attaque surprise

I’ve been almost exclusively listening to Vive la Fête lately. I came across a song that conveys my sentiment at the moment. Of course, it’s about a dude.

This one goes out to you, Lionel…

Attaque Surprise (listen here)

Mais qu’est ce que tu fais (But what are you doing?)
Tu es malade, tu es malade (you’re sick, you’re sick)

Je n’ai jamais pensé de voir quelqu’un comme toi (I never thought I’d see someone like you)
Ne me laisse pas tranquille (don’t leave me alone)
Ne dis pas au revoir (don’t say goodbye)
Ne dis pas au revoir (don’t say goodbye)

Je n’ai jamais pensé de voir quelqu’un comme toi (I never thought I’d see someone like you)

Dis moi pourquoi, dis moi pourquoi, dis moi pourquoi (tell me why, tell me why, tell me why)
Ne me laisse pas tranquille (don’t leave me alone)
Ne dis pas au revoir (don’t say goodbye)
Je n’ai jamais pensé de voir quelqu’un comme toi (I never thought I’d see someone like you)

Tu es joli tu es ma vie (you are pretty, you are my life)
Un peu salaud, c’est comme tu veux (you’re a bit of a bastard, it’s how you like)
Pour un plaisir, mille douleurs (for a pleasure, a ton of pain)
Je veux chanter dans ton ??? (I want to sing in your <word unknown>)

L’hiver qui vient

One thing I’ve learned about myself since moving to France is that I’m not a winter person. It has snowed 4 times, and each time the frogs tell me “this is so unusual! it’s going to start warming up after this”. Liars. I don’t trust them anymore.

I spent Christmas with my Muslim housemate, a bottle of champagne and a deck of cards

I’ve also learned that spare time is great, but too much spare time can put me into a little depression. I started going to a language school a few weeks ago and it has really changed the way I experience this city. It’s nice to feel like I have a purpose. I chose the school at which my Mexican friend, Emyl, learned all of the French he knows. It’s not the best school out there, and they certainly don’t utilize the best teaching methods, but I have a great teacher who makes the time fly.

The French have a different pastry for every occasion

How do you tell someone that they are ignorant, boring, and they have bad breath without hurting their feelings? I still haven’t learned that lesson, but once I figure it out, I’ll finally return Aldo’s calls. He’s this dude I met months ago at a cafe. We sort of had a thing going on, despite all of the aforementioned qualities, because… well… he doesn’t speak English and my French was rapidly improving. I thought I could introduce him to logical ways of thinking. I thought I could motivate him to do something other than watch TV. I thought I could help him think through his irrational judgments. I thought I could teach him that lying is pointless and disrespectful. But I was wrong and I happily left him to waste away in front of his TV. I feel like he should know how lame he is but I also have no interest in hurting him.

It has it's charm

Mom will be in town for the next couple of weeks. Then Vistara, then Andy Oleson. Sheyda and Albina keep reassuring me that they are coming too and a number of other people “plan to go to Europe” sometime in the near future. I’m looking forward to a little slice of California during these dead winter months.

cool frenchie

Hey friends… I know I haven’t updated this thing in forever. The truth is, I haven’t felt very good since moving to France. It’s hard, I don’t have very many friends, I’m shy, I’m constantly asking myself, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?!” And I haven’t felt like detailing my struggle in this blog.

So here’s a typical day: It was the evening of Thursday, 29 January. I was walking around the beautiful, yet filthy streets of Paris, lamenting my decision to leave all of my cool friends in California. I was thinking about how I only seem to attract stupid men, with whom I have nothing in common, or Algerian/Tunisian immigrants, with whom I have nothing in common. And I was thinking about all of the ways in which I need to change myself to attract the type of people I admire. Need to be more outgoing, read more, lose some weight, start appreciating art, learn to meditate (and enjoy it), learn to play my ukulele really well, start making cool artsy things like comic books, etc. etc. etc. After a good long walk, I settled into a cafe to study a bit of French, comme d’habitude. The large, much older man sitting next to me asked if I was a French teacher. Non, I explained, j’essaye d’apprendre le français. He offered to “help me,” you know, over a drink sometime. Could he have my number? Sure. I didn’t want to be rude.

I left the cafe with my feelings about Paris confirmed.

I walked from the Canal St. Martin, where Christina and I used to live, to Gare du Nord where I would take the RER D back home. The problem was, it was the day of transportation workers strike. Most trains weren’t running, but there was minimal service on some lines. As I waited for my train I tried to make sense of the announcements that were apparently explaining that RER D is running between Gare du Nord and Chatlet. But to go further south, I need to take the metro to Gare de Lyon.

I got off the RER at Chatlet, as instructed, and walked towards my connecting line (14). A young guy walking beside me asked “Êtes-vous de Paris?” I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly, so I hesitantly said “Non”. I asked how he could tell I wasn’t from Paris. He said it was the color in my face. Parisians don’t see the sun much.

He’s from the south of France and was in Paris to take some kids camping. He seemed chill, adventurous, friendly, intelligent, skilled, and a bit alternative. Just like my cool California friends.

We walked together until we reached the RER at Gare de Lyon. I located my train and noticed it was about to leave. I quickly thanked him for helping me and said goodbye before running off. I didn’t ask his name, number, anything. I was too busy thinking about how I would get home. I instantly regretted my decision the moment I left.

I thought about how I gave my number the man in the cafe when I had no intention of ever seeing him again, but I didn’t even ask for this guy’s name. Stupid mistake.

La Vie Maisons-Alfort

Nuit Blanch Acrobat

Chez Moi

I can’t imagine a better home for someone in my situation. I’m living with 5 other people of different ages and a cat named Skittles. Lisa is the owner of the house. She is an eccentric lady with a lot of energy. She is a retired teacher/counselor of deaf children and has traveled all over the world. Lisa’s daughter, Solene, is 19 and just started university. I don’t know her well, but she seems like a typical Parisian girl. Likes fashion, cigarettes, and weight-loss diets that consist only of cheese. Her boyfriend, Remy, lives with us. I think I have seen him twice since I’ve moved in. He studies computer science and spends many hours at school. He doesn’t like to talk in English and well, my French is terrible, so we haven’t said much to each other. Antoine is 27 and also in the computer science field. I haven’t seen much of him in the week I’ve been living here, but Lisa tells me his job/program/whatever it is ends soon. He seems very nice and reasonable. And then there is Sameer. He came from Algeria only about a month or so ago. Lisa complains of his temper, attitude, and the number of lamps he has broken since he’s been here. I haven’t seen these sides of him yet so I’ll withhold my judgment. Oh, Skittles is a wild cat from Corsica. He likes fingers, string, and climbing into my bed after being outside in the rain.

Grapes and kiwis in the garden

Lisa picking figs

the fig before jam

Besides Lisa, the best part about living here is the garden. We have two fig trees with the most incredible tasting figs in existence. We have a green grape vine, a red grape vine, a raspberry bush, and kiwis. There are a few drawbacks, though. Nearly everyone smokes, and for someone who has never lived in a smoker house before, this is difficult to get used to.Some things aren’t as clean as I would like and I feel like cleaning or organizing anything would translate as an insult to Lisa. This brings me to the third complaint. Anytime you live with the landlord, the house can never really feel like your home. The house represents that person, their taste, and their method of doing things. Systems are already in place and it’s difficult to change things that aren’t working. My only other complaint is that the house is not so conveniently located. It is close to the train station that brings you to Paris, but the trains stop at 1am and costs 2.20 each way. The suburb isn’t very pretty so I don’t get much enjoyment from taking walks. In Paris, you can walk in any direction and find something interesting. Not the case in Maisons-Alfort.

Aliens in Paris, (actually Paris Nuit Blanch)

One attraction at the annual art/culture festival in Paris

But I can’t complain too much. For only 500E I get a nice, furnished room with a view of the garden. This includes all utilities, cleaning supplies, 5 friends, and daily french lessons. On top of that, I don’t have to clean anything other than my own dishes because Lisa is willing and has the time.

Nuit Blanch

I was hesitent to live with an older person because I can rarely connect with people outside of my age group. Lisa has exceeded my expectations. She is quite open and child-like in many ways. I think she is happy to have someone around with just as much spare time. The other day, she was introducing new vocabulary to me while we were gardening. On creuse un trou pour planter la fleur. Ensuite, on l’arrose avec de l’eau. And today’s set of vocabulary is about making fig jam. Nous avons ceuilli les figues. On a utilise l’escabot pour grimper dans la figier.

Nuit blanch attraction, image of the tower in daylight projected onto the tower at night

So far things are going alright, however, I feel a bit useless without any responsibilities or commitments.  And when I feel useless, my mood slips toward depression. I have been looking into volunteer positions or another online job but to no avail. I guess I need to be a little more self-motivated, adventurous, or inventive.

More pictures

A gothic cathedral decorated with art for nuit blanch

Piano Man, Nuit Blanch

Stack of chairs, Nuit Blanch

One month and 3 stitches later…

9 euro stitches

the feel-better meal after receiving stitches

Things haven’t gone so smoothly this week. I clumsily fell on some stairs at Metro Louis Blanc at about 10pm last Tuesday. My face was bleeding quite a bit and Christina thought the gash was deep enough to require stitches. We rushed to the nearest hospital and within an hour, I was stitched up and released. Amazing! I was told to return in two days for a check up and then 8 days to remove the stitched. How much do you think this would have cost someone in the states? Hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars for an emergency room visit, 3 stitched, and two appointments? 9 Euros. I asked, “C’est tout?” She replied (in french), “You only had stiches, right? That’s all.” I almost told her to keep the change when I handed her a 10. On top of that, I never had to make an appointment. I just showed up and they took care of me immediately. No waiting! Simply unbelievable.

weird store in montmartre

Last Monday we received a letter from the landlord informing us of some contruction needing to take place in the bathroom. Our shower has been leaking on the tenents below. The letter states that the construction will only take two days and that we must be home to let in the workers. So we gave up on our original plan to hitchhike to the ocean and stayed home. Well, it has been 1 week and the shower isn’t even close to completion. Besides not showering for a week, we’ve had to cancel our plans and stick around every day to let in the workers. So annoying!

vintage italian beads from weird store

I don’t mind going a few days without a shower, but I feel totally uncomfortable once my hair becomes greasy. Well, I passed the greasy stage long ago and now I think I’m forming dreadlocks. We were nearing the end of our stay in the apartment and desperately wanted to shower before leaving. In our desperation, we decided to ask the neighbors by slipping the following note under their doors:

more weirdness

“Hello– We are two women staying on the second floor.  Our shower has been under construction since Wednesday, the 25th.  The management told us the construction would only take 2 days, but it is not even close to completion after 6 days. Needless to say, we would desperately like to shower. We would be greatly appreciative if anyone could offer us the use of their shower on Monday, the 29th. Please call us anytime (09.50.43.00.00) or ring the doorbell (second floor, middle apartment). Thank you so much in advance. Expect infinite friendship and very bad French.”

Trees decorated with colored plastic at the canal

We didn’t receive any offers.

So we visited a pool at the recommendation of one of the guys who normally live in the apartment. Closed. The next step was to see if one of the nearby Turkish baths would let us take a shower for a couple of Euros. They wanted 13-30 per shower. We felt that was too much.

dancing on the street

our apartment

And this ends our month together in Paris. Christina helped me move to my new home in a suberb called Maison-Alfort. We returned to the apartment to pick up Christina’s belongings before taking her to the train station. Overall, it has been a very pleasant month. I’m fond of the location of the apartment, even though I’m told it’s supposed to be in a poor neighborhood. It feels real. Real people live there and it seems hidden from tourists. We were conveniently situated between the canals and the Metros, around the corner from the algerian bakery, and right by the asian market. It has been nice.

we think we're really funny

on our way to get some falafel, i stopped for a pic of notre dame

ouch

I wonder how France treats the uninsured tourists.

Jardin du Luxembourg

At this point, Christina and I can consider ourselves second-phase tourists. We’ve hit all of the major tourist spots and consumed nothing but baguettes, vin, fromages, and expresso for weeks. And now that we feel comfortable in our new city, it’s time to start the criminal activity.

Marché aux Puces

Hopping the metro… At 1.60 euros per ticket, you can really burn through money riding the metro all of the time. It’s tempting for us since we are only a few meters from the Stalingrad station and only a 10 minute walk from two of the major train/metro stations, Gare du Nord and Gare de l’est. You can almost always find an open door in Gare du Nord. We also quickly discovered the technique of waiting for big crowds and passing through the handicap exits. It became clear to us after our last metro hopping effort that it’s only worth the risk on the fast trains that take you to the airports and suburbs since tend to cost way more than you can justify paying.

Métro Cité

Drugs… It tooks me a week to muster the courage to start asking people on the street how one can obtain some “shit” (pronounced “sheet”). And Christina was absolutely no help to me either, even though this project was her idea! It only took one failed attempt before I found a sympathetic young man who just gave us enough for a couple joints. So Christina bummed a cigarette, we rolled our joint and walked down to the canal. Christina’s courage surfaces when she’s high, so she decided we should join a group of people on the canal. They were exceptionally friendly and one even know a reliable seller of shitty weed. We’re still waiting for his call.

The Seine

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

Who is on his shirt?

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

Two weeks in Paris: Un jour sans pain, c’est un jour sans soleil.

3 September 2008, First day in France, Bethany and Christina

When you recount the story of your life to your grandchildren someday, wouldn’t be nice to say you lived in France for a year when you were in your 20’s? Isn’t that what you do when you’re in your 20’s? I thought so too. So two weeks ago and after about four months of planning, I moved to Paris.

Lisa invited me to see the Château with her and her parents

I’ve had to explain my situation many times since I began this process. I had a full-time salaried job with an internet company based out of Sausilito, CA. I was told I could work from anywhere in the world with an internet connection. Facing the end of the road in my comfortable student co-op, I felt I needed a big change. I was beginning to realize that I could never move forward with my life without improving my French. A future in my chosen field requires fluency, and despite 3 years of French in University, my language skills are sadly underdeveloped. I also wanted a change of scenery as my country falls into disrepair. Moving to France seemed like the only way to position myself for a successful and fulfilling future. In June, my company informed me that our website isn’t garnering the amount of traffic that was expected at this point and I would have my job until the end of September. In July, they informed me that I was to work (very) part-time starting in August. At least that gives me more time to… enjoy myself, I guess.

Château de Versailles

Christina, my fellow co-oper and a European native, convinced me to live with her in Paris for the month in between her internship and the start of school. I didn’t realize she could easily find us an apartment to sublet through her European student network, and before I had even purchased my plane ticket, the apartment was secured. Three months later I stepped onto French soil.

Some highlights from the past two weeks include…

Notre Dame

The Château de Versailles, or the Palace of Versailles. It is an astonishing display of baroque architecture and royal oppulance. The Château was initially built by Louis XIII as small hunting lodge in 1624 and transformed by his son, Louis XIV, into an elaborate and ornate palace. It has become a symbol of  the excessive spending and lavish lifestyles that gave rise to the French revolution. Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette, were at the palace when the angry mobs came marching. And it was in this palace that the treaty ending WWI was signed.

A few dead people in the Catacombs of Paris

We’ve had many guests since I’ve arrived. Christina’s sister stayed with us for the week, and our mutual (German) friend from the co-op, Christoph, came for several days. It was his first time in France! Christina thought it would be fun to invite three of her friends from Germany to stay the same week.  Much like their invasion of France in 1940, six Germans occupied the two-bedroom Parisian apartment for four days. I was outnumbered, but I didn’t surrender. After three of  the  Germans retreated, Christina launched a sneak attack by inviting her boyfriend for the weekend. I forbid any more visitors after the last German hit the road.

Guys performing soccer tricks below the Eiffle Tower

I’ve seen all of the major tourist sites. The Eiffle tower, Notre Dame, the Catacombs, Louvre, Montmartre, the Arc de Triomph. While Christina has been preoccupied with a personal crisis, forcing her to choose between love and stability or excitement and exploration, I’ve been wandering through the arrondissements, scouring the internet for housing listings, mapping health food stores and vegetarian restaurants, obtaining my carte de sejour and opening a bank account.  We have been spending more and more time together as Christina’s life settles, which includes an hour long effort to get Christina out of bed each afternoon. But each day, once we hit the glorious streets of Paris, we have to hurry to our destination before it closes or becomes too dark to enjoy. If you know Christina, you know that it’s impossible to be bored when she’s around. Silence is almost next to impossible too. I’m thankful I’m not completely alone my first month in Paris and that she is around to help me establish myself in the city.