French Customs and French customs

So, French customs. And I don't mean the cultural kind. I got a phone call the other day from a woman speaking very rapid French (which is so difficult to understand, especially over the phone) telling me that I have to pay import taxes on a box of old ski clothes my parents shipped to me from the U.S. I'm sorry, you want me to what? I realize this is a basically socialist country that tries to charge taxes on everything, literally everything, but these are just some old clothes, here. You want me to pay 33% taxes to ship clothes to myself that I have owned for over five years? This just seems downright silly. So I emailed a man in the customs office and explained my predicament. He was really nice at first, until I started asking why I have to pay such high taxes. That's when he stopped responding. But what have we already learned about French bureaucracy, boys and girls? That's right. When you don't get what you want, bombard them with emails and phone calls and make yourself so irritating they do what you want just to get rid of you. So here's hoping this works again.

On another note, I need you to know that in the winter, in Paris, erroneous denim is replaced by erroneous fur. Instead of jurses and j-jackets and jarfs and jhats and joots, we are now seeing furses, fackets, farfs, fhats and foots. I think the fur boots might be my faves. These aren't the "boots with the fur," as popularized by Flo Rida, of the type that you might see on a jersey girl or in the apres-ski form. No no. These are something much more sinister:

I really hope you enjoy these foots as much as I do. I think they're truly a beautiful thing.

Last but certainly not least, today Taryn and I ventured into the unknown: Chinatown Paris (Chinatown actually encompasses Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese and Thai communities, but I guess people everywhere have a tendency to lump a bunch of entirely different cultures together for the sake of simplicity)! You see, I have this problem in French grocery stores where I can't ever find what I'm looking for. They don't carry very basic things that are available in every American grocery. Whenever I ask Victoria about these things, she says, "you can find that in Chinatown." Even if it's not Chinese or Southeast Asian at all (this has included everything from soymilk to Greek yoghurt to oregano and basil). I've been planning on cooking a delicious feast for tomorrow night, and I couldn't find half of my ingredients in the supermarkets in my neighborhood! Simple things like celery, snap peas and fresh herbs. I was also looking for saffron that didn't cost 12 euros. (At Monoprix, this is what they charge for a TINY amount of saffron. Piracy, people, piracy). So, in lieu of our bi-weekly powerwalk, Taryn and I went to Chinatown. It was awesome. It's one of the only places in this whole city where I've found food that I actually consider inexpensive. Pad Thai in Chinatown = 6 euros. Pad Thai anywhere else = 12 euros. The only thing is that it's in the 13th arrondissement, which is kind of far from me. But the fact that I returned home laden with shopping bags and fresh flowers and didn't even spend 20 euros totally makes the trek worth it.

Upcoming events: Matt comes in town tomorrow, I leave for London December 22, and I head down to Val d'Isere for some Alpine skiing December 26. Hooray for the holidays!

French people: love them or hate them? Sources say, love (mostly).

There is something you all should know. I have an arch-enemy here in France. She's a very small middle-aged who I have seen wear animal prints and florals. Together. In public. On purpose. But this isn't my (only) problem with her. I don't know her name, but I would recognize her piercing voice anywhere. Every time I see her, she smiles, but there is evil in her eyes. She is my neighbor and she NEVER. STOPS. COMPLAINING. The other women on the floor hate her. I personally have been known to cross the street when I see her coming so she can't talk to (complain at) me. When was having my Thanksgiving feast, she banged on the wall to tell us to be quiet. At around 10 pm. She was not trying to sleep. I know this because I had literally just heard her walk in the door. Rude. The next day, she cornered me in the hallway, shook her finger in my face, and yelled at me (in French, so I don't know if I caught all the mean names she was calling me) that I didn't have the right to throw huge loud parties till 1:30 am. For the record, I had 5 people over and everyone left well before midnight. I'm not exactly a difficult person to live next door to. I told Victoria and Najet about it, and they both said everyone in the building knows she's crazy and not to pay attention to her. Victoria laughed at me and told me to try not to get too far on her bad side, though, because she might beat me up. I told Victoria it's fine, I can take her.

In the defense of French people everywhere, though, I have to say that I've encountered a great number of very nice ones. They say that the French are very cold and rude and that their national pastime is complaining, and that can be true to a certain extent. But they can also be unexpectedly and unnecessarily kind and helpful. The other night, it was raining and freezing and I was standing at the bus stop at around 10:30 pm where I had been waiting for forever, and out of nowhere this lovely old French lady stops, pulls out her iphone, looks up the bus schedule on ratp.com, tells me my bus will arrive in 8 minutes, and goes on her way. Love her. And the other day I was talking to a nice old French man about his recent visit to New York, and he spread his arms wide and said "I love your country!" It was so cute. That's not really a sentiment you get a whole lot around here, so I spread my arms wide and said, "I love your country, too!"

An American Thanksgiving in Paris

I feel that everyone should know the success of this American girl's Thanksgiving in Paris. We had to do it a day early because Taryn and I both babysat on Thursday night, but it was actually nice because I literally have nothing to do during the day on Wednesday, so Victoria and I cooked a bunch of stuff. I made probably 6 batches of chocolate chip cookies for the kids, then a few American classics for my Thanksgiving feast. These included green beans baked with bacon, butter and brown sugar and a sweet potato casserole that also contained a lot of butter and brown sugar and also had marshmallows on top. The mom and Victoria thought this was very bizarre. One of them said something along the lines of, "you Americans, you put such weird things in your food." Like the French can talk about weird things in food. I once had a soup here that contained both foie gras and frog legs. Not that it wasn't delicious, but don't give me a hard time about putting weird stuff in MY food. Anyway, because turkey is surprisingly hard to come by around here, I bought a roast chicken and I also roasted some potatoes. Taryn told me she knows I'm a Southern girl because I overprepare food when I have company. Taryn, Nicola and Kate came over brought wine, stuffing, cranberry bread pudding and pumpkin pie. It was a pretty epic feast, and I even got to have leftovers the next day. Nicola is an Aussie and she had never experienced the wonder that is Thanksgiving. We had to explain to her how important it is to wear expandable clothing because it is the one day a year when it is entirely acceptable to overeat. Indeed, it is expected of you.

Big news of the week: I now have both the INTERNET and a TELEPHONE in my room. That's right, kids, this girl right here is the lucky owner of modern technology. Thank goodness. Now I can do important things like work on job applications. And, you know, blog. Also, my room is basically a winter wonderland. I bought Christmas lights and an apple and cinnamon candle and I'm currently listening to Handel's Messiah, no joke. I'm pretty much a Christmas elf. I considered buying this headband that I saw that had a Santa hat perched on top, but I chose not to for several reasons:

1. My mother has been known on occaison to don a headband with antlers and bells, and I'm just not ready to be that much like her... yet.

2. Who would I wear it in front of? The family? My friends? In public? Or, pathetically, by myself as I dance / frolic around my room to such Christmas classics as Pink Martini's rendition of Little Drummer Boy.

3. It was something absurd like 12 euros, which would buy me a very small (VERY small) Christmas tree or a nice potted plant. I think the latter choices would be a nicer waste of the little bit of money that I have.

Here's something weird those of you in the U.S. might not know. You know how we're totally horrified if people start playing Christmas music / decorating for Christmas / thinking about Christmas AT ALL before Thanksgiving? And how if it happens before Halloween we go into anaphalactic shock and possibly hold the offender at gunpoint until they put their decorations away until the proper time, dammit? Well, here in France they don't celebrate Halloween or Thanksgiving, so I saw decorations going up as early as late October. I mean, clearly the major stuff didn't start to appear until late November, but it was all still very premature by American standards. Now everything is up, though, and tourist-heavy places like the Champs Elysees look lovely. It's nice. Also, over on this side of the Atlantic, they have major pre-Christmas sales. I find this strange, as in the U.S. we usually have the huge Black Friday sale and then not much till after Christmas. It is, however, convenient given all the people I am shopping for this year.

That's all I have for you this evening. I haven't had any good erroneous denim sightings recently, but I am going shopping tomorrow so here's hoping. Joyeux Noel!

Prostitutes AND shoulder pads? Bad week, clearly.

So it's a lovely Thursday morning in sunny Paris, France, and Taryn and I decide to go for a power walk in the Bois de Boulogne (yes, I realize we're old ladies, deal with it). On our way there, we pass this sort of sketchy looking van and in the front seat is a woman wearing a red pleather bustier. So we kind of giggle and talk about how you see all types in the Bois de Boulogne. Only then, we pass another van with a similar pleather-clad woman, and another. Suddenly, we realized that we were passing prostitute row. SO MUCH PLEATHER. Prostitute count for the day: 4. So this clearly led to speculation as to why they were out at 11 a.m. Is there simply good business during the day?

That was pretty much the big event of the week. Otherwise, I was a little sick and I babysat a lot. Obviously my first thought when I got sick was that I probably had swine flu. I decided this wasn't the case, though, when it turned out to just be a sore throat. I didn't even have a fever. So maybe I overreacted a little, whatever. Just to be sure, I laid in the bed all day yesterday and drank hot tea and whimpered (and played spider solitaire). I'm fine now. Don't worry.

I did have kind of an exciting morning today. I got the my family's apartment at around 11, and the mom told me she didn't actually have any plans till around 1:30, so I could go run errands if I needed to. I did some really thrilling things: window shopped at Promod and H&M, bought face cream at Sephora, decided I had been ripped off and then bought face cream at Monoprix instead, learned that a pimple in French is a "bouton," which is way cuter than "pimple," let's be serious, and came home to make tea. However, the best part about the morning was that while I was in H&M, I had what I think might be my best yet

ERRONEOUS DENIM SIGHTING OF THE WEEK:

A jhirt (or a j-jacket, I'm not sure which). With puffy sleeves. And shoulder pads. In an acid wash. With pleated elbow patches. And Sgt. Pepper-esque military-style buttons down the front. But really, shoulder pads. SHOULDER PADS. Oh. My. God. You're welcome.

Something great you should know about H&M: they have a tacky, overly-trendy, 80s-esque section. This makes my day every time I go in there.

And now, a list.

Really awesome (sometimes bad) fashions that I love:
Sheggings (for those of you who have been living under a rock for the last year and/or not reading this blog, sheggings are shiny leggings)
Gratuitous fake fur
The fact that the grunge look is totally back in style (this is so good for me!)
Clashing plaids that would embarrass 1992
Really really cheap Chanel knock-offs (bags, jackets, whatever)
Sequins
Gold lamé
Motorcycle boots and jackets
Ray-ban sunglasses
French girls who actually wear striped shirts and berets
Shoulder pads (so shoot me)

Things I hate:
My closet is slowly filling up with neutrals because that is all French women wear
Short hair is not cool here
Shoulder pads

In other news, French computer keyboards are surprisingly different from American ones. I've gotten so used to typing on the family's computer that it has taken me an absurdly long time to write this post on my own laptop. I keep hitting the wrong buttons. This is eternally frustrating. However, I just got my new internet box in the mail, so now I will have internet in my own room (and I will never leave said room again) and I won't have to awkwardly come down to their apartment whenever I need to check my email. Awesome. Also, now I will be able to skype with everyone! All the time! Get ready.

Until next time, je t'embrasse!

An American Girl in Paris... AND LONDON!

So after laying in the bed all last week, I finally decided to get myself up and do something. This something happened to be GOING TO LONDON FOR THE WEEKEND! I flew out on Friday morning and rolled into the Kilburn Park tube stop around 10:30. My friend Pat met me at the gate to the Drew apartments, looking wonderfully bleary-eyed, and we both went upstairs to go back to sleep. When Matt got home from his lecture (he was being productive that morning, look at him), we went and got some Thai food. Side note: Pad Thai is all I eat these days. I have literally eaten it twice a week at the very least for the past month. This is not a bad thing. Anyway, Matt and I had a lovely weekend - we nerded out at the coolest museum ever and also the coolest library ever, we ate Thai food TWICE, we met up with my very good friend Drew for a couple of pints and a burger and we went to the perennial favorite bar of all Drew London semester students, the Westbury. All in all, a very good weekend. Also, British strangers are generally much more polite than French strangers, and this makes me smile.

This week, however, I am back in Paris. The weather has been nice here, so I went for a run today. Given that it's been a little windy, I decided to wear spandex running tights. Warning: never wear spandex around jogging Frenchwomen. You will feel inferior. Even if you're a babe and in great shape. As a Frenchwoman herself once told me, they all have butts like 12-year-old boys. So now, a haiku:

Curse you, you French girls
With your perfect bottoms make
Me feel like a cow

And now, sightings of the week:

Erroneous denim - I must admit that I wore a j-jacket in public, on purpose. What made it worse was that I did not look trendy at all. I was also wearing sweatpants and an old camp t-shirt and Chuck Taylors. Not cute. But whatever, I needed to go to the grocery to get some snacks so I could keep laying in the bed playing spider solitaire.

Peeing Frenchman - Saw one today on my run. He was peeing in the bushes next to the running trail, which I guess would be fine except it was on the part of the running trail that also goes right next to a really really busy road. And he was walking, and then jogged to the busiest section before dropping his pants. I mean, what?

Jet-setting? Jet-lagging.

So, after a two and a half week stint in sunny Atlanta, GA, I am back in Paris. The good news is that I got my visa (don't worry, they didn't make it easy - I went to the Consulate no less than 3 times in 2 weeks, bringing me to a grand total of 5 French consulate visits in 3 months). The bad news is that, as usual, I got a little caught up in being home and all that it entails and left my packing to the very last minute. This means that I left behind lots of important things. So if anyone wants to send me my ski clothes, jewelry, sheggings (yes, I bought some), vitamins, hot rollers, and frizz-ease, I would be eternally grateful.

Being at home taught me some important life lessons:

1. It is not ok to spend all weekend in bed reading Twilight (it's actually a deceptively entertaining series, for real, even though it is just horrible). The reason that it's not ok is because people will mock you. So I guess I should say it is not ok to ADMIT that you spent all weekend in bed reading Twilight. Oops.

2. When dealing with French authorities who conveniently do not have answering systems on their phones, your best bet is to send belligerent emails that increase both in frequency and rudeness until someone responds. I think the trick here as that until you make yourself so irritating that no American (or Australian or Brit) would ever want to deal with you, the French will ignore you. Only when you venture far beyond the boundaries of common courtesy and decency will the French finally, grudgingly do what you ask.

Since I've been back, I've been deeply jet-lagged and therefore relatively useless. I've seen Taryn once, when she came over to my house, and Nicola twice, only at school. Otherwise I have literally lain in the bed, not bothering to change out of my pajamas, and read Daughter of Fortune and played spider solitaire. Today, however, I had to sit in my host family's house all day because they have workers here remodeling the bathrooms. This foiled my highly ambitious plan of going for a run, but whatever. I sat in tile dust all day and, once again, played spider solitaire and read a book. The real kicker here is that one of the workers just walked into the one functional bathroom in the apartment which happens to be right next to the sofa on which I have parked my butt and peed... with the door wide open. I'm sorry, but I seem to be encountering a trend of French men peeing right in front of me. Is this some bizarre voyeuristic thing I'm missing out on? I feel that I might need to drown my horror in some pasta.

Last but definitely not least, erroneous denim sighting of the week: Juitcase!!!!! No jokes here, saw this in Charles de Gaulle airport. I also saw some jneakers and a jarf in the airport and several pairs of joots in a vintage store in Atlanta, as well as sporting a jhirt myself, in public, on purpose. But all of these pale in comparison to the holy grail (or Grehl, if you will) of demin, the juitcase. My life is complete.

Stay tuned this weekend / next week for Elizabeth en France, London edition!

Party like a Frenchy French

So tonight Taryn, Kay and I went to a real French party in Stalingrad (not the town in Russia, silly, the metro stop). It was really nice, our host was lovely and we were served the kinds of snacks one might be served at a 6-year-old's birthday party (marshmallows, kinder eggs, Pringles, etc.) which was adorable and also delicious. We also tried really hard to only speak French to the people there. This worked most of the time, except when people spoke way too fast and I couldn't hear them over the music and I had to say "repète, s'il te plaît, un peu plus lentement" (say that again, please, a little more slowly) several times before I understood. My French is getting so good, though! Just a month ago a Tunisian man in a restaurant was making fun of my accent and grammar, and tonight people actually told me my French was great. How awesome is that? Also, apparently when you walk into a party in France and you don't know anyone, you're supposed to make your way around the room kissing everyone's cheeks to introduce yourself. We did not know this, so our entrance left quite a bit to be desired. Oh well. Next time.

But clearly before we went to the party, Taryn, Kay and I had to put together a classy gift for our host, American style. This obviously involved baking a layer cake for which we had to make a whipped cream (crème Chantilly) frosting with raspberries and strawberries. So fancy, it could have been in the window of a patisserie. Y'all, this cake was SUCH a saga. We had to pool ingredients from all of our houses as well as make two trips to the grocery store to get everything together, then we had to take the cake on the metro from my house to Kay's and then from Kay's to the party. Obviously while Kay carried the cake, I threw some bows at anyone who got too near it (really I just walked ahead of her abrasively yelling "Ben pardon! On a un gâteau!"). Luckily, we made it to the party with the cake and it was delicious and everyone was impressed.

However, the adventure truly began when Taryn and I left the party at about 12:45 to catch the metro home before it closed. I don't know if you know this, but French people get real rowdy on Saturday nights. I saw so many things that were totally chélou (sketchy). For instance, my Puritanical American sensibilities were totally offended by the guy on the escalator in front of me sprinting to the wall, dropping his pants COMPLETELY (like, I saw everything) and peeing on the floor. Now, I've become accustomed to more nudity than is normal in the U.S. here, but it's usually in the form of sunbathing old ladies and weird ads in magazines. I just wasn't ready for it to be sprung on me like that, out of nowhere, without warning. I spent the rest of my metro ride shuddering and rubbing my hands with purell just so I could someday feel clean again.

In other news, Matt came to visit this week! We had a lovely time wandering around Paris when it was sunny and sitting in cafes and consuming far too many pastries every morning. I won't lie, it was possibly my best week here so far. We discovered something so sinfully, absurdly, disgustingly delicious I can't even think about any other kind of food anymore. So when people come visit me, you have to try either a croissant amande or a pain au chocolat amande. These are not just normal pastries. No, they are far more decadent and marvelous given that they not only contain more butter than their normal pastry counterparts, they also contain almond paste and are covered in sliced almonds and powdered sugar. Heaven, I tell you.

I have also discovered than French people DO have a sense of humor. It was hard to find, but it's there. Mostly they're into plays on words (jeux de mots) and light sarcasm, as well as passing judgment on each other. This is very reassuring, as I was coming to the conclusion for a while that the French just aren't funny. I'm glad they are at least a little. It makes them more human even though they're still taller, thinner, cooler and more stylish than any normal person could ever be. I guess if you're all those things, you don't really need to be super funny.

Last but not least, Kay has introduced Taryn and me to a fun new pastime near Gare du Montparnasse: salsa dancing!!! I'm truly atrocious at it, but hopefully I can go take a class next week and pretty soon I'lll be a pro. Between that, power walking with Taryn and possibly taking up yoga, maybe France and all of her croissants amandes won't make me morbidly obese after all. Anyway, this is, as they say, all the news that's fit to print. Hope everyone is well. Gros bisous!

Things I love and things I hate

I have discovered that people in Paris have this awful problem called giving incorrect directions. Since I get lost a lot in my neighborhood, I'm pretty much always asking people where a certain street is or where a certain building is. Today, for instance, I had to go to the Mairie to get passport sized photos taken for my student id and metro pass. I got to the cross street where it was supposed to be and then asked a nice-looking lady for directions. She literally pointed me in the absolute opposite direction from where the building ended up being. So rude. So I walked about 10 minutes in the wrong direction, realized she had lied to me, and turned around. Awesome.

I'm also discovering things I love and hate about Paris. I love the cobblestone streets and the fact that I can see the top of the Eiffel Tower from my bus stop. I love the way French women dress. I love that some people are so kind to you when you speak French to them because they appreciate your effort. I love how fast the metro is. I love Monoprix because you can buy everything from lotion to groceries to flats and sweaters there. I love that I can buy an actually decent bottle of wine for 1 euro. I love going to the boulangerie every day for baguettes and a croissant or pain au chocolat. I love that museums are free the first Sunday of the month. However, I hate that sometimes people pretend not to understand you when you have a foreign accent (I mean, come on, I speak slowly and enunciate). I hate that dogs and people pee on the sidewalk and so you get whiffs of stale urine when you walk down the street. I hate getting lost and feeling like I will never belong because I will never be French.

Overall though, the loves definitely outweigh the hates. I've got to say, this is a really cool city. I'm becoming familiar with certain neighborhoods like the one around the kids' school, the Marais, the one around my school, and parts of my own neighborhood. I'm starting to get along better with the kids. I've met students, au pairs and English tutors, most of who are truly lovely (like Taryn!) and who I hope to be friends with for my whole year here and beyond. So basically, things are really good and getting better. Love to everyone at home, and Cathy, get over here as soon as you possibly can!

P.S. I'm coming home to get my visa at the end of October for about two weeks, so if you'll be in Atlanta then let me know!

New Friends

Tuesday I was really early to pick the kids up from school, so I decided to wander around their neighborhood a bit. There's this lovely little park where the school is, and around it is this fantastic multicultural neighborhood. Part of it is classic French, but there's also a Chinese area and a Russian area with this GORGEOUS Russian Orthodox church. I found this little pedestrian street with a market and tons of cheap shoes. Very exciting.

I've also been walking around my school's neighborhood a lot. School is near the Montparnasse-Bienvenue metro stop, so it's a really cool area. The Jardin de Luxembourg is nearby, and there are lots of Italian restaurants and creperies. Love it!

Two nights ago I went out with some of my new friends from class. They are all here studying abroad with Davidson College, so it's a whole big group of students. We hung out down by the Seine near Notre Dame. There was this guy playing Johnny Cash songs on guitar and singing them with a STRONG French accent with this other guy beat boxing into a mike. Pretty bizarre, but entertaining nonetheless. We were out really late, so it was kind of a struggle to get home. I had to chill in their hostel until the metro reopened, so I clearly went home and slept pretty much all day. Last night I went out again, this time with Taryn and her roommate. We sat on the lawn at the Champ de Mars (basically right next to the Eiffel Tower) and drank some wine and were generally foolish. We met this Brazilian guy who became besties with Taryn's roommate pretty much immediately. Meanwhile Taryn and I giggled incessantly over the absurdities of people in our class, our professor, and the trendy men walking by wearing their japris.

On my way home, I made friends with some other students on the metro! Yes, yes, I know, I'm on a roll and becoming way too popular for my own good. I have 5 whole friends now. What's up. They seemed really nice though, very friendly. So now I have even more people to play with! I love this city!

I talked to Matt last night and he's hopefully going to come see me at the end of the month. I'm so excited! He's never been to Paris before so he's probably going to hate me because I'm going to make him see everything ever in about 3 days. I'm going to Versailles with the kids this Saturday to see the feu d'artifices (fireworks), so that should be really nice. Other than that, I'm free pretty much all weekend, so who knows what will happen! Love and kisses, hope everyone is doing well!

School

Oh man, so many things! Ok so first of all, I started school yesterday, and now I have friends! School isn't too bad. The class is kind of easy but my French grammar is pretty rusty so I think I'll stick it out. I learned a ton of new words today and used them all while I was talking to the kids, in between English practice. I don't think they were impressed. I've made a few friends in the class, especially this one girl, Taryn. She works with kids too, so we bonded over our many shared experiences with the families. Then we bought paninis and walked through the Jardin de Luxembourg. It was GORGEOUS out today, for real. So I might hang out with her and some other kids from class tonight which is awesome because now maybe I'll have a social life here in Paris rather than sitting in my tiny room and obsessively cleaning out of sheer boredom. Yes, I've been doing that. I also met a really nice au pair (from Melbourne, Cathy!) waiting for the kids after school. Maybe she'll be my friend too.

Day off

I went to the Louvre today! It was glorious. I got to nerd out over the 19th century French art and interior decoration that belonged to my two favorite French kings - Louis XVIII and Charles X (that's what I did my thesis research on... alas, I can't get enough of it), as well as checking out the romantic stuff by Delacroix (possibly my favorite painter at the moment). I also visited my other favorite painter, Vermeer. Unfortunately, The Lacemaker is on loan to another museum at the moment. I supposed I'll have to go back and see her next time. I won't bore my friends with my analysis of the neoclassical style of the king's rooms versus the free style of the romantic painters. Suffice it to say, I got pretty excited.

I also did a little shopping. When I first moved in, my room had this musty, unlived-in, old building smell because the last girl moved out over a month ago. So, I obviously stopped by l'Occitane de Provence and bought a lavender diffuser and sachet. Hopefully it will be a little nicer now. I also went to the open market for the first time. SO exciting! It was really noisy and crowded and there were people selling literally every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable, and stalls specializing in cheese, meat, fish, bread or pastries. I just browsed today, but I'm going to make a shopping list this week and go back for strawberries and brie, among many other things.

Just a note for my roommates: I saw so many joutfits today at the Louvre. I saw two men in very trendy joutfits, and then two little kids in matching joutfits. I also saw several man japris, one that was very nicely tailored with pleating at the knees. And Lara, I walked by Esprit and saw those really awesome jeggings you were telling us about. Sah good.

Also, I start school tomorrow. Wish me luck! Maybe I will make some friends and then I will have people to go out and play with and I will stop eating so well and running and being overall healthy and totally boring. No joke, I have lost visible weight my first week here, and I'm pretty sure it's because I have no friends to drink wine and eat greasy food with. It just seems too depressing to do those things by myself.

The beginning

Ok all, here's my "year in France" blog, as promised. I'm going to try to recount my week, but it's been like a dream (and sometimes a nightmare), so it might be a little disjointed. Here goes.

I arrived on Sunday at 6 a.m. and was picked up at the airport by a car sent by my French mom. It felt very posh - the driver stood in line with a little sign with my name on it. The mom let me in and helped me bring my things upstairs. I live on the top floor of the building. The whole building is very chic and fancy, and there's a whole separate entrance and living quarters for the staff. So basically, I live in the maid's apartment. It's really tiny, kind of like a dorm, but unlike in a dorm, I can have a hot plate and smoke the hookah inside. It's pretty funny, actually. When I graduated in May, I thought I would never, ever sleep in a twin bed again for the rest of my life. Now I am. Oh well. I like the room, though. The girl who lived there last year left behind framed pictures of Marilyn Monroe and the New York skyline as well as huge bouquets of dried flowers and some candles, so it's already pretty homey in there. And my view is INCREDIBLE. I mean, truly spectacular. I can see la Defense (the commercial downtown area with skyscrapers that the little girl refers to as "New York") and the carousel near the Eiffel Tower from my window. I think if I climbed onto the roof, I could see the Eiffel Tower, too. I can see the top of it from my bus stop. Pretty sweet.

So later that day we went to lunch and then to the carnival in the Bois de Boulogne (we're a ten minute walk from the Bois de Boulogne, no joke). There's a great running route in the park around the lake, actually. I tried to go for a run this week, but it turned out to be a bit of a problem. You see, I got all the way to the lake (Lac Inferieur - this is silly because it's actually quite a bit bigger than Lac Superieur) and it started to pour. Like, immediately drenching, hurricane winds, Florida during late summer kind of rain. Nasty. And also I had to pee. Bad news, so much for my run. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.

Basically the extent of my week has been getting lost on the metro and bus (especially when I had to go into the suburbs to pick the kids up from their grandparents'), chasing around the children, and falling into bed completely exhausted by about 10 p.m. Tonight, however, I'm babysitting so the mom and the dad can go out. This means I am hanging out in their apartment watching movies and cooking something absurd, like veal. Speaking of which, I was in the kitchen with their femme de menage (housekeeper / cook / maid / literally everything), Victoria, while she was fixing lunch today. She usually makes some kind of meat and then a vegetable puree for the little boy because he won't eat his veggies any other way. I guess I can't blame him. After all, he is only 3. Usually, when she makes lunch, she fixes something for me too. Today, she put the meat on the plate and told me there were potatoes au gratin and salad in the fridge. I bit into the meat and was like, ok it looks like pork and it tastes like pork, but they don't eat pork, so what could it be? And Victoria tells me it's veal. Veal. Like, no big deal, I'll just fry up some VEAL for this toddler to eat for lunch, nothing special.

I'm realizing that this is really long already, so I'm going to leave it here for now. I hope everyone is doing good, and anyone who is reading this should know that I miss you and love you! Gros bisous!