Things in Paris I could do without...

After being here awhile, the excitement of a new, foreign place fades and with it goes the illusion of perfection.  Paris is an amazing city, one I would much prefer living in than Dallas, and one I plan on returning to many times in my future.  I love the people, the culture, the language, the food, and the rhythm of day to day life here.  Paris is, in my opinion (keep your panties on, it's JUST MY OPINION EVERYONE, and hello, I'm the queen of hyperbole), pretty much the best place ever created in the history of the universe.

But that's not to say that there aren't things that TOTALLY FUCKING BLOW about this city.  Let's go over some of them, shall we?

• The mosquitoes.  Listen, I don't really know if everyone in Paris has a problem with these insect monsters, or if I'm just extremely delicious or something (that's probably the case, let's be real here).  But I live in TEXAS and I feel like we have a pretty decent strain of mosquito genetics - I mean, c'mon, it's mothereffing TEXAS.  But no.  These blood-thirsty demons in Paris are INSANE.  The night before last, I was bitten THIRTY-ONE TIMES in the span of a few hours, IN MY BEDROOM.  I have a kind of weird reaction to mosquito bites (IDK why, it's happened since I was little), and the bites always swell up gigantically (think a one inch diameter, on average) and are very hard to the touch.  So, imagine 31 of those, all over my body.  Including a few on my face.  Several on my hands.  Why would they be on these weird places? Oh, because I was wearing PANTS AND A SWEATSHIRT.  So the 31 mosquito bites are in the places they could get to in that outfit.  And get this, there were only TWO MOSQUITOS in my room.  The next night I plugged in two repellants and the psycho bugs were still showing up for dinner.  I basically lost my shit and went on a really insane rampage wherein I was hitting walls, slapping my hands together, standing on the bathroom sink, and prowling around my room for a few hours to kill every. single. one.
• The smell.  This city is big.  It's home to over eleven million people.  And boy are they packed tight.  Needless to say, some neighborhoods get a little rank.  I'd bet that the scent of a public restroom in this town is enough to render babies unconscious from a couple blocks away.  Think of the amount of waste created by eleven million people.  Just think about it.  And try not to gag.  
• The metro.  I know, I know, the metro is SO SUPER COOL AND URBAN.  And it is.  I get it.  But I feel like everyone complains about their morning commute, and I don't see why I can't be one of them.  The metro, when you take it every SINGLE day, MULTIPLE times, you're just over it after a while.  Think of the weird physical sensation you have when you're riding in an airplane.  The air is stuffy, there's this unsettling pressure feeling in your head, your stomach isn't *exactly* agreeing with the situation, and you're battling for the arm rest with some fatass who got the aisle seat.  Okay, so the metro is like that, but add MILLIONS OF PEOPLE you're smashed up against (who DON'T WEAR DEODORANT), it smells like butthole (refer back to my second bullet if you've forgotten what that's like), you're underground and sweating, you gotta stand up because there aren't any seats, the driver (conductor? whatever) is a maniac slamming on the breaks at every stop so you're trying NOT to fall on the 3 year old (or 80 year old) in front of you, someone has decided that bringing their ladder and bags of cement on board was a good idea, you get crushed in the doors as they slam shut, annnnnnd there are 9482094829 BILLION BACTERIA EVERYWHERE WAITING TO ATTACK AND KILL YOU.
• The cost.  Everything in this city - I mean everything - is more expensive.  Some things are the same price as things at home would be, like say, a generally cheap clothing store like H&M.  A pair of jeans is like $40 there.  Okay, so it's the same price...but it's in EUROS.  So it's 40 euros which means those jeans of pretty shitty quality at the least expensive store around actually cost $60 USD.  Sweet.  Other shit, they don't even play around with acting like it's low price.  Basic drugstore cosmetics? Pshhh, totally out of my budget.  I refuse to spend 20 euros (that's THIRTY DOLLARS) on some powder foundation I buy at home from Walgreen's for less than ten bucks.  Read my lips, L'Oreal Paris, you "generic brand", you...AIN'T. GONNA. DO IT.  It doesn't even stay on after I sweat my ass off riding in your goddamn metro.  Don't even get me started on the cost of food, school supplies, hygiene products, etc.
• Xenophobia.  Unfortunately, Paris isn't void of this fantastic human tendency.  There is a major problem with racism here, and arguably in all of Europe, that most Americans know little about or don't realize.  Western Europe has experienced skyrocketing levels of immigration in recent years from Eastern Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia.  And I guess that means some people have gotten defensive - and in turn, offensive.  Questions of identity, citizenship, birthright, access to opportunity, and extension of rights across races carry with them a lot of tension and heated opinion in this country.  I was asked today while in a restaurant with friends for lunch where I was from originally.  I replied that I was American, and was born in Texas.  "No, originally," was the response I got from the restaurant employee.  Oh, okay, since my skin is like, half a shade darker than most people here, and because my hair is - *gasp* - curly, I can't just pass off as a regular old American.  When presenting my student ID card for tickets to museums, movies, etc., I am often asked where I'm from when people read my (sorta) ethnic last name (OMG ITS NOT SMITH SO OBVI YOU'RE A DIFFERENT).  I usually get a less than positive response (silence, curt nod, one of those stares like a person is inspecting you) when they hear that yes, one of my parents was born in a country where they don't speak a Romance/Germanic language and the people aren't Caucasian. Quelle horreur!

That said, I am having the absolute time of my life here in Paris and absolutely LOVE this city.  Show me a place that's perfect, and I'll show you the photo album documenting the time in my life when Ryan Reynolds and I were "going steady" (ScarJo has nothin on me).  Paris is a city different than any other in the world...full of culture, art, rich history, amazing sites, a unique and beautiful way of life, and yea, it's own problems too.

Let's get down to music shall we?  I've been listening to a lot of A Perfect Circle while I've been here; I think it's just one of those weird situations where you revert back to something that is very familiar to you when you're in a new situation.  I listened to every album from A Perfect Circle basically on repeat for like two years in high school, and really haven't listened to them much since then.  This is "The Noose."  Please be aware that some language in the following songs may be offensive to some readers. [:  

Next up, this is "Homecoming" by Kanye West, featuring Chris Martin (the lead singer of Coldplay).  This is one of my favorite Kanye songs, and I LOVE what Martin's input on piano/vocals gives to the whole thing:

Annnd here is Mariah Carey, performing "We Belong Together" live.  I love Mariah, I love this song.  Say what you want about her, the woman is a DIVA who can SING.  I respect the fact that she does whatever the fuck she wants every single day and doesn't give a shit what anyone says.  She is, if you will recall, the most successful female artist in history, with more #1 singles than any artist ever, except the Beatles.  Even if you don't like the song, watch her break it DOWN around 3:03.  

And just for funzies, in case you thought she was a huge joke, here is THE queen, Aretha Franklin, singing "Touch My Body" by Mariah. HA! HATERS TO THE LEFT.

Everything about that was WIN.

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon

Un Mois À Paris

I've been in Paris over a month.  Wow.  One down, three to go.  I don't want this to end.  

This past week definitely had its ups and downs, and there were times that I missed home a lot.  Isabelle (our program director) has an interesting take on homesickness: that it's the manifestation of your heart and mind getting closer and more adapted to another culture, and therefore your heart and mind start missing being as close as they were to your previous home culture.  It's a good way of looking at things, I think.

I was sick this week.  Not the whole time, and feeling shitty came and went, so I was still functional.  At first sign of sniffles/sore throat, I headed to the pharmacy and got some good stuff that really helped, along with Vitamin C and (finally!) hand sanitizer.  Wednesday was not a good day - I woke up feverish and feeling TERRIBLE, then realized that the company I had purchased a plane ticket to Copenhagen (I'm visiting Jessica later this month!) from had charged me twice on accident (or not).  I had to deal with that situation immediately and it was really stressful, seeing as my bank is in America and the travel company is in Spain.  Note: Bank of America has an amazing 24-hour online service where you can IM with a bank representative who can help you with everything, just like over the phone.  Later that day, after forcing myself to go to my evening French class (it's my hardest class and only once a week, so I can't afford to miss any days due to illness), I got home and realized I had forgotten my keys inside the apartment, and my host family was at the opera.  I sat outside in the dark for almost three hours waiting on them to get back.  It was miserable.  To top everything off, I had a paper due the next day that was hanging over my head, and after getting inside the apartment and eating dinner with the fam, it was close to midnight before I ever sat down at the computer to start work.  BLAH.  A few hours later and not so much as an introduction to my paper written, I texted my best friend Amy and asked her to get online if she could.  Amazing lady that she is, she was immediately on and we had a great talk wherein I got to vent and let everything out, and go to bed feeling not so preoccupied and burdened by everything.  I woke up in the morning and wrote my paper easily before class.

The rest of the week was great, and last night was awesomesauce.  It was Nuit Blanche (White Night), a city-wide event where lots of museums, parks, cafes, etc. stay open all night.  We went to the Buttes Chaumont park, which had a bunch of cool abstract art stuff like a thousand red umbrellas all over the grass (whatever that means/represents) and stuff.  Here is me and Chelsea (fellow curlyhead) at the park:

After walking around a bit, seeing some street performers and artists, we got on the metro and headed to Rex Club, the most famous techno club in Paris.  Mathieu, my host family's son (remember? writing his doctoral thesis on techno music), had invited me and got me in for free, which was nice considering that getting into clubs here usually costs 15-20 euros.  It was a really cool place, and a techno group (band? DJ? partnership of two guys wearing masks at the front of the club?) called Dopplereffekt (really famous apparently and from Detroit) was playing.  Erika, Shelley, Carolyn, Alexia and I sorta got a feel for the music, which was a more mellow (not a techno expert here, don't kill me for using normal dumb people language) sound than what you think of if you're thinking techno rave house music stuff.  Here's what they sound like:

After about an hour, Alexia, Shelley, and Erika decided to head out to another club, while Carolyn and I stayed.  Here's Carolyn and I in the club, me sweating like crazy:

About ten minutes after the other girls left Rex, Dopplereffekt finished their set and a Parisian guy came on.  It was exactly the type of music we were looking for, and it was a shame that the other girls had missed it.  It was awesome, and Carolyn and I danced for awhile and enjoyed the different vibe since the crowd loved it and everyone was dancing and basically going crazy.  Here's some shaky video I took of that:

So cool, right?  It was an awesome experience, and I can't wait to go back.  Around 2:30 or 3 in the morning, Carolyn and I had had just about all we could take of the bass booming in our ears, and we headed out of the club.  Originally we were gonna split a cab home, but then after a little communicating with Chelsea, decided we would meet up with her, the other Chelsea, and Maddie at the Champs-Elysées.  So, we walked.  Yup.  We walked from Rex Club to the Champs-Elysées.  Carolyn has a map of Paris, and we figured the stroll was about 3-4 miles maybe.  It was so surreal walking across the city of PARIS, in the middle of the night.  You see some pretty cool things walking around this town.  Like this:

That's the Ministry of Justice building.  And this:

That's a large spire that I don't know the name or significance of.  But the moon's in the pic!  Oh, and then this:

That's the Madeleine, a really big Greek temple-style church.  Pretty sweet huh?  Especially at three in the morning, you just come around a corner from some random street in the middle of Paris, and it's like, oh, hey, huge world-famous building.  How you doin?

We met up with the other girls on the Champs and walked all the way down hoping the McDo would be open.  It wasn't.  We settled for QuickBurger, and by the time we had ordered and eaten, it was 5 am.  Which is about the time the metro lines open, so we headed to the nearest station and caught our respective lines shortly thereafter.  I got home a little past six this morning, and immediately crashed.  I woke up at 3 this afternoon.  My host family thinks I'm crazy.

The graffiti keeps changing on my street!  Recently this was put up:

Then it was changed to this a couple days later (sorry for the metal gate that's in the way):

Check out this cool dog someone painted:

And then last night during Blanche Nuit someone put this up:

I absolutely love my hood.  I can't imagine living anywhere else during my semester here.  

It's bedtime in Paris!  I hope everyone reading is doing well and having a happy October so far.  Keep it real, yo.

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon

Time for my annual embarrassing public breakdown!

I don't know how many people can say they've had an emotional breakdown in the Louvre, but after this week, I can.  Actually I can't imagine WHY anyone would have a breakdown in the Louvre, unless they were super moved by a piece of art there, but I've been to the Louvre a few times now and have never been emotionally moved to breakdown by any pieces there - and BELIEVE ME, I would be the FIRST person you know to totally break down because some painting from three hundred years ago touched me.  Remember when I talked about the Louvre?  Big museum with the glass pyramid in front, home of the Mona Lisa and eleventy billion other works.

My drawing class met there on Thursday, and we were in a section of the museum filled with 18th century sculptures (of people), with a glass ceiling so it's flooded with natural light.  We've been working on the human figure and faces specifically for the past week or so, and we were told to choose a sculpture and draw the head.  Before I get any further, I would like to go ahead and mention, to get it out of the way, that there is basically NO REASON for me to have an emotional episode at the end of this story.  So just know that.  This is going to be anti-climactic.  Carrying on: I chose a statue of some woman, and I started to draw.  Of course mine looks terrible, because this is the third week I've ever drawn anything with the intention of it looking good and gaining the approval of others at any point in my entire life.  So it looking terrible doesn't really surprise me at all, or really even bother me that much.  Ivo comes around, gives me some pointers and direction, then moves on.  I continue drawing, if by drawing we mean making squiggle lines for hair and shading haphazardly because I have no comprehension whatsoever of light and shadow.  Fast forward twenty minutes, Ivo comes around again and asks to see my drawing.  I say no.  He asks why.  I shrug.  He asks what's wrong.  I take a deep breath.  He asks what's wrong again (hopefully you're thinking of this in an Italian accent).  Annnnd that's when I start to cry.  A lot.

See?  There's my emotional breakdown in public for the semester; glad to get it out of the way, ya know?  I consider myself lucky that I had it in the Louvre, I mean really how many people have had to ask security for tissues in broken French with snot and makeup running down their face in like the most famous museum on earth?  Epic.  Anyways, Ivo was really flustered and I told him I needed two minutes and I went to the bathroom and got my shit together (sort of).  Ivo explained that I was stuck between a sketch and a real representation - a drawing.  I agreed.  He told me to go sketch whatever the hell I wanted "for pleasurrre - thas importante, yes? Ze PLEASURRRE," for the remainder of the class period.  I went to the other side of the gallery (or whatever a specific room in a huge museum is called) and ate a peach.  The end. (Yes, Mom, I'm taking my medicine.)

ANYWAYS.  Other than that, the week's been going great, if kind of tiring.  Meals at home have been absolutely top-notch, it makes me think of being a little kid when my family would sit down to an awesomely satisfying hot meal every night together.  Tonight JC made (Anne is out of town till this weekend) codfish and rice, lots of great spices and flavors.  And we had goat cheese after! OMGGOATCHEESE.  I literally have to stop myself from eating all of it, because I don't want people to think I'm a maniac (lies).  And we had canteloupe (I don't care to check how to spell that correctly if that's wrong) for dessert.  JC had his melon with liqueur...I just drank my apple juice.  They think I'm basically a six year old.  

OMG hilarious video to share with you!  We (Alexia, Chelsea and I DUHH) were on the metro last night on the way to meet the group at the Eiffel Tower, where we were gathering to celebrate a fellow student's birthday with a couple bottles of wine.  There were some very fun violinists playing for the metro crowd, and I was trying to get some vid of it - until Alexia and Chelsea directed my attention to two sleeping Asian girls!  Listen to me crack up:

They're sleeping!  With their heads just bowed down like that, rocking along with the ride.  How do they know when to wake up and get off the metro?  It is a wonderful mystery that I couldn't stop laughing about.

So we got to the Eiffel Tower just in time to see the hourly light show.  In this video, we joke about being on the "left" of the Eiffel because when we called to meet up with the group they told us they were sitting on the "left side"...too bad the Eiffel Tower has four sides.  Where is left?

We took a few pictures while we were there too but all of them are absolutely terrible.  I spent about 40 minutes doing my makeup that evening only for my face to be utterly DRENCHED in sweat after going down the apartment building's stairs, walking down the cobblestone street, and going down into the metro IN HEELS.  My hair was a hot mess too.

Oh, hey, this is "Blue Lips" performed by Regina Spektor, my soul sister and alter-ego should I have been born an artistic person with any sort of creative talent:

Isn't she wonderful?  She's a Russian-born Jew who grew up in Brooklyn; her music is not only unique and innovative, she also make allusions to so many great references: the Bible, classic literature, current events, etc.  She sings in Russian and French sometimes too.  Because she's a badass.

Okay and now I'm leaving you with literally the best video ever taken of anything ever.  I cannot stop watching it, it is hilarious, I watch it over and over and laugh every. single. time.  I give you, "Sneezing Panda":

IT'S SO FUNNY.  The mama is so spooked!  She's like, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU GET HERE??!  Look at her face!  Look how her whole body jumps! BAHAHAHAHA.

Okay I hope you guys actually liked that, even if not quite as much as I did.  Tell me what you thought!  That's what comments are for!

Peace, love and Paris

Rhiannon

Ay! Ay, Shakira!

I have been called Shakira twice so far during my stay in Paris.  Once on the Champs Elysées a guy came up to me and called me Shakira as he touched my hair (gross), another time on the metro to get my attention a guy said "hey hey hey Shakira" a bunch of times, which resulted in me giving the deadliest look I've ever given before.  I mean, not to deny that being called Shakira isn't a huge compliment, but honestly I don't look like her save for very large curly hair, and these guys weren't exactly who I want attention from here.

This weekend we took a class trip to Normandy, where we visited lots of museums and memorials and cathedrals.  Our first day we spent in Caen, where I ate this pasta:

That's right.  It definitely says "SALMON" on the side of the plate, in some delicious sauce or another.  I eat so much salmon in this country it's ridiculous.  I can't get enough of the stuff.  Wanna bet me?  Here's a picture of a pizza I ate the next day:

Double right.  That's salmon pizza, with crème fraiche and mushroom and OH MY GOD DELICIOUS all over it.  We stayed in a Best Western Hotel that had rooms painted in different pastel colors.  Chelsea and I decided the proper reaction for entering our hotel room was screaming and running around:

We visited the Memorial to Peace, which is a museum/memorial of World War II.  The saying on the front of the building reads, "La douleur m'a brisée, la fraternité m'a relevée...De ma blessure a jailli une fleuve de liberté"...which means, "The pain broke me, brotherhood relieved me...From my wound sprang forth a river of freedom."  And outside are various stone blocks engraved with quotes about the struggle for freedom.

"I was born to know thee, to name thee, Liberty."  The museum is amazing, one of the best I've been to.  We watched a video documenting the D-Day landing of American troops at Normandy, which only underscored the emotional weight of visiting the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial and Omaha Beach the next day.

The memorial contains over 9,000 graves of fallen American soldiers, most of whom lost their lives on D-Day.  It was an emotional experience for me, basically because everything of this kind is an emotional experience for me.  Walking along Omaha Beach was crazy, trying to envision how intense the landing was.  Here is a picture of our whole group on the beach:

And a video of us (by us I mean me) running around telling everyone to say hello in the

camera: 

We tried to take cool pictures of us jumping in the sand, but most attempts were epic failures, as most attempts at jumping are for me:

The last day of the trip was spent in Le Havre, a city in northern France that is gray, boring, smelly, and ugly.  It was Sunday so nothing was open.  We walked around in smelly rain and talked about the architecture of the reconstruction of the city after World War II BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH over it.  The best part was that I ate a gallette (crispy crepe thing) with salmon and spinach and it was DELICIOUS.  I am the most predictable person ever.

Classes are going really well, if a tad on the EXTREMELY DEMANDING side.  Luckily I'm only taking twelve hours.  My poli sci class has a ridiculous work load, but the teacher is great and the material interesting so...it could be worse.  My French class that I was so intimidated to go to is actually shaping up to be my favorite class.  We went to a play last week on Tuesday and had our first class session Wednesday night.  I was even more afraid about going to class after seeing the play because it was a contemporary surrealist opera...in German...subtitled in French.  My head literally hurt afterwards.  So I was terrified that everyone was totally on the ball and ready to discuss this most confusing thing I've ever watched ever, but it turns out our professor is basically the coolest man on earth.  His name is Bruno, he's super funny and passionate.  We spent that class introducing ourselves, talking about our previous experience with theatre and French literature, and all is well.  I'm excited for this week's class session, in which we will actually be getting into some material.  My drawing class is going well, though it's getting more frustrating.  I feel pretty inadequate as an artist and have less than zero experience drawing, whereas I feel like most of the people in the class have had art lessons before, though it's an introductory course.  Anyways, so I had a mini-breakdown the other day involving a leaf and shading, but I think the trauma is past.  Come spring, I'm gonna be a regular DaVinci.  Don't even worry about it.

So there is video on someone's camera of me and Chelsea rapping on the train back to Paris, but I'm going to have to hunt that down for you people.  Extremely valuable footage.  I'll leave you instead with a couple of songs in my regular iPod rotation this week.  First up is "Let It Be Me" by Ray LaMontagne (again), and I dare you to listen to this and not cry.  Or maybe I don't, because if you listen to it and don't cry it's just going to be revealed what a sensitive emotional idiot I am and how I cry at every other instance of artistic ability and profound human expression.  

Did you cry?  Don't lie.  Ok so then there's Shakira, my idol slash hair twin, and her new song "She Wolf".  I couldn't find a good version of the video to embed, which is a shame because homegirl basically goes psycho and does the weirdest dance moves ever.  It's okay though, because it's Shakira, and she has license to do whatever the hell she wants 24/7.  I sometimes (all the time) listen to this song on repeat and have to stop myself from dancing on the metro.

It is now naptime in Paris.  I hope everyone is doing well.  If you're reading, I would love comments to know who all is keeping up with my lame adventures!  You can comment by scrolling down to "Anonymous" and then just sign it with your name once you comment (like my mom does every time.) 

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon

Swines.

This city is not sanitary.

With people all over the worlll freaked out about the H1N1 virus ("the swines" as Chelsea and I like to call it), we are basically reminded nonstop to wash our hands.  The director of our program told us it is necessary to wash your hands nine times a day.  Which is pretty sound policy, seeing as the germz are EVERYWHERE.

I get on the metro and hold on to a metal pole for balance that has been held by millions upon millions of hands before mine.  I stand really close to people, often being breathed on.  The Paris metro transports over 7 million people every single day.  I exchange money with multiple street vendors/cashiers/vending machines/taxi drivers several times a day.  I eat my meals with groups of people, and share food and drink with my host family.  I sneeze.  I cough.  They sneeze.  They cough.

Anyways so all this talk about the swines has me (and a lot of other people I'm sure) hyper-aware of potential germ exchange and it just hits me SO many times a day how I really, really need to wash my hands nownownownownow.  I need to get hand sanitizer and carry it in my purse.

In other news, classes have been really cool so far.  Ivo Bonacorsi is teaching us about drawing and being super Italian while he's at it.  We went to the Rodin Museum this week, which was a holy crap level of awesome.  I drew one of Rodin's sculptures while I sat under a tree next to Alexia.  The drawing looked like a neanderthal with an African mask on, but Ivo helped me get some perspective on some things like, you know, basic proportion and elementary shading.  I was proud of my improvement.  Here is a picture of the garden outside the museum, which is where a lot of the works are located.

I was sitting on the right side of this pic, behind those trees.  There's more stuff over there, and it's shaded, which is important for a person who sweats enough to make an olympic sport out of it.  Yes sweating.  I win at the sport of sweating.

Chelsea and I went to the Musée d'Orsay today.  Let's talk about how jaw-droppingly amazing the Orsay is.  First of all, it's in an old train station, so it looks like this:

The Orsay houses works from soooo many artists, including Degas, Monet, Manet, Matisse, Renoir, Van Gogh, etc. etc. etc. (I'm not sure why the only painters I can think of right now are impressionists.  Oh, maybe because I know nothing about art.  Art history majors, you can put your two cents in if you care.)  It's kind of overwhelming to stand in front of these original pieces.  Like, Van Gogh's Starry Night for instance - everyone knows what that looks like, everyone has seen a picture of it.  But seeing THE Starry Night.  The one Van Gogh stood in front of and worked on.  His actual paint and shit.  In addition to paintings, there are also sculptures at the Orsay, including THE LOVE OF MY LIFE RODIN.  Here is some Rodin for your personal viewing pleasure:

This is La Porte de l'Infer (The Door of Hell).  So. Intense.

And this is le Penseur (The Thinker).  Iconic.

You know who's better than Rodin?  Camille Claudele.  More on her later.

Weird, awkward, funny-if-you-were-there anecdote for today:  Chelsea and I spent a lot of time on the metro today, it was extremely crowded and tiring and you should see how dirty my feet are.  Needless to say my flip flops have been retired.  Okay so my host family is out of town this weekend spending some time at their country home, so Chelsea was coming over to spend the night here.  We got to the Belleville station and stepped up onto the street looking for a crepe vendor to end our long tiring day...you know, with some Nutella.  Unfortunately, I live in China.  I mean...you get what I'm saying.  All that was open was Asian restaurants with whole duck roasting in the windows.  Not sweet and savory like a crepe.  SOOO it occurs to us that there are vending machines with Kinder Bueno (best chocolate bar on earth, bar none) back down in the metro station.  We go back down the stairs, swipe our NavigoPasses again, go through the corrals, and head down some more stairs toward the platform where the trains arrive which is where the vending machines are located.  Barely off the steps though, we spot a homeless man laying DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE VENDING MACHINES LITERALLY WITH HIS PANTS OFF.  He was laying on his back, head pointed away from us, with his legs IN THE AIR.  WE SAW HOMELESS MAN BUTT TODAY ON THE METRO.  It was a really strange urgent moment filled with confusion, and we immediately turned around and went back up the stairs.  Not to be distracted from our mission, we figured we'd go to the opposite platform to get to THAT vending machine for some Kinder Bueno.  We go down THOSE stairs and head towards the chocolate, only to realize that Homeless Man has rolled over, still with pants off, so that his bum bum is facing us from across the rail tracks.  We got our candy and left.  Mission Accomplished.

I bought a book at the Musée d'Orsay today called Je Vous Écris de Paris (I Write to You of Paris), with a bunch of famous people's letters to friends and loved ones about eating, sleeping, breathing, walking, LIVING, in Paris.  I am so excited to read it!  

I leave you with a couple songs/videos.  I've been listening to my iPod on the metro and definitely have a few choice tunes I've been switching to everyday.  First up is "You Are the Best Thing," performed by Ray LaMontagne live on the David Letterman Show:

And lastly is "Heads Will Roll" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.  The lead singer reminds me of a Space Age Olive Oyl.  Just look at her spindly long legs and little black booties.  The video is weird, FYI if you are easily disturbed.  Just listen to the song:

Hope you enjoyed.

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon

"America is my country and Paris is my hometown."

-Gertrude Stein.

Not much to report today either.  Yesterday I ended up NOT having class, since the professor couldn't make it (unknown reason).  The course is rescheduled for this Thursday.  This is what my weekly class schedule looks like:

Monday

11:30 Political Science (Comparative Politics of Western Europe)

Tuesday

4:00 Drawing 

Wednesday

11:30 Political Science (Comparative Politics of Western Europe)

5:00 French (Contemporary French Theatre)

Thursday

12:30 Drawing

4:00 Cultural Formations (France in the Interwar Period)

Drawing today was SO great.  Our professor is Italian, his name is Ivo Bonacorsi (say it loud right now in an Italian accent - extremely amusing).  He has two Masters degrees, one in art history and one in studio art.  Today was just a run down of how the class will operate and such; we were released early and went to the art supply store and bought cool things!  Like big sketch books and little sketch books and different pencils (who knew they made ones that weren't just freakin' #2?) and erasers and it was grand.  One day a week we will be drawing in class, learning about technique, a little art history, etc.  The other day of class we will be at one of Paris' AWESOME museums and drawing pieces that are actually there!  How intense is it that I will be drawing shit hanging in the Louvre?  Or the Musée d'Orsay?  Or the Musée Rodin?!?!?!  I'm dying.

My French class is intimidating.  I haven't been there yet, and actually it doesn't start until next week.  It's a 5000 level class, and there is only me and another girl (Lauren, who was with me in the South of France last summer) taking that level while we are here, so we've been added to a class with Sarah Lawrence and Wesleyan students.  We will be reading French plays and attending theatre productions here in the city!  I'm super pumped about the class material, about getting out and watching French plays, and about meeting other students who are studying abroad, but I just hope the language level is not beyond my understanding.  SL and Wes are obviously formidable universities with strong academic reputations...I just don't want to be the dumbass in the class with the Texan accent in French.  Not ideal.

This morning I woke up and went to the market.  The Belleville market opens every Tuesday and Friday morning; Anne suggested I go shopping there for fruits and veggies instead of going to the grocery store because it would be cheaper.  She was beyond correct.  I bought six perfect peaches, ten kiwis and ten clementine oranges for less than two dollars.  At a grocery store like Monoprix this could have easily been ten bucks.  Here's a quick shaky vid of the market:

The market is set up in the middle of the boulevard on the large median, with tents on each side to provide shade for the vendors and their products.  A veritable cornucopia (dang, nice) of fruits and vegetables are sold, as well as fresh meat and fish, cheese and yogurt, and even accessories like bags, sunglasses, and shoes.  You can hear them yelling out prices and such in the vid.  Most of the vendors are of Arab descent, and it was cool to hear everyone wishing each other a Happy Ramadan.  Reminded me of my roots and made me think of the fam.  THE ETHNICS.

Which reminds me - funny story from Alexia and her host family.  Alexia is Mexican and her host family is supes sweet and adorable.  They have been trying to provide her with food that is "mexican" so as to make her feel more at home.  These products have included a powder they insisted was guacamole and buying mangos for her at the market.  Because she is from the tropical rainforest. Obviously.

Which brings me to another ethnically influenced anecdote.  My fam made pig feet last night for dinner - it was really unexpected for me, but later they told me it isn't a traditional French meal, they just like it.  At any rate, they made me another small dish of noodles and shrimp because they took into account my ethnic heritage and assumed I wouldn't be eating pork.  It spurred a conversation about religion over dinner.  Can we talk about how amazing and perfect for me my host family is?  They're old simple intellectuals, with open minds and open hearts.  They respect, even appreciate, the differences of other cultures.  Annnnd it helps that they are super liberal, possess an aversion to organized religion, and have an egalitarian view of gender roles.  When I mentioned that I got a few pointed questions about why I was coming into the country at French customs (not this time, the time before), Jean-Charles joked "WELL OBVIOUSLY WE HAVE TOO MANY TERRORISTS WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO GET IN TO OUR PERFECT COUNTRY?!"  They're like an old, French Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. 

I need to shower tonight but am embarrassed to ask JC&A how to turn on the water heater AGAIN.  They live in a super old building, so there's this thing in the kitchen with a dial that you turn to "Gas" and then hold down the button for like five seconds and then you light a match and LIGHT THIS WICK THING ON FIRE.  And it's BIG FLAMES.  And then you wait a few minutes and you can take a hot shower.  I am basically 99% sure I'm going to burn the building down.  Or at least singe my eyebrows off.  No way I'm walking away from something like this unscathed.  

Anne makes homemade yogurt and we put blackberry jam (also homemade) in it and I basically die right there at the dining room table every. time. we have it.

I will leave you people with that thought for tonight, of delectable fresh food and tastes of wonderment.

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon

Lazy Paris Sunday...

Not much to report today, except I am providing a quick video tour of my host family's apartment!  For readers who are not my mom and dad, I apologize for constantly addressing my parents in the videos.  I appreciate everyone reading and commenting!  So here's the apartment, and quick looks at my granddad and grandmom, Jean-Charles et Anne.

I have a few other pictures to share as well, nothing of great importance.  Here is a picture of one side of the Centre-Pompidou, a huge library and modern art museum that is built with external escalators and plumbing on the outside.

This is a picture of some graffiti on my alley, which I posted video of in the previous post - but I really wanted to highlight this amazing piece of art on the wall.

And finally, this is a picture of a pie my grandpa made for me.  He made that shit from scratch.  So it's like lovely amazing flaky dough and then NUTELLA AND BANANAS.  I'm dying.  

I do not even know how he made it.  And this was supposedly part of a "quick" meal he whipped up for me because he and Anne were headed to a movie that night so we weren't going to eat dinner together.  He made me this awesome grilled cheese with little salami slices, gave me a couple choices of cheeses to eat with a fresh baguette, some leafy greens, and this pie.  I've never had a more satisfactory gustatory experience until I hit this freakin continent.

Classes start tomorrow! Will update on them soon. 

Peace, love, and Paris,

Rhiannon