Anyway, I'm back in Paris after a very adventurous Christmas vacation. I went to London for Christmas with Matt's family, which was absolutely amazing in spite of my travel difficulties (my flight to London got cancelled, I couldn't get another one so I took a 10 hour bus ride instead, then my taxi was late getting to the airport in London so I missed my flight out of London, stayed for an extra day, and only then made it to the Alps). After London, I stayed for a week in Val d'Isere, a gorgeous ski resort in the French Alps. I skied two days. The first one was an absolute disaster, possibly because the dad took me down a red slope as my first run of the day after I hadn't skied in 3 years. But the second day I stuck to the blues and cruised along quite nicely. By the way, I have discovered where you can find the nicest people in France. They all live in the Alps, and often work in fromageries that sell farm fresh, handmade cheeses. Val d'Isere was totally gorgeous, and I really enjoyed myself. I ate some pretty divine things there, too. Let's start with the beaufort and rebouchon cheeses that are made in the area. So. Good. I bought a pretty serious block of beaufort to bring back to Paris with me, and I've been snacking on it a tiny bit at a time so I don't run out any time soon. And then there's the croute. Apparently in the Alps, everything is basically a variation on warm bread and cheese. The croute is like the best croque-monsieur you ever had in your life, smothered in cheese and baked in a small casserole dish. Oh, and did I mention that the bread is soaked in white wine first? Never have I ever eaten anything that so deserved the term "hearty."
Speaking of food, I have found a way to justify breaking my diet. I just tell myself I have to try something because it's a cultural experience, and then I can eat all sorts of things. One of these things that I've justified to myself is the perrenniel French favorite, the gallette du roi. This pastry is a traditional new year's treat, and always has a little tiny toy hidden inside. It's basically a really light, buttery, delicious pastry filled with almond paste. It's too good to be allowed.
In other news, my new year's resolution is to get out more (that means watch less internet t.v. and play less farmville). To that end, Kay and I went to the Pompidou last Sunday and saw a great exhibit of disgruntled female artists. It wasn't like anything I'd seen there before, which was cool. I really liked how so many of them used light installations in their paintings and sculptures. Totally interesting and totally worth standing in line to get in for free on the first Sunday of the month. Then today, Taryn and I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle. What they don't tell you about the Conciergerie is that it's actually scary. They have Revolutionary-era prison cells with creepy fake men inside, and then there's a room with plaques all along the walls listing every person killed during the Terror. Interestingly enough, they list Louis XVI as Louis Capet, last king of France. It's really kind of a bummer for everyone who invested so much in the Revolution that his brother ended up back on the throne a mere twenty years later. Sainte-Chapelle is gorgeous, but I would recommend budgeting time for it given that you have to wait in line to go through security that might be more rigorous than what you find in the airport because to get to the church you have to go onto the property of the Palais de Justice, which is where the Supreme Court of France resides. The thing about Sainte-Chapelle is that the entrance to the church is actually the worst set-up I've ever seen for access to a tourist attraction. Good thing it's gorgeous inside, because it's also not heated. Indeed, I would say it was a good 5 degrees colder inside the church than it was outside. Regardless, the detailed painting on the walls and the intricate stained glass windows (that date back to the 13th century!) were definitely worth the visit.
I have decided to try to get to know every arrondissement in Paris. There are 20, so this may take a while. I am starting with the first, which is why I went to the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chappelle. I will keep you updated if I find anything interesting. I'm sure I will, has anyone else realized that this city is freaking enormous?
11 January, 2010
09 December, 2009
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 se
e 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!
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 se
e 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!"
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!"
03 December, 2009
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!
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!
21 November, 2009
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!
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!
18 November, 2009
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?
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?
11 November, 2009
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!
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!
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