La semaine final- Talking About The Trolls

A lot happened this week that I really want to remember. I tried to write it all down so I could type it up later, but I'm just not sure I got it all. For instance, I really don't remember what happened Tuesday at all. I had class all day, though, so I'm sure it wasn't very interesting.
Wednesday, though, after class, a group of us decided that we needed to go to the Monastery that lies at one of the highest points in Annecy and overlooks everything. But, not so much in a loomy way as in a pretty, old, building in the country way. It's nice.

It was closed, of course, when we got there (at like six), but we didn't really care; the point was to go and see it, not to spend an hour inside staring at windows. We wanted to find a really good view for taking pictures of Annecy, and we asked this guy who told us (in very VERY fast French) where to go. We only got a few of the words, though, like "wall," and "under," and "campsite," so we set off in the general direction that he pointed us in to see what we could find. We did eventually find the campsite, after debating at nearly every branch in the road which way to go, regarding our insufficient map, and dealing with Mike insisting that he would find the way with his "magic baguette," which had, at this point, become a standard joke for us. We went in to the campsite (after missing the door and having to turn around) and realized that there really was no way we were going to get that perfect view; there are too many trees in the foreground of any picture you take, no matter where you are. Unless, maybe, a roof, which we did consider doing but decided against it.

(Ominous clouds are ominous)

The sky continued looking ominous and scary the entire time we were there, and we decided to skip out and get dinner in a cafe somewhere in Veille Ville. It began raining about the time that we got back down to the main street in Veille Ville, and those of us in the group who had dinner with their host parents wandered on home. Mattias, Jessica (pronouced "Yessica") and Lisa and I all went to a cafe that was literally on my doorstep because I knew they had Tartiflette and I knew that I needed Tartiflette at least once before I left the region which made it famous.
It is a famous dish for a reason. It was SO delicious. We got a mini salad with the meal, and we all shared a bottle of wine and then none of us spoke for about twenty minutes because we were just eating and seriously enjoying our Tartiflette. I was just about to die it was so good. It's a cheesy dish with potatoes and ham and cheese and some more cheese (YAY lactose intolerance!) and it was SO SO SO good. I want it forever and always.
So then we were really full and just sat and talked for a while. Eventually we (somehow) decided that we wanted dessert. They had... ice cream. And some more ice cream. Oh, this night. We each got a thing of ice cream, and for a while, we kept pondering amongst ourselves about the meaning of "cantilla" which came with almost every dish. We finally just asked the lady, who made a circular upward motion with her hand and a whooshing sound with her mouth. Whipped cream, everybody.

(Ice-cream with cantilla)

After the delicious and way-too-dairy-based-for-my-body-to-handle dinner, we agreed to go home and change and then meet up with everyone else at the Munich at ten (it had, thankfully, stopped raining at this point). I went outside and walked into my building (I was serious when I said it was right there: I literally just had to step out of the restaurant and walk five steps to the door), and I promptly, after having had too much wine, went to sleep.
Needless to say, I did not go out that night.
Thursday
In the morning, I had to take the TCF (French level standardized test) which sucked, because not only do I hate standardized tests, but it was in French. Also, the CD for the oral section of the test skipped a lot and there were several questions that I did not understand because of that. The proctor wrote down the questions that skipped, but I don't know if the answers will be forgiven or not. I hope so! By the time I was done with the test, I didn't care anymore.
Class involved learning slang phrases in French, including "Caisse-toi, pauvre con," which roughly translates to "F**k off, a**hole," and which the French President said to a man who refused to shake his hand at a greeting or something (I'm sure you heard about it on the news), but I didn't understand the big deal at the time. Kind-of like when Obama called Kanye as jackass, just worse.
We also got our tests back, which I got an A on (yay!) but that was all that interested me in class.
After class, though, Amanda, Martin, Mattias and I went to the supermarket and got alcohol for the night, while, right next to us, our teacher Isabelle stocked up on chips. It was amusing. After that, Amanda and I went to hang out in my house. We listened to music and I packed my suitcase and we ate some pre-dinner dinner. We walked over to the student dorms for the picnic dinner which was going to be inside because it was raining. Everything was set up in the community kitchen and there was so much food! Bread and cheese and wine, but also a stir-fry and rice and then someone brought a giant stack of crepes with nutella. Daniel had his guitar and we all sang a bunch of songs. It was really fun, and we were there until about eleven (so many people were taking pictures all the time), after which we went to the park and... did more of the exact same thing. The police came by a couple times and stopped, not to tell us off but to listen to our singing. It was pretty funny. My throat hurt the next day from all the singing and alcohol but it was worth it. What a fun night.
The view from the lake was really beautiful, as well.

(Also, because of the rain, the ground lights in the park were smoking). 

Friday morning class wasn't productive at all, we spent two hours talking about homeless people and then we all went into a room and watched Vilaine, which is a mockery of Amelie and was really funny.

We went to "graduation" which was not at all well organized (there were a few people who weren't there because they hadn't told us about it until a couple hours before), and got our Diploma's. I am officially level B1+ in French and got the grade of "très bien," which I sure hope is an A.

We left school (technically I still had a class in the afternoon to attend but I figured since I just graduated, it would be okay to skip...) and went to a restaurant that serves fondu, since that is a speciality of this region. It's a specialty because, after a long day of mountaineering, it is a very filling dinner... so French people ONLY eat it after long days of exercise. It's a big tourist attraction, though, and we just had to try it. I didn't end up buying any because I was already full from the after graduation snack bar, but I did try a piece or two and it is, indeed, delicious.

My favorite part of that meal? Not the food. We were talking about a couple of Swedish students that hadn't ended up coming with us, and Martin (also Swedish), said "Talking about the trolls- they're coming." The immediate reaction of all of us Americans was... what? trolls? Where? Why are trolls coming? What are you talking about? WHAT? 
"Don't you have that expression in English?" 
I was the first to get the translation problem.
"OH. Martin- you mean "Speak of the devil."
"Right! That. Sorry. In Swedish, it's "talk about the trolls."
I don't think I've ever laughed harder than I did then. And I plan on using that expression ALL the time, now. So get ready.
After Fondu, we wanted to go swim in the lake (for most of us, the last time), and we thought about going to the beach but somehow just ended up in the park and jumping of into the water from the sidewalk. I don't think it's entirely legal, but it's one of those things no police officer will site you for unless you're being dangerous. We spent a lot of time just laying in the sun (the first sunny day in what feels like forever), and enjoying each others company. We, of course, made plans to visit each other in the future, involving the idea of everyone just moving to Hawaii, where the majority of Ifalpes students from this July live. I know, from years of camp experience, that I will most likely never see any of these people again. The whole day, whenever I've had a moment to myself, I just get this sick feeling of regret that will only be satiated by my return home. Thankfully, my three days alone in Paris will not actually be alone, as Tarra, Crystal, and Amanda and going to be there, too. We may not do everything together, but at least we'll be in familiar company some of the time.

I am really going to miss the people here. I feel like this past week has been the one when I've actually started making real connections, finding my group, and making real progress with the language. Next time, I'll come for at least a semester (though I think even that will not be long enough in any one place). There will always be too much that I will want to do and see and live through for me to have been in a place for "enough time." That idea simply doesn't exist for me...

The (Not so) Sleepy Way Home

Once we left Notre Dame, we got Jenn to her station so she could check in for her bus and be really early, just in case.
This is when things started to go wrong for me.
I left Jenn, feeling very empty and sick inside at the idea of not seeing her again until the school year, and I went to find the way from where I was to Gare du Lyon. That's where my train was leaving from.
Or so I thought. You know, because that's the place my train came into when I came to Paris, and there is, of course, only one station in Paris that could possibly go to Annecy. Well, I got on the metro and looked at my ticket, just before I was getting to the stop where I needed to get off in order to get to Gare du Lyon. But I needed, in fact, to go to Aucherlitz! I grabbed my metro map (that, thank god, Jenn had gifted to me for the journey so I would not have to get my own the next weekend), and frantically searched for Aucherlitz- I had no idea where it was or how to get there. I found it, quickly, and was ever-so-thankful that it is only a couple of stops away from Gare du Lyon and that I could continue on the line I was on in order to get there. The adrelanline had me breathing like a track star, I was so nervous. What if I was late? It was only 9:50 and my train didn't leave until 11, but I was still scared; I'd already mis-interpretted one thing on the ticket, what if I missed another thing?
One thing that really, really bothers me here is the use of the 24 hour clock. There are only twelve numbers on a watch- WHY do you have to include 24? People here know what you mean when you say "7:30pm" so I just don't understand the point of using army time at all.
Aaanyway, I got to the station, half an hour before the time left and made it on fine and everything. I settled in, read a bit of Harry Potter, and eventually fell asleep with my head phones in.
There were several times in the night when I woke up, realizing we had stopped or just because I had been in one position for too long. Those chairs are not comfortable for sleeping; not for that long. Eventually, I managed to fall into deep sleep.
I slept.
And slept.
And when I woke up... I looked around. We had stopped again, and there were very few people left on the train. I asked the lady behind me what time it was.
"8:30."
Hmm...
I got into my backpack and got out my ticket, and realized that I was supposed to have gotten off at 6:52.
Here's the thing: I'm really bad at traveling. I kind-of just assume that things are going to happen and they never actually happen. What I assumed this time was that the train would go from Paris to Annecy and just stop. I figured that was the point of a night train: you take it, get from point A to point B, and then you're good, you're done.
What I had not considered was that there was no possible way that all these people in this night train could possibly be going to lil' old Annecy: there are always other stops. Why I had not considered these things, I do not know. Maybe I was just tired from a weekend in Paris.
The point is: I woke up and I was not where I was supposed to be. We were an hour away from Annecy by train, and this station did not look like it got a lot of traffic. I had no idea how this was going to work.
Luckily (Luckily!!) the next train to come through on its' way to Annecy was in an hour. How am I this lucky, seriously? I went in and explained the situation to the woman behind the counter. And you know what? She didn't even make me buy a ticket; she just wrote a note on the ticket I already had and told me I was good. So I got back about three hours after I thought I was going to, rushed to my house, took a nap, and got ready for my afternoon class. It was quite an adventure in Paris.

All the Time in the World

...would not be enough time.
Paris. Sunday. We checked out of the hostel after breakfast and headed over to the Arc du Triumph again, having talked to a fellow traveler in the hostel abut the tunnel that leads from the sidewalk to the Arc and generally involves no death by high-speed cars.

We took a couple pictures with Jenn's camera (like, two, and then it died), and read a few of the plaques on the ground about people who had died for France and various wars France had won (It literally is just this big arch dedicated to the glory and awesomeness of France!). We wanted to walk along the Champs Elysees, because how can you not when in Paris?

(I promise we're in front of a Champs Élysees street sign)

And we did do it, but we were there the day that the Tour du France came through Paris and so pretty much the whole street was a clusterf*** of yellow t-shirts and people wearing the flag of the country they supported as capes/dresses/shirts/bandanas, etc. We didn't stop in a single shop, simply because all we wanted at that point was to get to the Louvre park so we could stop walking. We did, however, find a Monoprix and bought our lunch (and dinner) there: a loaf of cheap bread, slices of sausage, a bag of chips, some cookies and some gummy-candy- all for less than 6€, which is about how much one sandwich would be at any street vender. So I think we did pretty well, considering.
We continued walking along the Champs and were, at this point, less than two blocks away from the Louvre park. And then they blocked off the street completely and we had to walk in a circle around the barriers to get to the stupid park. Damn, I was mad. We kept coming upon the street to turn just at the moment that they were blocking it off, and then had to continue moving away from our destination until we got to the point when they didn't need to block off anything else. Finally. We were so dead tired of walking by the time we got to the park, we just sat in front of the fountain for around an hour, eating, wriggling our toes out of our shoes, and halfheartedly shooing away pigeons who kept trying to bother us. We didn't get any pictures of the fountain, but since I'm going back this coming weekend, I'll see if I can get one or two. (Like I said, Jenn's camera is the worst. It thinks, no matter how new the batteries are, that the batteries are nearly dead, which is very frustrating!).
It was very relaxing, though it was interesting how quickly the atmosphere changed from hot to cold depending on weather or not the sun was out. That seemed to make a huge difference, which was not really something I'm used to. The fountain area was nearly empty when we got there, but by the time we left, nearly every seat was full and a lot of people were walking around. We walked to the Louvre (it's a big park so it took about ten minutes) pretty much just to go to the bathroom. There was a long line in front of the pyramid, but since Jenn is totally Paris-savvy, we went down into the metro entrance and got in after just moments of waiting. The security, in my opinion, is very lax at the Louvre! They just check your bag for a couple seconds; there isn't even a scanner for you to go through! Very interesting...
After using the restroom (free! whoo!), we went up by the pyramids and took the most touristy pictures ever: one of each of us holding down the pyramid with our hands (literally everyone does this- there were at least five people doing it at the exact same time as us).

We decided to go to Sacre Coeur at Montemarte. We got to the area by metro, and when we came out, we saw stairs. (This wasn't the main staircase to the top, it was a side one, so it wound a lot and half the time we didn't even see the stairs until they were in front of us, teasing us...) there are only 235 steps up to the church (as opposed to the 670 to the second level of the Eiffel Tower), but after a full day of walking it seemed like so many more!
We got to the top and found some steps to sit on, admiring the view for a while. We were very lucky, because we happened to be there RIGHT at the time when THIS GUY was performing!

It was just spectacular to watch. Once the performance was over, we went into the church to have a look around. Jenn said she liked Notre Dame better (which I can understand but cannot say for sure as I haven't seen the inside yet), but it was still quite beautiful. The mosaic with Jesus was very large. I'm not sure I really have another way to describe it; it was just plain big. And concave.

(Not my picture- it's from the internet)

Anyway, the church was beautiful but neither Jenn nor I are very religious people, so after sitting silently for a while and just enjoying the peace and quiet, we exited the building. We wanted to go to Versailles, but it was going to close three hours later, so we decided instead to just go to the Moulin Rouge and then spend some time on the beach of the Seine, relaxing. We wanted to go to the information booth near Sacre Coeur first, just to make sure that going to Versailles wouldn't be like super cheap or easy and actually worth the journey out there. On the way, we stopped at a super-touristy shop filled with all things "paris" and bought some postcards and we each got a print of the Eiffel Tower. We ended up getting 12 postcards (I got ten, she got 2) for 2€. Pretty good deal! 

We stopped at the info-booth and the lady gave us directions to the Moulin Rouge. She didn't write them down, though, so we kept thinking we were going the wrong way. It was a much longer walk than we thought it would be (you know how everything looks really close on a map? And how nothing ever is close in real life? yeah, it was like that). 

On the way, we *sweartogodnotmakingthisup* saw a little kid, sans pants, peeing into a drain on the sidewalk while his mother stood watch. I... just... what... I don't get it. The really funny thing was that Jenn did not see it, and so when I was freaking out about it, she thought I was talking about something entirely different that was totally normal and not interesting or strange in any way. It took us a minute to sort out the confusion there. 

Okay, so we got to the Moulin Rouge and it was... okay? It was cool, I guess, 'cause there's a windmill and all, but it wasn't that pretty or well-cared for or even in any way isolated from the city. Next door to it was a money-change machine and a "quick burger" which is a European fast food chain that I think I've already mentioned. The point is; the Moulin Rouge was not worth the twenty minute walk from Sacre Coeur. Not at all. 

(But we took a picture anyway)...

My dumbass moment of the day (really, of the year), happened when we were on the sidewalk waiting to cross the street to get closer to the Moulin Rouge. There was a girl there talking very loudly to three French kids and asking them where the Eiffel Tower was (except that she was speaking in English). Honestly, I didn't even think about the fact that it was a weird situation and that something didn't feel quite right, I just saw these kids and this American all looking really confused. I went over and asked her "What are you looking for?" in English. She stared at me for a second, completely taken aback, and then pointed behind me to the big camera I had walked straight past and said, "No, it's filming." 

Yeah. 

I totally interrupted a movie. 

I'll just let that sink in for a bit while you laugh. I understand. 

We did appreciate the free, public bathroom in the Quick Burger and the cheap crepes from a vender next door, though. I'm just glad that Jenn got a French crepe (even if it wasn't the best). Mine had a liquidy chocolate in it that got all over everything. My jeans, my shirt, my new sweater, my backpack, everything! 

I forgot! Jenn got me a lovely, soft, black sweater and a really cute mini dress with poodles on it (the former, quite english, the latter, very french), and I ended up wearing that sweater off and on all day due to the sometimes-cold. 

So, after we finished our very messy crepes, we went back down into the metro to get to the beach. There is pretty much a long platform along a lot of the Seine bank on one side of one area of Paris, that is filled with sand. It's not so much a beach as it is a walkway where you can get sand in your shoes. We did spend a lot of time there, though, as we were tired enough that sleeping on some hard sand seemed like the best thing to do in Paris at the time. It was really pretty fun. We people watched, especially two hoola-hoop dancers who were hanging out nearby, and a beautiful family that spent some time near us. But mostly, we slept. 

At some point, we both had to use the bathroom, but we still didn't want to leave the beach. Looking back, we clearly should have just waited until we wanted to leave and then gone to find a bathroom together, but what we did instead was go separately. I went first, searching along the street in cafes and such. I walked into a shop with Greek food and must have seemed very obvious because the guy behind the counter asked, "Les toilettes?"

"Eh, oui, s'il vous plaît" I said, putting on my best "I'm cute" face. 

"En bas," He responded (which means, downstairs). 

"Et... ils sont pour le publique?" (loose translation- do I have to buy something first or are they free?) 

"Pour toi, oui!" He said. (Gotta love it!)

"Ah, merci beaucoup!" 

So I used the (surprisingly) clean bathroom. When I came back upstairs, however, the boss had showed up and he bombarded me with questions about what I wanted and what I was going to buy (I seriously felt like I was being attacked), so I quickly got a piece of baklawa (it was spelled with a w, is that normal?) and ran out. I told Jenn about the place when I got back, and she did find it, but that scary boss man was still there, yelling and attacking customers so she left and came back, not yet having found a bathroom. So at that point, we decided it would be okay to leave the beach. I was around eight, I think, then, and Jenn needed to be at the station by ten which meant we'd need to be on the metro by 9:30, at least. We hadn't actually eaten the rest of our food, so we decided to try to find a place with a bathroom where we could sit and eat. Jennifer remembered a little park with a big monument in the middle that had a photography exhibition and public bathrooms, so we went over there, knowing it was very close. It could probably have been dirtier than it was, but not by much. It was in this mini park surrounding Le Chemin du Saint Jacques, and within that was the exhibition of this photographer, Gabriel Diaz, who had gone to several towns and just walked through, taking a picture every eleven steps. There were big tv screens that were showing the pictures in rapid succession so that it looked like motion-stop animation, which was pretty cool; but most of the pictures weren't that great. Lots of road.

We could hear a concert going on at the Hotel de Ville, which we were walking toward, but it was pretty much over by the time we got close enough to see or hear anything. We admired the building while on the move and then hurried over to Notre Dame to finish our cookies and stare at the church. It felt very circular, as that's how our journey here in Paris really started; with Our Lady.

...Chez soi, et à Paris

"Il n’y a que deux endroits au monde où l’on puisse vivre heureux:  chez soi et à Paris."- Ernest Hemingway. 
Translation: "There are only two places in the world where we can live happy:  at home and in Paris."
Saturday morning began with a delicious, free Korean breakfast including (unlimited!) rice, a bowl of miso soup, and some various vegetable or meat dishes to eat with the rice, most of them spicy. It was so good, and so filling. Jenn and I left for the metro around nine and bought day-passes for the metro, thinking we would be using it enough for it to be worth it (we were totally right, especially since it was only 7€ for two days per person because we're 21 and if we'd bought each ticket, it would have been 1€70 each time). While waiting for the metro, we witnessed a few policemen coming in and frisking this guy and talking to him, but we never figured out why. 

We started at Notre Dame. 

Heey Notre Dame, wassup!

The first thing we did was to use the restroom (it was a really gross bathroom with no soap, thankfully Jenn had hand sanitizer, and these two women who were taking tips but not doing anything). We admired the outside of the building, but since Jenn had gone inside the day before (she got there pretty early in the morning on Friday), we didn't go inside. I'm going back to Paris next weekend anyway, so I'm going to go inside, and even tour the towers. We found out that, even though we're students (and that got Jenn into the Louvre for free yesterday), we'd still have to pay 6€ for the towers tour, so we skipped out and moved on the Musée d'Orsay. 

We walked along the Seine to get there, which was beautiful, 

and I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time, which was totally awesome! 

Jenn probably thought I'd gone crazy. I was quite excited. One stupid thing we did at the Museum was to go through all the stuff we didn't care about first (we just happened to do it by accident because we didn't have a good map), and so by the time we got to the paintings we really wanted to see, we were too tired to care. "Museum-fatigue," as the Australian girl Eleanor in the hostel who we had met the night before would say. 

As we were leaving the museum, it was just beginning to rain. There were street venders everywhere selling crappy trinkets and Jenn and I got to see them, upon feeling the rain, rush to a man-hole in the street, open it, and get out giant bags of umbrellas and begin selling them. It was insane! They literally just took them out of the street. One of them came up to me and Jenn and tried to sell us one... while we were both holding our umbrellas over our heads. What?!

After the museum, we took the metro to the Eiffel Tower. It was raining by that time, which was miserable and cold, but we did come out right next to a supermarket. Instead of getting really expensive sandwiches, we each bought a little euro-baguette, some slices of Gouda cheese, and some little French cookies. We didn't actually have any way to cut the bread, so when we ate our baguettes, we would take a bite of bread and then a bite of cheese. Why yes, we are cheap college students, how could you tell? 

By the time we actually got to the Eiffel Tower, it had stopped raining for the most part (weather changing in fifteen minutes? feels like home!), and so we sat on a semi-damp bench and ate half of our super-cheap, kinda-sketchy lunch, and people-watched (let's be honest; that really is the most fun thing to do anywhere in the world). There was this kid whose parents kept encouraging him to chase after the pigeons, simply because it was hilarious to watch him. He fell down a couple times, but didn't ever cry, just picked himself up and found another pigeon to chase. 

Being under the Eiffel Tower was an experience in and of itself. The architecture is absolutely beautiful- very elegant and impressive, and not a single bit of it could be considered ugly. It is an absolutely lovely creation. 

Jenn and I got in one line for a couple minutes, realizing after a bit that we needed another line. We wanted to take the stairs (because it's about 10€ cheaper than taking the elevator up to the second level). The line wasn't too long, thankfully, and we got in about half an hour after we arrived to the tower. It took about ten minutes to walk up to the first level (which they call the first floor). 

On that level, there is a lot of information about the tower (the building itself, the architect, the reason it was built, etc), as well as information about the famous French buildings that you can see from the tower, even from the first floor. 

That tiny building in the distance sticking above everything else is Sacre Coeur

Some interesting facts you may not (and that I certainly did not) know: 

1. Alexandre Gustave Eiffel designed the Eiffel Tower for a competition for the 1889 World Fair, which coincided with the 100 year anniversary of the French Revolution. 

2. It was originally meant to be a temporary structure, and everyone hated it when it was first built. In fact, one of the only reasons it was kept around is because it had become a radio and tele-communication tower. 

3. It takes 60 tons of paint to cover the Eiffel Tower, and a team of painters repaints it every seven years. 

4. There are 108 stories in the Tower (43 of which Jenn and I walked). 

After we were done with the first floor, and already feeling pretty tired, we trekked up to the second floor. We didn't read much of the information on that level because of our exhaustion, and then we took the elevator (that's the only way to get there) up to the top. It was very cold (about ten degrees difference, I'd say), and windy up there. Jenn and I admired the view and took a picture or two and then hurried into the interior to stay warm(er) and finish our lunch. Another cool thing is that the inside has the distances of many well-known cities all over the world posted. 

 Les deux

La vue

Jenn and I left the tower, but before we left the area, a man in an official tower vest asked us to take a survey about our experience. He really did not understand much of what he was saying (maybe the words, but not the grammar), and whenever we said we didn't use the restrooms or go into the restaurants (since there was no option called n/a or "did not go"), he wrote "very satisfied." Hmm... a little biased, maybe? I do remember that from statistics. At the end of the survey, though, we each got a little tower keychain (which are EVERYWHERE in Paris). 

We decided to walk across the Champs de Mars (the park next to the tower) to the École Militaire, 

hoping it would be open and have free admission. It wasn't open (it is, after all, still a functioning school and it was a saturday), but there was an interesting art-sculpture-thingy across from it which had "peace" written on it in a bunch of different languages, which I found gloriously amusing, because I can't imagine that it's placement in front of the "Military School" was accidental. 

Anyway, by then we were close enough to the Église des Invalides to walk over (we were getting very tired of walking at this point). This was also mostly closed (it was around 5), but the actual Dome of the church was still open, which holds Napolean's tomb (and the tombs of many other famous people). 

 L'Église des Invalides

Jesus with mood lighting

It was absolutely beautiful. Jenn's favorite part was the "mood lighting," which was some serious mood lighting. One area was just this beautiful gold, accented by the sunset outside, and another room was blue. 

This wasn't because of lights; it's because of the color of the stained-glass windows. The church was built by Louis XIV (Versailles guy) and "SL" is engraved all over the place. We were laughing about this church being  dedicated to "Saint Louis," (as in the city in Missouri, USA) but it turns out that that really is what it means; It's for Saint Louis (which totally makes sense; that Louis is such a pretentious bastard). I asked the woman staying at the entrance of the church to count the number of people coming and going what it stood for. She looked like she wanted to die; we're assuming she just really hates her job. Like, really. 

...

We went back to the Hostel for dinner and spent a little bit of time resting and on the computers. On the metro back out, we saw a man with a guitar who was singing in the other compartment. We took about twenty seconds to think about moving to the other compartment in order to listen to him, and then we were at a stop. We opened the doors, ran out, and the train nearly started moving by the time we got the doors on the other compartment open, but we made it! Turns out, though, that the man wasn't singing but just babbling in crazy-person talk and it was really uncomfortable for a good two minutes until he got off at the next stop. Thankfully, a couple stops after that, a young man with an accordion stepped on, and just as we rounded a corner in an above-ground section of the metro line and saw the Eiffel Tower lit up for the night, he began playing beautiful French music. I felt faint I was so happy. 

We were beyond excited to get to the tower, and we rushed out of the metro up to the street, almost instantly happening upon a man playing a piano on the sidewalk (a PIANO).

see that? It's a piano. 

Anyway, we listened for a tiny amount of time, but we were too excited to see the tower to stay, so we hurried over and spent a long time just admiring the beauty of the Eiffel Tower by night. We got there just in time, too, because not only does the tower light up like this every night after sunset: 

But also, for five minutes at 11pm and midnight, for five minutes only; something along the lines of sparkly-moving white Christmas lights dazzle the viewers (every person there made the exact same sound "ahhhh"), and it is just fantastic. Pictures, no matter how professionally taken, do not do it justice. This is the best picture I got, while there. 

We slowly made our way toward the tower, stopping at some point to admire (and then hop onto) a carousel. We did not pay. I tried taking a picture of Jenn, and that's the moment when my camera died, so there will be no more pictures from my camera (we got a few with Jenn's, but not many because every time you take a picture with her camera, it "dies" within a few seconds). We stayed on the carousel until the guy started coming around to get tickets and then hopped off, moving ever closer to the spectacular tower. 

The underside of the tower was even cooler when lit up, but we didn't stay for too long because we still wanted to see the Arc du Triumph and the Louvre Pyramid lit up. 

We assumed the Arc would at least be well-lit, but it really was just there and happened to be lit-ish by street lamps. If you've never been, it is in the middle of a giant roundabout which was impossible to get across with (probably) dying. Jenn and I, that night, did not know about the tunnel underneath that leads to the Arc. Even if we had known about it, it would have been closed. We very briefly considered just running for it, but then decided we would just come back tomorrow in the day time and hopefully find a way across. 

We left, then, and went to the Louvre. We were expecting the Pyramid to be lit (like it always is in all the pictures!) It was not. We asked the security guard who was closing the place up (it was like midnight at this point) if it had been, or would be tomorrow. "Non." Well, whatever. 

So, slightly less excited about the glory of Paris, we went home and slept. 

Next up: Sunday in Paris! 

All the Way to Paris

The beginning of my weekend was tiring; I had class from 8:30 to 12:30 and then again from 1:30 to 5:30. I have finally switched from going to six every day and five two days to going to seven those two days (to better challenge myself, I guess). It's not as difficult as I thought it would be there, but I'm glad my test for the end of the course is in group six, and not seven. I know I wouldn't do as well in seven.
Anyway, after class I went home, finished packing very quickly, and headed to the train station for my train at 6:30. I didn't end up seeing Nika before I left, which was sad, but I left her a note saying goodbye, so I hope she wasn't mad. Also; I forgot to charge my camera battery before I left. How stupid! I knew it would only last a day, maybe a little longer. So mad at myself...
I got on the train and began working on memorizing more of Rachel Corrie. I have a little over half of the play memorized, and I am very nervous about being able to get the rest done by the time I get back to the US. I will have a couple days in between coming home and coming to Kirksville to work with, but I'm still nervous. I just have to make myself work on it all this week, constant diligence, and then I'll be good.
I was memorizing when a lady who looks, to me, like Tonks would if she had become a grandma (my, there are a lot of Harry Potter references in this post, huh?). So Grandma-Tonks sitting next to me brought out a bag with two sandwiches and some lettuce and offered me dinner! I refused a couple times, as is the polite thing to do, but there was no way I wasn't going to take her up on that offer. I will always accept free food. Except from men in vans with candy. Once we had "broken bread," we began talking. She asked if I was an actress and I told her about my major and what I was doing here in France (I tired, not very well, to describe what the play is about, but it's difficult to explain when you don't know the word for bulldozer in French).
I got into Paris by 10pm, using my small, black and white metro map to figure out where I needed to go. The first thing I noticed about the metro station was the lovely smell of pee. I bought my ticket to the Villejuif, which was the closest station to my hostel. It's actually not really in Paris, Villejuif is name of the city, I think. I don't entirely understand how Paris works. Once I got there, walking very quickly and looking over my shoulder quite often since I was alone in a dark, Parisian neighborhood, I had to ask where the street was that I needed to go down to get to my hostel. I had a map, but I couldn't figure out where my starting point was. I went into an Italian restaurant and asked the guy behind the counter where the street was. Of course, he didn't speak French. Or English. Just Italian.
Thankfully, there was a French costumer there who knew actually where I needed to go, and he walked around the corner with me to show me where to go. I continued walking very quickly down the streets (every building had a fence and gate around it, telling you what kind of neighborhood it was), and I even passed a very scary black man singing loudly at the bus stop. I crossed the street at that point. I made it to the hostel (not knowing the exact address) very easily because I knew it was owned by two Korean women, and there was a big Korean flag in the window of the building. I rang the doorbell, and within two seconds, I saw Jennifer hanging out the window, which was by far the most exciting part of my day.
The end of the day involved us sitting on our beds, telling each other about our days and going to bed.

Girl's Night Out/Adventures

Last night, in a blue of whimsical rebellion against my responsibilities, I went out with a few girls (Jana, Amanda, and Jackie- to name those with whom I spent the most time). I knew very well that I had class all day today and I just didn't care!
We had made plans, the four of us, to meet at Le Munich, a bar here in Annecy, at 9:30. Jackie, being quite sociable, had invited pretty much anyone and everyone. Not everyone showed up, of course, but more than I was expecting, including a girl I haven't met before and another who just got here this week. She's 16, Hungarian, a heavy smoker, and her name is Hannah. (I'm not sure I can say I really like her, mostly because she's just SO 16- god was I ever like that- but I probably won't be spending enough time with her in the next week to find out).
We only ended up staying at the Munich long enough for one drink while we waited for Jackie and Jana to arrive (they were about half an hour late) and by that time a bunch of spanish-speakers (not necessarily Spaniards) had showed up. It was the Columbian Independence Day yesterday so they all had Columbian flags painted on their cheeks and the one Columbian girl among them was carting around a whole bunch of alcohol to share. Of course, you can't just sit in a bar drinking your own alcohol, so we went to the park for about fifteen minutes of drinking and freezing our butts off before the original four of our branched off to Finn Kelley's. We hung out for a while longer, talking about a lot of serious and philosophical topics that we were really too drunk to understand.
One question that Amanda brought up was "where will you be in five years?" It got me thinking. I have 3 semesters of school left (a year and a half) and after that I want to go into the Peace Corps for at least the minimum two years. But that only takes me 3.5 years into the future. After that, what? I really haven't ever thought about what I want to do. Maybe grad school? But then, what would I study? I shouldn't be worrying about it now, I know, but Amanda is right when she said "remember, five years really isn't that long of a time." For now, though, I really need to concentrate on memorizing this play I'm in. One day at a time.

Today, I actually had a bit of an adventure. First of all, a few of us went to get hot chocolate and such things from a Chocolateur, which was so amazing. I was also told by a couple people today that when they first met me, they assumed I was European. Score! Anyway, the hot chocolate was wonderful (I ordered it with cinnamon, but I couldn't really taste all that much of the flavor over the chocolate). THey actually give you little cups of water with it because this stuff is so thick and rich, you can't drink the whole thing without a little water in between. Crazy, right? And it came with little mini chocolates and cookies!
The adventure part was when I departed to go find a thrift store that Amanda told me about (and vaguely how to get to). I walked down the street I thought was the right one for quite a while, and though I never found the thrift store, I did happen upon a giant, sprawling blackberry bush that was hanging out by the side of the road, and ended up picking a huge handful of blackberries. It felt like camp again! These berries were so great. I could just put the smallest amount of pressure on them to get them to pop in my mouth. Quite delicious!
Anyway, tonight is another party, but I will not be staying out late. I actually fell asleep in class today while the teacher was sitting next to me. One of the students was presenting and so I tried to make it look like I was watch intently... if she noticed, she didn't say anything!
Tomorrow: Paris!

Is it hot in here?

Okay, so, keep in mind that this is coming from a girl who in all her life has never been in a class with more than fifty people (probably more like forty), so my experience is a bit biased, I think.
The way my program thingy works is: I go to class either in the mornings or the afternoons, some days both. Morning class is from 8:30 to 12:30, afternoon class is from 1:30 to 5:30. Each always have a 20 minute break in the middle, so you don't always want to kill yourself by the end. There are really specific "classes-" every class is just "French." There are, however, ten different groups to account for students ability to cope with the language. I am in group 6 Monday through Friday, and in 5 on Thursdays and Fridays. It's the (almost) perfect fit for me (as I mentioned before, 5 is a little easy). My teacher, when we got our tests back today, said that I should consider going to group 7 instead of 5 on the two days, but since we only have one week left and, as far as I know, group 7 is pretty full, I'm probably going to end up staying where I am.
Anyway, the point is, group 6 is getting really full, too. Like, more students than there are chairs. There are still only like 25 students, but for me that seems like WAY too many. I like my classes to number 16 and under. This is going to be a problem if I ever become involved in a program that includes a lot of people. For me, I like knowing the students, the teacher, and being able to make myself heard (hello! theatre major for a reason!) so when I start feeling crowded in class, I start paying less attention to what is happening. I'm pretty sure that if you graphed it, my attention span would produce an exact negative correlation compared with the number of people in the class.

(I got this from the internet- it's not mine).
What I wish is that there could be more groups. Or at least that they would limit the number of students in each class a little more. But hey, at least I'm learning French, right?

We got ours tests from last week back (finally), and I got a 15/20- which in America is super bad, but in France is an A! (I got a 13/20 on my presentation on Edgar Degas, and was freaking out until I realized that they "do things differently" here. A 13 is a B+).
Anyway, now, I need to go write a letter to the g-rents since I haven't actually done that yet.
À Bientôt!

“We don’t see the things the way they are. We see things the way WE are.”

“The problem is not that there are problems. The problem is expecting otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem.”
So, things are really looking up with my host mom. Today, she offered to cook us dinner because neither Nika nor I really had any plans for the evening. As I told you, we sorted through the refrigerator fiasco, and I also told her today about my going to Paris this weekend (this last weekend in Nice, I did not tell her exactly when I would return and so she was mad about that). So at least now we are communicating better, and that's mostly due to me understanding French better now that I've been here for a bit.
Anyway, dinner. It. was. wonderful.
We had salad (which in France, means some weird green leaves and a olive-oil based dressing that was really quite good, if a little more bitter than I'm used to); fried potatoes (almost exactly how my mom makes them! I seriously felt a surge of nostalgia when eating them: so good); little super-market steaks, about medium-rare, and quite delicious, with garlic and spicy mustard; and some very tasty wine. Then, for dessert, a soft cheese from the Pyrenees Region of France, with bread, and more wine. And finally, a full slice of delicious pineapple. Could you ask for anything more? I couldn't.
I also really enjoy eating with Josaine (she never eats with us in the morning), because the whole time, she tells us what something is called or what she is doing, and especially if we are doing something wrong etiquette-wise (like letting our hands go under the table, or turning the knife the wrong way, etc). She never says anything with malice, it's just a learning experience and I really appreciate it, because I know I probably look a fool when I eat in French restaurants with my American customs. For instance, you're never supposed to say "I'm full," when you're finished with your food. You say "the food was great," or "thank you," to signify that you are finished, but never "full." I didn't really get why, but that's just the way it is, I suppose.
Anyway, the point is that I am now quite full.
The weather here is not ideal. It has been raining so much that the lake is swollen and the canal is rushing like the Mississippi. It's almost scary (but mostly awesome). It is much colder than I prepared for, however, and so when I went shopping with Jackie today, I kept an eye out for cardigans or jackets or even a coat-like article for days just like this (seriously, it's 55F right now, yeck). I didn't end up getting anything like that, but I did get a long sleeved shirt, an awesome gift for Claire, something for my mom, and a shirt and a skirt, all for 30€ (ps, just figured out how to do that on my mac, woo!). I'd say that's pretty good for a day's shopping excursion!
To go back to an earlier topic (I really should have just made this post and the last one into one post...), today in class we did tongue twisters in French and it was super fun! Some examples are:
Cinq gros rats grillent dans la grosse graisse grasse; ( ~Five fat rats are grilling in the fat something something)
Ce ver vert sévère sait verser ses verres verts; (~this severe, green worm knows to empty his green glasses)
Si ces six cents six sangsues sont sur son sein sans sucer son sang, ces six cents six sangsues sont san succès; (I did get the meaning of this one via google translate: ~If these 606 leeches are on her breast without sucking her blood, these 606 leeches are unsuccessful.... yeah... not so much of a twister in English. haha).
and my favorite: Poisson sans boisson, c'est poison! (~Fish without drink is poison!)
Please don't ask the exact translations, because while I can kind-of get the meaning, I really couldn't tell you for certain. Just like English tongue-twisters use strange vocabulary and grammatical formats, so do those of French. :)
I think that's about it for today. Au revoir!

Addendum

I put some ham in the fridge, seeing if she would throw it out again. She did, but this, I asked her where it was and she said she had thought it was hers and was old because she did not remember putting it there, and she offered me some of her ham to replace mine. So now, I know I can use the fridge, I just have to tell her what I'm putting in it and probably put my name on it as well, just in case.
Yay!

Also:
Today in class, we got a handout with French tongue-twisters to practice, not for homework, just for fun. They were so difficult! It was seriously fun to say all of them, and of course, afterwards, I started thinking of all the English tongue-twisters I know. My favorite still being "Proper cup of coffee."

Also Also: I'm now starting the fourth chapter of Harry Potter! Woo!

Back to School

After my day trip to Nice, going to class today was very difficult. It was an afternoon class, too, so it really should not have been that hard, but I had a presentation due on Edgar Degas and so I was nervous about that. I thought that I did really well, and so did my classmates, but when I got her notes/grade back at the end of the class, when she was passing out papers, my score said "13/20." WHAT!
Well, it turns out that most French grading systems go like this:
"18-20 : Congratulations (félicitations du jury not an official grade)
16-17,9 : very good (très bien : TB)
14-15,9 : good (bien : B)
12-13,9 : satisfactory (assez bien : AB)
10-11,9 : correct (correcte not an official grade)
8-10 : pass ("passable") as long as the overall average of grades remains above 10 - not an official grade
0-8: Fail (insuffisant)"

So while I thought that 13 was practically failing (because in America, it would be a mid-D), it actually was "satisfactory."
At least now I know!

After class, I went to the park with Nika to meet up with Merlin and Martin and we had discussions about universities and grading systems and psychological experiments, etc. Quite interesting, especially for me hearing how all these different people phrase things in English that I would never have said when trying to get such a point across. That, and hearing them really be able to communicate their ideas very well even though English is not their first language. Of course, I would consider them all to be fluent or near fluent, so it's no surprise, but it is still cool.
Anyway, I'm going to go to bed and sleep well before my morning class tomorrow!

Qui vive? France!

So here’s the low down on Nice.

I left Annecy at 2, and got Nice by about 11. Not bad for two trains and a bus ride, and some waits in between. For the most part, I amused myself with reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, “reading” Harry Potter in French (more like struggling through it), and writing that last blog entry you also just “read.” I met a nice lady on the train who was going to Toulon, where she lives. We actually had a fairly decent conversation in French: mostly, she talked and I listened, but I felt really good about it because I actually understand most of what she was saying (a real French person! Not just a teacher!), and she was really interesting. She talked about going to Canada a while ago and then stopping for a few days in New York “before the catastrophe.” She was terribly surprised by how many cars there were, and she had wanted to see the Statue of Liberty but they were doing work on it at the time. We also talked about how awful graffiti is (I think some can be pretty, but the names in big block letters are just stupid), and how annoying it is that half the time, on trains, that’s all you see of a city. Mostly, we sat in silence doing our own things (she was doing French crossword puzzles, AH!) but it was really a nice conversation.

I got to the hostel very late, about 11:30pm, and pretty much just checked in, got online to tell my mom and dad that I had arrived, and then went to bed. I slept straight through the night (I was expecting to be woken by drunken hostel-girls, since I was in a room with about 15 other girls, but after I put my i-pod in, I didn’t hear a thing.

The alarm on my i-pod went off at 5:30am, just like I planned… except I didn’t hear it. I had wanted to go to the flower market very early, because they say that it’s the best time to go. I woke up when I heard lots of voices of the girls around me getting up and asked what time it was. An Australian girl answered “About half-past eight. What time did you mean to get up?”

“A little earlier,” was all I said as I rushed to get dressed and ready. I only had 5 hours left before I my train was to leave!

I got the flower market with the help of Liz, a Canadian who has been traveling around France and who saw me looking confused and stopped to help. We talked about how beautiful all the cities are here, and how surprisingly kind the drivers are to pedestrians. Once we got to the flower market, we parted ways, and I spent as little time as possible there while still feeling like I had gotten the full experience. I bought a pear and took lots of pictures

before moving on to the next place: Le Chateau.

Le Chateau is the ruin of a castle that sat on the top of a hill, which offers one of the best views of Nice and the surrounding area. After getting lost once, and then going about halfway up to find the path barred by a giant locked gate, I finally made it to the top of the hill. There wasn’t much to see of the ruin, and there were tarps and tapelines everywhere,

so it was pretty ugly: but the view. Oh, man, was that view amazing. I spent at least ten minutes just starring, taking a few pictures, and wishing I could live there or at least stay for more than I had time for.

I asked a French lady to take a picture of me, and she did!

After the Chateau, I had planned to go to the Museum/Art Gallery of Photography, but decided that since it was closer to the station than to the beach, I would go to the Russian Church first. I walked along the Promenade des Anglais, which is right along the beach the whole way, and my backpack got heavier and heavier. By the time I got to the street where I was supposed to turn to get to the Russian Church, I decided that stopping to eat lunch and spending half an hour at the beach was a much better plan for the moment, and so that’s exactly what I did. I got a decent sandwich for a ridiculous price, and some flavored water (also ridiculously priced),

and after the lunch, used the bathroom to change into my swimsuit. One thing I did forget to bring was a towel, and I literally did not think about it until I got down to the beach and set my feet down on the hottest rocks ever in the world ever. Ever.

The thing about the beach was that it wasn’t actually sand, just lots of small/medium sized, very smooth rocks. And that was fine for people who had little sturdy mats that they laid down on so they wouldn’t have to feel the rocks, but I didn’t even have a towel!  I swam in the Mediterranean Sea, picked up some cool rocks for myself and other various people, and eventually forced myself to lie down (after putting on copious amounts of sunscreen). It was very hot. Once I actually lay down for more than two seconds, though, the rocks felt wonderful on my (mostly) bare skin. It was so nice after the hours of rushing around the city with my heavy backpack, (even though I’m appreciating it now, next weekend in Paris, I will not be bringing my computer), and I stayed for half an hour, just sunbathing. Wonderful!

When I felt like I had been there for enough time, I got my things together (changed IN PUBLIC- scandalous!) and moved on to the Russian Church. I stopped in a garden along they way to take pictures of statues, (well, okay, people, really)

and get some more water from a fountain (I seriously will miss the number of fountains they have just lying around the cities with cold, potable water, here), and finally made it to the church. It was closed (well, the inside, anyway). I got there at 1:00 (two and a half hours until my train would leave), and took some pictures of the outside, which was beautiful,

but decided that I was not going to wait until 2:30 for it to open and pay three Euros to look around for ten minutes then rush to the train station. Instead, I asked another French woman to take a picture of me there, which she was very happy to do (she had clearly handled a Nikon like mine before because she took two or three pictures without needing explanation),

and I left.

I went, finally, to the photography museum. I met a lady from New York on the way who was lost and did not speak a lick of French, so I helped her get to the train station so she could take a taxi (where are all the taxis?! She kept asking), and made it to the photography museum with plenty of time to spare. I only stayed for ten minutes or so because it wasn’t that interesting, but I did listen in on a bit of a tour being given in English, and learned that one of the photographers exposéed there thinks that humanity has “lost it’s way,” and that’s how he stages all of his photos. The photos were really obviously staged though, and not that great, so I wasn’t too impressed. But I’m glad I went, because they had a case in the front of a bunch of really old cameras, which I love admiring.

After that, I took my time going back to the station, and stopped in a department store with cheap clothes to find absolutely nothing that I liked (French fashion is a little too see-through for my tastes right now), and, finally, got back on the train to come home to Annecy. And that’s where I am now.

Au Revoir, Nice!

Addendum to Nice:
After I wrote this, I was waiting in the station at Lyon Part Deux, and one REALLY weird thing I witnessed was all the pigeons walking around the station (that is inside), which people didn't really seem bothered by. Yeeg.

I got onto the last train from Lyon Part Deux to Annecy, for about 2 hours. The first part was pretty boring, but after some of the people left, I was alone in the compartment with a tall, skinny, French musician who looked like he was carrying his whole life with him, and a tall, large black man with lots of jewelry. Within a few minutes, the black man asked the musician if he could play his guitar. The musician agreed. After two minutes of strumming, another guy walked in, an average looking French student, and sat and listened.
I was very tired and the music was very soothing. One of the train employee's was hanging out in the back with us and asked if the music was bothering me. It took a while for me to understand because I was so tired and he was speaking so quickly, so that by the time we got anywhere, they just assumed I did not know any French and they all kept trying to translate his question in various ways.
"Is it bothering me? No! No, no, no, of course not."
"Ok-ay,"
and the music continued.
The average looking French student got out a recorder and started playing along. For a very long time, the musician sat and just listened. He looked very tired, and I have to assume that he had been playing all day on the streets.
Eventually, though, he got out his electric sitar.
Yeah, you read that right.
It's a sitar... but you plug it into an amp powered by batteries to get the sitar noise across. By this time, the black man had decided that the guitar was a drum, and so, on the ride home from an exhausting but wonderful day in Nice, I was transported by music to India via recorder, drum, and sitar.
Perfect way to end the day? I think so.