Paris is always a good idea

Cliché, I know, but the lovely Audrey Hepburn was right. Paris has a certain charm and romanticism to it that you cannot find elsewhere. It blends antiquity and modernity in an effortless manner. It has an endless supply of arts, culture, beauty and fashion. And it draws you in, inviting you to take advantage of all the city has to offer.

But be careful with that invitation. For try as you might, becoming a true Parisian is quite the difficult task. I'm not even sure it's entirely possible. Paris is like the group of popular kids in high school. You want so desperately to be a part of it, but you will never truly belong. I could spend years here and I would still just be an expat—an American in Paris drooling over the chic yet edgy style of life here that I have yet to master. But I am okay with that.

While studying in Paris has not exactly been a stroll in the Luxembourg gardens, living in Paris has been a dream come true. Literally. I have been dreaming of coming to France to spend a significant chunk of time here since before I can remember. I almost went to study at Sciences Po's Menton campus as an undergrad, but then I chose India instead. And I have never regretted that decision, but it meant that living in France was still on the To Do list. Funnily enough, I remember someone telling me that if I did not study abroad in France as an undergrad, I could just go as a graduate student. A statement I scoffed at at the time. Grad school? I'm just trying to get through college, I thought. Well, that person was right, although it would take me a while to believe them.

The urge to live in France grew in me, particularly in the months after returning from India. Once a traveler, always a traveler. Forever doomed to be sick with wanderlust. Poor me. Now, I can often tell the difference between something I want that is just a fantasy for fun and something I want that I am going to get someday. The first may be... a surf vacation in Costa Rica, for example. True, it may happen someday. But it is not something which I feel the want for. France, I felt like I wanted it. I knew it would happen, I just did not know when.

Sometime in 2013, I bought a notebook I saw in a home goods store that inspired me to keep dreaming (pictured below):

Here is the first entry I wrote in that notebook sometime in Summer 2013:

"I've decided that I must go to France as soon as possible. The last time I was there for more than a few days was when I was a small child and I barely remember it. It is a huge part of my family's history and I want to experience the culture and be able to speak more fluently. I plan to use this journal to document my plans, my "hopes and dreams" related to France and all things French, and someday my experiences traveling in France."

Over the next several months, I wrote about anything related to French culture that I encountered. Books I read, art exhibits I went to downtown, food I ate, places I wanted to visit, ideas I got from movies. Anything and everything. I even read an 800-page historical fiction book about Paris. Eight hundred pages of free reading as a senior in college. I mean, come on. That's dedication. Then, in January, I made the decision to apply for a graduate semester abroad. After months of applications and paperwork, it became official. I was going. On the day before I left the country, I wrote:

"It's so funny to me that I bought this journal not knowing when or how I would end up in Paris, and here I am about go get on a plane to CDG to stay in the City of Lights for six months."

At the time, and even now, I was very matter-of-fact about everything. Going to Paris was something I wanted to do, so I was doing it. End of story. Don't worry, I got emotional at various points throughout the journey, but I never felt like I was coming or going anywhere. I just felt like I was... doing. Like I was living and this was just the next chapter. Maybe I'm getting too philosophical for you now... I do find it hard to explain. But anyways...

I still think it's funny, to be honest. That I bought that journal to obsess over Paris, without any idea how I'd be getting myself there. But it's great. I brought it with me and I continued to write in that journal throughout my time here, mostly using it to plan adventures and document random observations or, write down things I wanted to go see. I had a few other journals too (I like to write a lot), but I love that I brought this one with me.

Don't ever let yourself think something won't happen just because it seems a little crazy or maybe you're not sure how to make the dream a reality. Write down what you want for yourself. Even if you're not actively working towards it 24/7, if you put it into words and you think about it, if you truly want it, you will eventually figure out how to get there. At some point in those months of writing about France and French culture, I was presented with the opportunity to go and I took it without hesitation. And you know what? Audrey was right. It was a good idea.

Culturally "Shocking" Observations

You didn't think it was all fresh baguettes, chocolate, and strolls along the quayside over here, did you? I tend to keep the less-than-positive stuff out of my blog but I don't think there is anything wrong in letting you know that life isn't perfect. At the very least, we can all try to find some entertainment in it. Some of these things are just funny little observations. Some are genuinely frustrating. I'll let you guess which is which!

The first and most important thing to understand is food. Food is to be treasured and enjoyed. And this enjoyment is meant to happen sitting down. No, not at your desk while you continue working. Food time is food time with nothing else happening. I get dirty looks whenever I'm in a hurry and I eat my croissant as I walk to the métro. But there is one exception to this rule. Lunch and sandwiches. Only sandwiches though. Don't try to eat anything else on the go. It must be a sandwich (made with a baguette of course) and it is artfully wrapped so you may eat it without making a mess as you walk. I can't figure out where they're all going, but every day I see people wandering about the streets of Paris, sandwiches in hand.

Coffee is another thing that is to be savoured, rather than inhaled as is the practice in America. Sidenote: I wrote "America" in a paper recently and my professor wrote back, "America is not a country." Excuse me, sir? I'll get back to the academics in a moment... first, let's talk about the fact that coffee in Europe is... well, smaller.

True story. Additionally, bakeries are open earlier than coffee shops are. I can get a croissant before I can get my caffeine. I don't need to tell you how unfortunate this is.

I actually used to go to Starbucks on Capitol Hill when it opened at 5:30am to work sometimes (when I was behind on a 9:00am deadline), and I would stay there for 4+ hours. This would not fly in France 1) Because Starbucks does not open until 7:30am. SEVEN. THIRTY. Additionally, I think they would have me committed or accuse me of being sans domicile if I stayed there over a few hours. Lucky for me, I am a university student so I can just go to school to study...

Or can I? Sciences Po has a total of... one or two common areas. And our library has a total of about seven seats available. Okay, maybe a bit more but the point is you are more likely to play tag with a dolphin than you are to find a seat to study in the Sciences Po library. No really, you are.

And on to my favorite cultural difference. The classroom. I'm going to attempt to keep this short so I don't sound too cynical. Here's the thing. I am in a different country. There are going to be differences. There were academic differences when I went to India. There are academic differences here in France. At least in India they assumed that I would have no idea what was going on. Here, it is the exact opposite. I truly have no idea what is going on, and yet everyone assumes I must somehow secretly know the methodology of French universities. Additionally, my schedule changes every week, two of my courses are in French (not my first language), and one of my professors just sounds like a rambling crazy person and I've yet to understand a single word he says.

This is my life. Every day.

I think I missed the reprogramming of my brain at the beginning of the school year, because everyone else seems to have a telepathic connection to the professors which allows them to guess what they want from us. When you ask questions, they tell you you should already know the answer. And don't even get me started on the formal way of doing things.

And just in case you think I'm crazy, I offer an explanation directly from the mouth of one of my professors. Mind you, he was entirely serious about this and did not see the entertainment value whatsoever. In explaining how to write an essay, he told us that academics is like figure skating. Ninety percent of it is performing for Russian judges, and the other ten percent is freestyle. In other words, 90% of it is doing exactly what they want you to do and to say, and then you are allowed to have 10% of your own thoughts on the matter. Well, now it all makes sense.

The judges

Me

And moving on to the last and most exciting part of living abroad. I am an American.

If only it were that glamorous. Some people will love me for this, others will hate me for it. And others just pre-judge the hell out of me because of it. I have heard everything from that man in the market in India who said, "Ohhh... OBAMA!" when I told him I was American to the literal upturn of the nose in response to my American-ness, Ah, vous êtes Américaine. Sigh. Words every American longs to hear.

Well, sometimes I get tired of telling people that I do not drive a truck, nor do I survive on fast food...

The stereotype. No really, people think is the reality of the majority of our country.

Naturally, I attempt to blend in as much as I can. I stick to the words I know and can pronounce properly. I smile and nod when I understand but I don't have the French vocabulary to verbally respond. People probably think I'm handicapped in some way, but at least they're still nice to me. I've even managed to sound English over American once or twice which was fun.

Honestly, I consider it a great achievement when I can have a conversation, or at least start a conversation and be greeted by someone with the assumption that I am a Parisian. How do I convince them? A mix of confidence and style. I have somehow managed to nail down the exact "look" of a Parisian. Which is pretty much just a leather jacket and a scarf. With that, they accept me. The bakers know which loaf of bread I order and the cooks at the café I go to for lunch know me by now too. I think I've been here long enough for them to accept that I am not a complete foreigner. Or at least that I'm not a tourist.

Although sometimes I overdo the confidence piece because I often have people asking me for help or directions. When I can actually help these people rather than mumbling something in franglais and using wild hand gestures, it is a good day.

And here's a baby polar bear so we can end this on a good note.

xx A

Chocolate, Art, and Culture

What more could you possibly want? I got my fill of chocolate and architecture last week when I took the day on Friday to explore some new parts of the city.

I started the day at the Porte de Versailles which often plays host to huge conventions. Why go to a convention center when there's all this "culture" to be had downtown? For chocolate, of course. The Salon du Chocolat was hosted in Paris from 29 October - 2 November (and lots of other European cities on other dates). Translated, it is essentially a chocolate show or exhibition. To put it less elegantly, it is a giant chocolate convention.

There was so much chocolate. Every flavor in every form. I have never seen so much chocolate. They had chocolate spreads, chocolate fountains, chocolat chaud, chocolate candies, fudge, macaroons, tea and coffee (chocolate-flavored of course), chocolate liqueur, and chocolate shaped like everything imaginable (shoes, motorcycles, owls, work tools, spoons, and... ahem... body parts). They had workshops and various talks on chocolate-related things from famous people in the chocolate-making world. And they had tents from everyone who is anyone in the chocolate-making world. And yes, they had samples. So many samples. Of everything imaginable. And it was all excruciatingly delicious. Here are a few photos from my visit:

Chocolate Bust

Chocolate Creations

Chocolate Fountains

Chocolate Glasses (they had shot glasses too)

After my cacao overload, I went home to decompress a bit and then headed back out to visit the brand new Fondation Louis Vuitton, the latest master-piece by "starchitect" (that's a thing, I swear), Frank Gehry. Some people hate it, naturally. It is Paris after all and they don't always love change. If you didn't know, a lot of people hated the Eiffel Tower when it was built (and they probably still do) so it doesn't surprise me that the new museum has some anti-fans. That being said, I had an amazing time there.

I thought the building was absolutely breath-taking and I loved everything about it. The mesmerizing fountain cascading down towards the lowest floor into a sort of moat around the bottom of the building. The sail-like pieces that make up the exterior of the building. The views from the top. The feel of the place. It was all amazing to me. You truly felt like you were setting sail in the middle of Paris. Well, okay, on the outskirts of Paris. Still, I loved it. I didn't even care about the art (there's not much there right now anyways), I just wanted to explore the building itself. It's hard to keep track of where you are the way the staircases are set up, but I just wandered about taking it all in. I particularly loved the top floor which is half-outside, half-covered by the "sails" and it provides a fantastic view of the city. I went (purposely) around sunset to ensure I would get the perfect lighting for my visit. Perhaps I would have been less smitten at a different time of day, or maybe I was on a chocolate-high, but I really loved the building. You can check out my photos from my visit by following this link from my Google+ account: https://plus.google.com/photos/113918254013841803278/albums/6076455288500315777?authkey=CLD08ej42puLsQE

x A

Fresh from the Bakery

There is something truly satisfying about a warm baguette fresh from the boulangerie. They have a secret recipe that allows for a beautifully crunchy exterior but a soft and delicious interior. I barely ever want to make a whole sandwich at home because I'd rather just eat the baguette. And my god, the self-control it takes to not eat the entire thing while you're walking home with it. The crispy lightly floured top of the loaf poking its head out of the paper bag, taunting you with it's I just came out of the oven aroma.

It hits all five of the senses. The sound of the bread ripping open and crunching in your mouth, the freshly baked scent, the satisfaction of ripping a piece off the end to enjoy, and of course the taste. Like heaven in your mouth (if you get the right one). And sight, well, it's a classic symbol of la vie parisienne so I suppose it's just nice to enjoy the image in the windows of bakeries all over the city.

Now, let's talk about finding the right one. This can be quite tricky sometimes. But not to fear, the French enacted a law to protect their bread. It says that traditional baguettes must be kneaded, worked, and cooked on-site, can only contain certain key ingredients, and cannot ever be frozen. Leave it to the French to create a law about the integrity of bread-making.

Now, even though your bread is protected, you can still go wrong purchasing the perfect baguette. First, you have to find the right boulangerie. There are about a dozen within each block (maybe I'm exaggerating, but probably not). Figure out who takes their bread-making seriously, where the locals go, and what kind of options they sell. Now, I say this, but honestly I go to several different bakeries depending on both the day and the time of day. Some have better baguettes, others have better croissants, still others make a better pain au chocolat. There may be a .10 centime difference in price. Some also sell petite baguettes (like a half-sized loaf) which is perfect for me because while I am all too content with consuming an entire baguette, it is a bit unnecessary.

Oh, and the best part? I've yet to spend over €1.15 on any single baguette.

I was inspired to write this post because I just ran out to buy a baguette to go with my tomato soup for dinner, and I was delighted to find that it was, indeed, the perfect baguette. Sometimes I leave with overly crispy ones, bread that's just a bit dried out, good bread that's no longer warm, or just so-so bread for whatever reason (although let's be honest, it's better than any American bread even when it's not the best in France). But tonight, the bread softly crunched beneath my fingers as I picked it up, and I could feel the warmth as I carried it home. On my way up the stairs, I couldn't resist a little bite off the top, and I stopped to enjoy it as if it were an exotic chocolate melting in my mouth.

Have I lost my mind? Possibly. But challenge me again when you've spent enough time in Paris to have a taste of that perfect baguette.

Flea Markets, Punts, and Family Time

What a wonderful weekend! It was just what I needed too. A few days of rest, relaxation, and a touch of home and family time. I took a train up to London on Thursday, then another into Cambridge and met my Uncle and his family (mom's side this time--taking a break from the French!) to spend the weekend with them. Cambridge is absolutely beautiful this time of year. We had warmish fall weather, sunshine, and a touch of autumn colors along the river like the red ivy on the old university buildings.

We didn't get up to anything too crazy but it was so nice to just relax, eat home-cooked meals, drink lots of tea, and speak English for a couple of days. Uncle Nick took me out for a tour on the motorcycle which was loads of fun! I love riding (Sorry, Mum!) and it's such a great way to see the countryside. We went out to the American cemetery which was beautiful and very peaceful. It was built to lay to rest those who fought in World War II and died overseas. They also had this incredible map inside the chapel of the air and sea operations during the war.

After our tour, we met Jo for lunch at the tea orchards where we could sit outside and enjoy the beautiful day while we ate.

I spent the day Saturday walking around town with my cousin. I haven't been to Cambridge since I was about 15 so I recognize parts of the city but I certainly couldn't find my way around. We went to the market where my grandmother used to sell her crafts when they lived there. We went to the bookstore and random shops, and went out to eat at a delicious sushi place. And, of course, I couldn't go to Cambridge without going for a punt ride! My uncle gave us a ticket and made sure we got front seats so we could enjoy the tour facing the front of the boat. The pusher tried extra hard to give an excellent historical tour since he had the boss's daughter and niece on board which was entertaining. It really is beautiful on the river. The willow trees lean out over the water and you get a nice view of all of the gorgeous old colleges and universities.

I also got to spend time with my younger cousin and help her with her cartwheels! She had me playing on the trampoline with her too which was great, especially when the cat joined us. I didn't last very long because I'm a bit sick right now but there's always next time. It was a short but wonderful visit and hopefully I will make it back again soon!

My Abnormal Normal

I realized recently that I haven't really written anything about what a "normal" day looks like or the simple life of a Parisian. I will try to give you an idea of what I'm doing here, but honestly, my life isn't very normal. I don't think there is a single day that stays the same every week. Nor is there a "regular" thing that I do every day. On any given day you might catch me training, working on parkour stuff, writing, studying, visiting family, wandering the streets of Paris, and running around on campus if I have class that day.

Then your classes are part of a schedule, are they not? One would think this, but no, that would be too easy. One week I had a class on Monday and Thursday morning for two hours each. And that was it. Two classes throughout the entire week. Another week, I had two classes on Monday (two hours each), two on Thursday (two hours and four hours... kill me), and one on Friday (four hours). Why on Earth is the university torturing you with four hours of sitting in one place? Well, these four hour classes only meet six times throughout the entire semester. So more or less every couple of weeks. Oh, and there is one class that hasn't started yet. We start this week. That will be twice a week for two hours. I actually have to look at my calendar every morning to figure out where I should be that day.

Two of my courses are in French, three in English. I get by alright in the French ones, although I find that if I lose concentration for even a moment then I have no idea what's happening anymore. On the other hand, my French is so much better! I can hold a conversation and get by easily on the streets of Paris, and I imagine I will be quite comfortable by the time I leave.

What about a morning routine? I wish! Between the lack of a typical class schedule and the amount of traveling/visiting with friends I'm doing, it is really hard to create a routine. Totally not complaining here! I love my crazy life, but sometimes I do get a bit restless and need to clear my head.

What about food? I absolutely love the food here in France (duh), but I don't even have a regular store to go to. There are at least ten grocery stores within a five minute walk of me and each of them sell different things and are open at different times (some businesses close Mondays and Sundays... and Tuesdays). Then there are the various boulangeries, fromageries, charcuteries, poissoneries, and all of the other -eries you can think of for speciality items. Also with their own specialty hours. Generally I make eggs, toast or paleo pancakes in the morning so not a huge change from life in the U.S. But sometimes I run out of time and grab a croissant and café on my way to uni. Lunch is at home or near school which is usually a sandwich (fresh ingredients on an entire half-baguette.. they don't know anything about portion sizes). Dinner is almost always at home because I'm a poor grad student. Also the restaurants barely ever serve vegetables here. What's that about?

What about friends? Honestly the only people I spend time with are either family or parkour people, who may or may not live in Paris. I'm not really sure what I'm doing the rest of the time. I'm traveling a good amount and have managed to make friends with people all over Europe at this point through parkour and various events. It makes it difficult to keep up with everyone but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love how international my life is.

I make friendly acquaintances on campus too but that's usually for coffee in between classes and not so much getting together outside of school. I go to dinner with my cousins and great-aunt and more cousins every couple of weeks. There is enough family of mine over here to see someone new every week! And beyond that, I usually hangout and train with the local parkour kids in Paris when I can. It is fun to get a local perspective and talk to people who aren't overly posh (everyone at Sciences Po). It's a different part of the city.

What else do you want to know? I just got back from a couple of awesome trips and I'm gearing up for a few more depending on my health (I've been a bit sick lately). Oh, and I'm trying to remember to get all my schoolwork done in between training, traveling, and parkour work. Don't worry, Mom and Dad, I'm still enrolled in school! I'm also trying to remember to soak in the little joys of being a Parisian. My favorite way to do this is to get up early in the morning for a workout when the streets are quiet, and then I watch the sun rise over the river on my way back to my apartment.

So, that's my "normal" for you. Lately, I've been giving my parkour blog more attention than this one, but I will try to update you again soon with regular Parisian things!

xx A

My Life as a Monty Python Skit

We've all heard about the bureaucratic nightmares accompanied with living in France, but I honestly didn't think anywhere could be worse than India. I was wrong. Setting up a bank account here has been so complicated it's almost comical. Almost.

I had my father help me while he and my mum were visiting and we conveniently decided to begin our quest on a Monday... when almost every single bank in Paris is closed. We did eventually find one that was open after calling around, however they were conveniently not open from 12-2pm. Of course. Why would anyone be open during lunch? That would be madness.

We paused our search to eat and returned at 2pm only to be told by the bank teller that they couldn't possibly open an account for me because I was an international. I must go to the international branch of the bank.

Very well. We walked about 25 minutes to the international branch with all of my paperwork, ready to give it another go. Side note: I'm not even going to list the paperwork required because that alone will give you a headache. Arriving at the international bank, we were told that the minimum for opening an account was €10 million. I don't think that's what we had in mind... They explained that the branch we had gone to previously is perfectly capable of opening an account for me but they're constantly sending people over to the international branch. At least I wasn't the first confused étrangère to walk in there.

They sent us a few blocks down to another branch that "should be able to" help us. Finally, this was true, but we had to make an appointment. We set up a rendez-vous for Thursday morning and confirmed with them which paperwork we would need. We left a little tired and irritated but feeling confident that I would have a bank account on Thursday. Wrong. So very wrong.

Thursday rolled around and we arrived several minutes early, but were still seen late. After going over the basics of the account, the teller explained that the paperwork I had brought with me was insufficient (even though they're the ones who told me what to bring) and I would need to get another document proving my residence in France. Can I go print it and bring it back to you? No. Can I set up the account and give it to you as soon as I leave via email? No. We must set up another appointment. When was their earliest available appointment? Next Wednesday, almost a week later...

At this point, my parents had left and I was nervous about my French skills but I went back on the Wednesday and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she told me all of my paperwork was in order. I then sat there signing my life away for about an hour switching back and forth between French and English with the nice bank lady. Okay, it is good. It's open? I'm done? Oui! And when the bank checks everything out, you can have your bank card. Pause. THERE'S ANOTHER STEP?!

I wanted to scream and tear up all the paperwork. Instead, I went home and waited patiently. About a week later, I received an email saying that my bank account had been validated and I could come retrieve my carte bancaire at my earliest convenience. Naturally, I went in later that afternoon... only to be told that No no no, it was validated today so your card will be ready at the end of the week. Pause. What? And no, you can't pay your landlord yet even though your account exists and there is money in it. I sat there dumbfounded and exhausted. I left and waited for Friday.

On Friday, I returned to retrieve my bank card without the paperwork that was, without my knowledge, sitting happily in my mailbox that I never check. By some miracle (more likely their pity for me), they still gave it to me and I was able to pay my landlord with the help of the teller. At least I won't be homeless on Monday! The catch? I still couldn't use my card now that I had it because I must find the right code buried in one of the ten letters they sent me and then activate it on a machine.

...

Isn't this fun?