisian city life will have to do for now.
Dommage.
7.5.10
A night fit for a queen...or just une étudiante à Paris
On Wednesday night some friends and I went to Palais Garnier to watch Hommage à Jerome Robbins, a ballet dedicated to the famous American film director and choreographer of West Side Story, Fiddler on the Roof, and The King and I, to name a few (thank you Wiki). Easily, it was the best ballet I have ever seen. A combination of classical and contemporary, comedy and drama, simplicity and intensity, dancing and acting...the piece had something for everybody, and there wasn't a soul in the audience not shouting "Bravo!" as the curtain came down. I was watching the [near 3hr] performance from the 4th balcony and running on very little sleep, and I couldn't look away. The dancing and choreography was simply stunning; not to mention its setting. 
(Images taken from Google)
And in case you were wondering, there really is a lake underneath the Opera (as seen in The Phantom of the Opera), 'though Phantoms...yeah ok there are those too.
2.5.10
Religion in Paris- no longer à la mode
I am a Religion major studying in Paris, a juxtaposition that was confirmed not long after my arrival in this stunning secular country. Every day I walk around Paris and am confronted with evidence of a religious city that once was. Sadly, the cemeteries, cathedrals, churches, chapels, and basilicas that dot the city now stand as religious symbols frozen in history as Parisian modernity pushes forward, seldom looking back to acknowledge its Christian roots. Such religious symbols are not forgotten, however, at least not by their tourists upon whom Notre Dame, Ste. Chapelle, Sacré-Coeur, and Père Lachaise depend. Since being here I’ve managed to read up on the history of laïcité (secularism) in France. I know that, preceding the French Revolution, France turned to the Church in order to better function as a united nation; in fact, the Church governed the nation: Sabbath was respected, divorce was unheard of, nuns were teachers, and God was understood by all as the author of the fundamental rights of the French people. I also know that, with the Revolution of 1789 came a new way of thinking, of governing, and of living. Through a slow process Catholicism was being pushed underground. What began as a simple separation of Church and State in 1905 has catapulted into a complete rejection of religion within the public sphere, and the whole world is tuning in. We were all aware of the 2004 headscarf controversy, for example, which ultimately led the French government to abolish all public displays of religious (and political) belief in schools, headscarves and crosses included. In 5 months I have come across a handful of others wearing crosses similar to mine, and in all likelihood they were tourists. It’s one thing to read about these affairs from America and it’s another to be here in France and experience my religion as this underground-type movement, as if I’m a part of a group existing outside the French establishment, expressing unorthodox or radical views. It’s no wonder that, when asked by the French what I study, my response is most often met with stares of incredulity. My study abroad experience in Paris is complicated, because, beyond the education and politics, I have enjoyed myself. The city of lights and love really is spectacular. Day-to-day life here is calm and elegant. I live in a beautiful apartment in a beautiful neighborhood down the street from a beautiful park where people exchange words in a beautiful language. The architecture, the parks, the canals, the language, the food, the deep history, and the thriving arts…truth be told I know all too well how blessed I am to be in Paris. But the feeling of being a stranger does not escape me. I don’t wear heels or dress in black, I don’t smoke, I smile at passerbies, I study Religion, and I wear a cross. I know now more than ever where I do and don’t fit in, and not fitting in in Paris is fine by me. Upon reflection, I’m left to wonder, wasn’t the purpose of adopting secularism (like the Separation in America) to not show favoritism towards one cult, thereby promoting equality and diversity? It seems that somehow, somewhere, something went wrong. But perhaps I am being too harsh. There is, after all, the Jewish quarter of Paris that stretches a whopping 2 blocks; ‘though let’s not fool ourselves, the only reason this area is so lively is because of its mouth-watering falafels that reel in hundreds of customers daily. Perhaps this is where 51% of the Christian French population is hiding, because they’re sure as heck not in church.
18.4.10
Common knowledge
You don't buy bus tickets out of France because of the length of the journey and the permittance of smoking on board.
You don't buy train tickets out of France because of the French tendancy to go on strike.
You don't buy plane tickets out of France because of icelandic volcanic eruptions.
Duh.
You don't buy train tickets out of France because of the French tendancy to go on strike.
You don't buy plane tickets out of France because of icelandic volcanic eruptions.
Duh.
9.4.10
3.4.10
Of course of anyone to have something go wrong it would be Amie
As you can tell by the simple fact that I'm writing this, I am currently not in Rome nor will be at any point during Easter weekend. Way excited with the idea of spending Easter weekend in Rome, I "booked" my tickets through edreams 2 months ago only to just realize the unprofessionalism (though unfortunately still legitimacy) of the company. I received 1 email entitled "Booking Confirmation" that gave me a reference number and what appeared to be a boarding pass. What I failed to note, however, was the fine print that read,
The ticket for this reservation shall be issued in electronic format (e-ticket). The e-ticket confirmation shall be sent in a second email to the address indicated below [apendlet@middlebury.edu]. You will not receive any paper ticket.
A second email? The day before I was scheduled to fly off, I was trying to print my boarding pass and reread the whole thing and realized that I hadn't received a second email. I tried to make some phone calls but the only one that went through was in Spanish, ruh roh. I decided to print what I had (the reservation confirmation attached below) and hope for the best. I got turned down at the airport, Alitalia claiming that my seat/flight/reservation (don't really know what) had been cancelled. I asked all the obvious questions ("WHY WASN"T I NOTIFIED?!!") ‘though, being the fault of edreams, the airport couldn’t do anything to help me. They could, however, sell me another ticket for 1000 euros, I laughed/cried and said "Merci bien, mais je suis une étudiante".
I said bye to my friends who went on and I headed back home (a total of 16 euros for the train ride to/from the airport). Upon my arrival back home I found the 2nd email they had in fact sent me in the deleted inbox. I must have moved it there a couple of months ago (2 days after I received the 1st email) as soon as I scanned over who it was from (unknown person, NOT edreams) and what is was regarding (a sketchy title).
After trying 2 more failed phone calls (always in Spanish) and 1 email (which got returned back to me with an "undeliverable" notification), I decided to do some research on the company. I found TONS as in HUNDREDS of complaints from past users of edreams getting ripped off, forgotten about, scammed, etc. I found several incidences of customers being asked to photocopy their credit card and passport and mail them to edreams as a way of verifying identity.
That night I found some cheap flights to Rome that departed early the next morning. But they were through edreams and we all know THAT's not happening. Besides, they were still twice the price, plus more for RER, etc. Il faut pas la peine, comme on dit en français.
__________________________________________________
The first email I received from edreams that looked legit enough to print and bring to the airport:
RESERVATION CONFIRMATION | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Your reservation | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
The second email I received from Lorena Mazzochi, not edreams, with the subject line ZARX4S
Dear customer,
Regarding your reservation petition made through our website, we are sorry to indicate that due to reasons
that are not under our control, it has been impossible to confirm your booking.
Please be advised that your reservation has been cancelled at no charge.
…
Kind regards,
Lorena Mazzochi
Fligths Departament
__________________________________Additional bummers: I bought all of my tickets for activities in Rome (Vatican museums, Basilica, etc.) and the hostel reservation is under my name and my credit card. I wrote a letter giving permission for the other members in my party to go ahead with the reservation, and I’m assuming this was approved since I haven’t heard from anyone.
Sunnyside: I’m still in Paris and it’s Easter, a beautiful beautiful holiday.
29.3.10
Groovy soul-warmers
After crossing off a great portion of the Paris must-sees on the list I composed upon my arrival, I made [yet] another list over the weekend; this one consists of items “off the beaten-path”, as a one might so boldly call it. One of the categories I added is old bookstores around Paris, a category that, in hindsight, seems like an obvious journey to be taken in any city. On Saturday morning I embarked on a mission to find 6 libraries unobtrusively resting in the corners of Paris; first on the list was Galignani. 1. There are a few perks to Galignani that would attract the average person: its location, its age, and its service. Found on Rue de Rivoli Galignani is passed by many a tourist (“so much for ‘off the beaten path’” was my obvious first reaction). A little disappointed both by its location and overly decorated windows, I stepped inside and was immediately reminded why I created this little adventure for myself- the rustic library was reeking of knowledge, insight, and old-age (the oldest English bookstore on the continent). I made a gradual tour of the place, all the while enchanted by the wooden-enclosure, the moving ladders, and the tea served in the back room. It was a good selection, though nothing out of the ordinary. Pleased with what I saw, I headed on to stop number deux.
2. I accidently stumbled upon Village Voice on Rue de Princesse (after getting lost on my way to another librarie) and was disappointed with the find. Unfortunately the only positive of Village Voice was the adorable street on which it lies. The shop was lacking the vintage that the others so beautifully expressed and offered a pathetic selection of works. Naturally drawn to the ‘Religion’ section I made my way upstairs and found 2 shelves labeled “Religions”. 2 Shelves? And only 1 C.S. Lewis book, that wasn’t even Mere Christianity…?? I left shortly after and continued on my way.
3. Leave it to the French to never work, Abbey Bookshop (or La Librairie Canadienne) was closed on a day they said they’d be open. But from the outside of the shop, and what I could see through the poster-plastered windows, the librarie looked super cute and my forgiving nature quickly kicked in. Matching the size of an RV and [literally] covering its floor with Canadian books, 29, Rue de la Parcheminerie’s distant charm won me over; I’m looking forward to returning when it decides to behave.
4. Shakespeare & Co. might possibly be the sweetest thing I’ve seen in a long time. This 2-story ‘librarie’ is a bookshop on the bottom and a library on top. It’s been placed in an old Parisian apartment that looks out onto the Seine and Notre Dame and is complete with cracking ceilings, squeaky floors, a winding staircase, and plenty of sharp turns. And to make sure you feel even more at home at Shake & Co. there’s a typewriter, a piano, a bed, plenty of sofas, and even a washing station for the visitors’ convenience. What’s more, the book selection is great and well organized- newer books and bestsellers towards the entrance, classics/Shakespeare in the center, and old ‘lost’ books tucked away in the back. I was so excited by the shop that I took a friend there today after a pique-nique in Jardin de Luxembourg, he’s been in Paris for 9 months and had never been, what a ‘Shakespearean tragedy’ ;-p
5. (The Red Wheelbarrow) and 6. (Tea and Tattered Pages) will have to wait for another day of exploration as I spent too long in the last place.20.3.10
Élégance
For the two weeks that my mom visited me in Paris I was pulled out of my nutella-eating, matinee-viewing, thrift-shopping, college-student state and into one of French luxury; it felt wrong...
...though I couldn't help but enjoy it.
15.3.10
Because dad says he hasn't heard from me in a while...
This morning I woke to find a box of dark chocolate granola on the breakfast table.
I had a leisurely morning and arrived at school early. While waiting for class to begin I made a friend (this is big) who goes by the name of Jack. Jack is from Canada and could very well be 80 years old; we will prendre un café ensemble la semaine prochaine.
I had a lovely French lunch with my mom and sister which consisted of steak and frites.
I (as in my mom) bought a necessary pair of classy walking shoes for all the travelling I plan to do for the remainder of my 7 months in Europe.
I visited the coiffure and got my hair cut, again necessary; I am finally groomed.
I discovered a new neighborhood in the 5th arrondissement/Latin quarter, specifically Rue Mouffetard, on this street they sell life.
Two new fromages were eaten with my dinner.
Oh, happy day!
I had a leisurely morning and arrived at school early. While waiting for class to begin I made a friend (this is big) who goes by the name of Jack. Jack is from Canada and could very well be 80 years old; we will prendre un café ensemble la semaine prochaine.
I had a lovely French lunch with my mom and sister which consisted of steak and frites.
I (as in my mom) bought a necessary pair of classy walking shoes for all the travelling I plan to do for the remainder of my 7 months in Europe.
I visited the coiffure and got my hair cut, again necessary; I am finally groomed.
I discovered a new neighborhood in the 5th arrondissement/Latin quarter, specifically Rue Mouffetard, on this street they sell life.
Two new fromages were eaten with my dinner.
Oh, happy day!
7.3.10
fairytale land
I arrived in Prague on February 26. I began the vacation by meeting a fellow Vancouverite on the plane, we 3 (including Michelle, my travel buddy) flagged down a taxi and arrived at our proper hostels by 1h30. 
The next day we met up with Em, who's spending the semester studying in Prague and who was kind enough to give us her whole day, acting as our personal tourguide. Saturday involved plenty of walking, site seeing and stair climbing. In Old Town Square lies an astronomical clock, a sex museum, folk dancing, hot wine, and disgusting sausages; we tried it all. We ended the day at an underground bar.
Charles Bridge connects Old Town Square to the hill on which sits Prague Castle and Lennon Wall. It's a popular stretch for portrait artists; it's also where I found a girl with aqua blue dreads and where I purchased some of my 14 postcards, because I'm a wonderful penpal.
The next day we met up with Em, who's spending the semester studying in Prague and who was kind enough to give us her whole day, acting as our personal tourguide. Saturday involved plenty of walking, site seeing and stair climbing. In Old Town Square lies an astronomical clock, a sex museum, folk dancing, hot wine, and disgusting sausages; we tried it all. We ended the day at an underground bar.Charles Bridge connects Old Town Square to the hill on which sits Prague Castle and Lennon Wall. It's a popular stretch for portrait artists; it's also where I found a girl with aqua blue dreads and where I purchased some of my 14 postcards, because I'm a wonderful penpal. Wenceslas Square (below) is the Czech version of the Champs Elysee. On one end is the National Museum and on the other the Communism museum. Here we sampled phenomenal fried cheese for less than a buck, a Czech novelty that I already miss. 
Another day was spent touring the old Jewish quarter which included 4 synagogues, a cemetery and a museum. This activity was followed by a chocolate museum, a traditional dinner and a ghost tour at a very black hour. 
On the last day Michelle and I spend the day roaming around Vysehrad, an old fortress with an amazing view of the city, and eating Czech pastries. 
At every hour change 12 little plastic apostles pop out of the windows of the astronomical clock and a man in a red cape blows his horn in the tower. (Duloc anyone?) It was adorable.
The whole trip was adorable.
Another day was spent touring the old Jewish quarter which included 4 synagogues, a cemetery and a museum. This activity was followed by a chocolate museum, a traditional dinner and a ghost tour at a very black hour. On the last day Michelle and I spend the day roaming around Vysehrad, an old fortress with an amazing view of the city, and eating Czech pastries. 
At every hour change 12 little plastic apostles pop out of the windows of the astronomical clock and a man in a red cape blows his horn in the tower. (Duloc anyone?) It was adorable.
The whole trip was adorable.25.2.10
vanity meets romance
Mec is French-argot for boy. Mec is an impersonal term that I will use to keep him anonymous, out of respect not because you would know him, obviously.
Two weeks ago, on the first day of Christian Anthropology, un mec approached me during the break, which is necessary for a 3-h class (the break not the approach). He kindly asked me from where I hailed knowing very well that I was not a regular student of Le Catho being female, white and blonde, under 30, and wearing jeans. He’s considering studying in Quebec next year and was exciting to hear of my Canadian roots. He proposed that we meet over coffee later that week as an occasion for me to practice French and for him to learn a little about Canada. I was thrilled to have made a French friend so quickly and effortlessly that I passed over my information without thinking twice. Ten minutes after class I get an SMS (text) from him. I return home and have an email in my inbox from him. Come midnight I get a call from him to let me know that he was thinking about me. It didn't take me long to realize what I had gotten myself into, probably after reading the SMS earlier that day to be honest. During the phone call he invites me out to dinner for that Friday (so much for “coffee”) and I say yes, still looking forward to an evening of French conversation and confident that I could handle the situation despite questions running through my head. But being the [somewhat] responsible person I am, I have my girlfriends back me up by meeting me at the Louvre at 9pm just in case I needed an escape route. During the [3hour] dinner I hear about most of le mec’s life, including really personal information that one (an American?) doesn’t typically share on a first ‘date’. As well as all of the incredible things he's done in his life, such as work at MIT for a year, discover something scientific that I didn’t quite catch because of translation complications, volunteer for African children transitioning into Parisian culture, teach as a professor at a university here in Paris, etc etc. On one hand I was spending time with a really awesome guy from Congo who's experienced so much in life and wants to give back to the world and is passionate about bioethics, but on the other hand he's also telling me [over and over and over again] how glad he is that I'm with him, that we need to spend a lot of time together, that he knew the minute he saw me he wanted me, that he needs affection in his life and I'm the one to provide it. Apparently I didn't get a say in the matter, we were going to get married and have a family together. I tell him no, and spell out the obvious reasons why, including 1) that I'm in Paris for 6 months; 2) that I want to do my own things here and not be responsible for maintaining a relationship with 1 person; 3) that I'm taking 7 classes and travelling every weekend and have no time; and 4) that I don't know him...at all. He immediately got upset and became quiet (dinner then became awkward). Eventually 20h30 rolled around and he nicely accompanied me on the metro to the Louvre where we exchanged casual goodbyes and I met up with my friends.
He called me the next day to see if I wanted to do something with him on Valentines Day, I said I was busy, which was fortunately true.
He called me on Valentines Day to wish me a Happy Valentines Day and that he was thinking about me.
I get an SMS at 6: 30 in the morning on Monday. Some of it went like this:
"... Je me sens très amoureux de toi. J'ai bcp pensé à toi cette nuit …"
the loose translation being, «…I am very much in love with you and thought about you a lot last night...”
At 7am he sent me another SMS insisting that I immediately respond because he wanted to see me. Euphemistically, I was not pleased. My initial reaction was an angry “no”. But then I decided to be the bigger person, accept 1 more lunch date and tell him in person that he needs to stop expressing his love. I responded that I had only 1 hour that day for lunch, so we ate quickly. I asked him how he could know he was in love already, an obvious question, to which he responded that love is not something one looks for, it's something one finds, and finding something takes only a second. To be anti-climatic and end this quickly, he eventually understood that he was making me uncomfortable and has since stopped all correspondences.
I had not intended on posting this story online, hence the 2 week delay, but then I remembered my blog is a journal of my time in Paris, and this interesting encounter has played a significant enough role in my stay so far that I felt it belonged on blogger. As a compromise I left a lot out.
Yes mom, I’ve learned my lesson.
Two weeks ago, on the first day of Christian Anthropology, un mec approached me during the break, which is necessary for a 3-h class (the break not the approach). He kindly asked me from where I hailed knowing very well that I was not a regular student of Le Catho being female, white and blonde, under 30, and wearing jeans. He’s considering studying in Quebec next year and was exciting to hear of my Canadian roots. He proposed that we meet over coffee later that week as an occasion for me to practice French and for him to learn a little about Canada. I was thrilled to have made a French friend so quickly and effortlessly that I passed over my information without thinking twice. Ten minutes after class I get an SMS (text) from him. I return home and have an email in my inbox from him. Come midnight I get a call from him to let me know that he was thinking about me. It didn't take me long to realize what I had gotten myself into, probably after reading the SMS earlier that day to be honest. During the phone call he invites me out to dinner for that Friday (so much for “coffee”) and I say yes, still looking forward to an evening of French conversation and confident that I could handle the situation despite questions running through my head. But being the [somewhat] responsible person I am, I have my girlfriends back me up by meeting me at the Louvre at 9pm just in case I needed an escape route. During the [3hour] dinner I hear about most of le mec’s life, including really personal information that one (an American?) doesn’t typically share on a first ‘date’. As well as all of the incredible things he's done in his life, such as work at MIT for a year, discover something scientific that I didn’t quite catch because of translation complications, volunteer for African children transitioning into Parisian culture, teach as a professor at a university here in Paris, etc etc. On one hand I was spending time with a really awesome guy from Congo who's experienced so much in life and wants to give back to the world and is passionate about bioethics, but on the other hand he's also telling me [over and over and over again] how glad he is that I'm with him, that we need to spend a lot of time together, that he knew the minute he saw me he wanted me, that he needs affection in his life and I'm the one to provide it. Apparently I didn't get a say in the matter, we were going to get married and have a family together. I tell him no, and spell out the obvious reasons why, including 1) that I'm in Paris for 6 months; 2) that I want to do my own things here and not be responsible for maintaining a relationship with 1 person; 3) that I'm taking 7 classes and travelling every weekend and have no time; and 4) that I don't know him...at all. He immediately got upset and became quiet (dinner then became awkward). Eventually 20h30 rolled around and he nicely accompanied me on the metro to the Louvre where we exchanged casual goodbyes and I met up with my friends.
He called me the next day to see if I wanted to do something with him on Valentines Day, I said I was busy, which was fortunately true.
He called me on Valentines Day to wish me a Happy Valentines Day and that he was thinking about me.
I get an SMS at 6: 30 in the morning on Monday. Some of it went like this:
"... Je me sens très amoureux de toi. J'ai bcp pensé à toi cette nuit …"
the loose translation being, «…I am very much in love with you and thought about you a lot last night...”
At 7am he sent me another SMS insisting that I immediately respond because he wanted to see me. Euphemistically, I was not pleased. My initial reaction was an angry “no”. But then I decided to be the bigger person, accept 1 more lunch date and tell him in person that he needs to stop expressing his love. I responded that I had only 1 hour that day for lunch, so we ate quickly. I asked him how he could know he was in love already, an obvious question, to which he responded that love is not something one looks for, it's something one finds, and finding something takes only a second. To be anti-climatic and end this quickly, he eventually understood that he was making me uncomfortable and has since stopped all correspondences.
I had not intended on posting this story online, hence the 2 week delay, but then I remembered my blog is a journal of my time in Paris, and this interesting encounter has played a significant enough role in my stay so far that I felt it belonged on blogger. As a compromise I left a lot out.
Yes mom, I’ve learned my lesson.
le partage des sentiments
"Une fois la, porte ouverte
Une fois mes oreilles couvertes
Par le bruit des chansons
Je m’aventure, au dehors
Je ne pense même plus à mes morts
Je souris, j’ai l’air con
Le vent de Paris me caresse
Je suis en vie, je suis heureux..."
- Bensé
8.2.10
point of view
I continue to observe, and to note, but unless I get posting, these miscellaneous observations will reach exponential proportions. (Yes, I like commas).
So, in honor of lightening the load, let me share some of these M.Obs…
Everything’s small, really small; the Champs Elysée has at least 7 cinemas; teenagers and their ipods are like fruit and loops; too many talented musicians live in the metro stations; the wife always listens to her husband; MacDo has the best and the cheapest cappuccinos in Paris; it takes a car approximately 6 minutes to get out of its miniature parking spot; too much bread; you have to buy movie tickets in advance on Sundays, otherwise the 500-seat theatre will sell out before you arrive; white wine & blueberry mix make a happy couple; black has always been and will always be the new black; students ignore classroom hierarchy; tea is too expensive; Paris is more international than Vancouver; it’s cheaper to drink your café at the bar than at a table; at times I have to wait in line to run in Parc Monceau; couples are either yelling or making out; PDA is more than tolerated; there were 16 commercials & trailers before the last movie I saw; audience applause after performances can last more than 10 minutes; there are too many pigeons; it either snows or rains; a slice of pizza is the size of a small child; Lady GaGa is bigger here than in the US; museums are free for students; there are 2 sales a year and this one unfortunately ends tomorrow; there was a guy on the metro yesterday who was wearing a mask and holding a fixed-blade knife; poop is not scooped; for the 1st time in my life I can’t sleep in because I’m worried I’ll miss out on something wonderful.
Today was a good day.
So, in honor of lightening the load, let me share some of these M.Obs…
Everything’s small, really small; the Champs Elysée has at least 7 cinemas; teenagers and their ipods are like fruit and loops; too many talented musicians live in the metro stations; the wife always listens to her husband; MacDo has the best and the cheapest cappuccinos in Paris; it takes a car approximately 6 minutes to get out of its miniature parking spot; too much bread; you have to buy movie tickets in advance on Sundays, otherwise the 500-seat theatre will sell out before you arrive; white wine & blueberry mix make a happy couple; black has always been and will always be the new black; students ignore classroom hierarchy; tea is too expensive; Paris is more international than Vancouver; it’s cheaper to drink your café at the bar than at a table; at times I have to wait in line to run in Parc Monceau; couples are either yelling or making out; PDA is more than tolerated; there were 16 commercials & trailers before the last movie I saw; audience applause after performances can last more than 10 minutes; there are too many pigeons; it either snows or rains; a slice of pizza is the size of a small child; Lady GaGa is bigger here than in the US; museums are free for students; there are 2 sales a year and this one unfortunately ends tomorrow; there was a guy on the metro yesterday who was wearing a mask and holding a fixed-blade knife; poop is not scooped; for the 1st time in my life I can’t sleep in because I’m worried I’ll miss out on something wonderful.
Today was a good day.
7.2.10
très funny.
I just came across the best cultural difference yet.
After spending a little over an hour researching running races in and around Paris, I found one that seemed perfect called Marathon de Cheverny in, well, Cheverny, France. (I have yet to run a full marathon so the length of the race was not the ‘perfect’ part). It begins and ends at the Cheverny castle and along the way one runs through alternating countryside and forest. Like all running races la Marathon offers their runners entertainment and stops along the way. Unlike the races I’ve run, however, not all of these ‘drinking’ stations are in fact ‘drinking’ stations, but wine and cheese stops! I can’t think of anything I’d want less at that 38km mark than goat cheese and Cheverny wine.
As much as I love French food, I think I'll pass.
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