Missed Already

My last message from Paris... This is a bittersweet moment. I always thought that after spending a semester abroad, I would turn into this completely self-realized person who knew what she wanted to do with her life and who felt up to any challenge. Far from it, I have realized that I know nothing, and I only have a million questions left to ask myself about my life and what I am going to do after college. The important thing is that I want France to be part of my story.

Even if I only get to be here for small stints in the future, I realize now that my life is permanently entwined with Paris. I just want to make it count when I go home. There's nothing like this odd city, and at times, it's easy to write it off as too much of a world-wide myth center. It's like people just want to come here for the sites and the monuments, for the Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower. Paris, as I have lived it, is about so much more than those things.

Paris for me will always hold a special place in my heart because of the people who are here. Granted, not all of them are special. You meet some odd characters on the metro, and I am glad to see those adventures far behind me. But you also meet so many people with different walks of life. Part of what makes the French culture so special is how the world is something to study. I never want to forget the desire I have to explore the world like one great canvas upon which each culture has painted its heritage to be shared.

For me, I am already missing my corner of Paris, though I know that I'm always going to carry it with me.

Oh, the things I will miss!

There are only a few days left of my Paris adventures, a week to be precise. I just feel like this whole thing is a whirlwind of experiences I can't begin to share with all of you like I want to! So here's what I'm going to do. This next week is going to be dedicated to things I will miss about being in Paris. I've shared enough about tips and travel, etc. I just want to share the things that make my time here unique to me. Keep in mind that these things are also in no particular order.

The bells of Notre Dame! I wish I could take that cathedral with me everywhere, and not just a pocket-sized one! I just want to be able to look out of my window and see it for the rest of my life. Does this mean I'm coming back to Paris to live? Who really knows? One thing is for sure, they might throw me out of the city for not liking wine. For real, I can't handle any of it.

The Seine. I just love this beautiful river. It's big and probably smells terrible (caution: don't get too close), but it's the most oddly romantic body of water I've ever been around. Even the ocean doesn't seem to have the same kind of mystique for me... Perhaps it's just because of the view I have of the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle. That probably helps.

Walking. It's funny, but you don't really get to walk around in the US like you do in Paris. If you're walking, you are walking in a park or on a side walk in a neighborhood. If you live in NYC, you might have the closest parallel with the kind of walking I'm talking about. I hope that I can find a place to live where walking is not only common but a wonderful way to experience the city. I just wish that I'd done more of it sooner - despite the unnaturally cold weather.

Stay tuned for more. Boy, I'm really missing Paris now just as much as I miss home. It's best for me to do this while I'm still here, though. I don't know what odd things I'll be experiencing on re-entry!

Spring Break

So here I am back in Paris with only 2 weeks left. Actually, with just under 2 weeks left! I can hardly believe it's that time already, mostly since I just returned from a lovely break. I split my time between London and Madrid, and let me tell you, I've never known traveling to be so prone to ups and downs as this trip was! Here are a few things I'd like to share with those of you who are planning travelling around Europe while you're here:

1. Cost
You may find yourself in a pinch for money. No problem! There are loads of cheap ways to see everything you want to see. You just have to find all the right ways to cut costs without suffering from them. One good way to do that is to find reasonable housing. If possible, stay with people you know. That may mean your cousin's ex-fiance, but I hope it doesn't! If you can't find someone you're related to, the next best thing is to take recommendations from people who have been to where you are going. They are great resources for you when beginning your search for bargains.

Next option, internet and guide books. It's been my experience that some websites will tell you helpful information, while others only give you what's convenient to share. Like, "Breakfast included," sometimes means you only get it certain days of the week and at certain hours, and it's not on-site. You should be thorough in your research, and if you don't mind surprises, go ahead and gamble. On the other hand, guide books will give you a lot of good information about everything you will want to do, whether it's sight-seeing or finding a hotel/hostel.

2. Travel
When traveling, you should know your own habits. Since I am not a good traveler, as some put it, I like to travel on airplanes rather than in cars for long stretches of travel. But since I also love a good bargain, on my trip to London I was happy to save some change to spend while actually in the city (and you need it; nothing's cheap in London!). Unfortunately, that meant taking a bus. After arriving late and then spending an extra 2 hours in customs, the out-bound trip seemed like a nightmare. When returning from London, the whole trip took no longer than expected and was smooth-sailing the whole 5 hours. Still, compare that to flying, and I think you might just be better off taking the plane.

3. Arrival
Once you get to town, the sky's the limit. Or really, your budget. You can manage to see a lot even over the span of a long weekend. I would strongly recommend the guides put out by Lonely Planet. Using the London guide not only helped me to get a sense of the geography of the city, with numerous regional and city maps, but it also helped me to prioritize my visit with suggested day trips and walking tours. If you don't want to pay much, you can easily flip through and get a feel for what's cheap. You can also find out the good places to go for food!

4. Souvenirs
If you want souvenirs that will mean something, don't just go to the souvenir shops. Talk to the locals, read the guide books, and most importantly, walk around! It's okay to be lost, just preferably don't be lost at night. Things get strange quickly for visitors when it's dark. But you can easily get to know people at shops and on the public transportation, especially if you speak the local language. Be sure and be sensitive to culture, too. Sometimes people don't like tourists meddling in their affairs.

Paris When It Doesn't Sizzle

So living in Paris seems like a dream, right? Then you do it and you feel like you're living a dream, right? Well, one of the reasons it feels like you're living a dream is that crazy things happen all the time that just shouldn't be normal. Here's just a few thoughts to throw out.

Weekend stroll
Last Saturday I took a lovely stroll through Paris. As soon as I got off the metro, there was a jazz brass group playing and a crowd of happy tourists cheering them on. Not 15 feet away, I ran into a man playing La Vie en Rose on his accordion. "This is Paris," I thought. The walk continued on for a while, including a few random turns that led me right back to the main boulevard and eventually to the Musee d'Orsay. I've been trying to get there this whole trip, but the line, can you believe it, was a crowd that stretched across the whole plaza. Then I walked along the Seine (thinking of Gene Kelley dancing to Gershwin in An American in Paris), then on to Place Dauphine and Pont Neuf. And what happened next? The rain started to fall. There's something you can't live without in Paris: cold rain and sunshine.

Easter at Notre Dame
Though I am not Catholic, I attended mass at the breath-taking Notre Dame Cathedral for Easter Sunday. It was a wonderful moment to be standing in the crowd of tourists and locals waiting for a church to open its doors. I don't think I will ever experience anything like that again. Everyone stood so close, you could smell their Parisian perfume (not always a pleasant smell). Add to that the sound of American teenagers on vacation with their parents and school groups. Whose idea was it to bring them there? In any case, this was the first and hopefully last time I will ever be pushed into a cathedral again.

The mass itself was supposedly the international service, but only the ending part was multilingual. I felt sorry that the priest had to speak English because he clearly didn't want to try it at all. He almost forgot what he was supposed to be repeating at one point! But who wouldn't? We Americans seem to make life more awkward for everyone in the world because they can't speak our language but they sure do try. I was just excited to be there, in such a historical place. How many centuries of people have come there to worship, and we are just sitting there waiting for mass to be done so we can take pictures.

Miscellaneous
And then there are those things you least expect... A man urinating on a flowerbed on Boulevard Montparnasse. Wearing hospital booties to visit a private home for architecture class. Seeing one of your friends standing on the quai of the metro as you ride past. Sunshine after a rainstorm. The Eiffel Tower in your direct line of vision.

So maybe Paris is greatest when you don't have any standards for it at all. Just like any big city, the beauty lies in the most random moments.

Things That Deserve Reflection

March has passed me by without much ceremony, but I guess the days always go by much faster here. It seems like just yesterday I was writing a frantic but excited post on my new host family and on my new home here in Paris. Now, any time I picture leaving here, I can't help but acknowledge the part of me that wants to stay forever. I don't think that I was expecting that after all I've gone through. Culture shock has a funny way of surprising you when you least desire it.

There are a few things that I think need more reflection here. If you are ever planning on traveling to Paris, this might help you. But most likely you will find that Paris is what you make of it.

1. The Cinema
French people have an entirely different view of the movies than we do. I guess it comes from their long history of artistic movements that it's only natural for them to treat going to the movies like going to an art gallery. I found out the hard way that they don't tolerate getting into the movie - as in commenting on how super excited you are that the movie is good. In my defense, the film was American and a super big deal. (Perhaps you have heard about The Hunger Games? If you haven't, you probably should check it out.) But another interesting fact is that they don't really discriminate against genres like we do. I just saw a second film at the cinema, an American action/comedy, and several of the audience members were elderly people. I would normally just chalk it up to the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, but there's something to this. In the US, you probably wouldn't find a 75 year old woman coming to the theater by herself to watch a movie in a foreign language that you knew was going to be about young people in love. It's just a thought, but the French of any generation are more willing to view a film as something worthwhile even if it is a comedy. Maybe we could learn something about their appreciation.

2. Architecture
I really wish that we had more historical heritage. Where I am from, most of the architecture is so new, you couldn't care less who built the building or when; you just care what you can do inside it. In Paris, there is such a rich architectural heritage. It's not just the Eiffel Tower that I'm talking about, either. Sometimes I think we are so naive in thinking that the Eiffel Tower is the most beautiful monument in the world. If you ask me, the area around the Eiffel Tower is what makes it significant - and the view from the top, which I am hoping to see very soon!! There are so many beautiful sites around every corner, so many stories about people and societies long past. If we had the same in America, I'd say it's something like going to Colonial Williamsburg but a lot older. And even the buildings that date from the nineteenth century are amazing. Like the Opera Garnier, for example. 'Nuff said.

3. Legend
I don't really know what makes Paris such a symbol of romance, but sometimes, I find it no different than other big cities. What makes the city special to me, though, is the French people. I don't know any other culture that is more proud of their heritage and their language. It is nearly 3 centuries after France's glory days during the Classical era, yet people still have this fancy impression of Paris and of France - including the French. They are proud to be the birthplace of the Rights of Man, of Republican spirit, of wine and good food. Not only that, but they'd tell you any day that America can't hold a candle to them. I have to confess that it's this kind of cultural pride that makes me love the French! We Americans think that to be patriotic we have to agree with the government, wear red, white, and blue all the time, and (some people think this, Yankees!) listen to country music. In France, your cultural pride is linked directly to the language. I wonder what it would be like if we anglophones had to learn other languages to get a job. I think we'd benefit from that kind of cultural challenge.

I'm sure there will be more reflections coming, but these were the most pressing today.

Bruges

Belgium is a lovely place to be, but sometimes you really need to speak the language to feel at home. During my recent stay in Bruges, Belgium, I discovered that even though everyone spoke English (and French) the main language of service is Flemish. For those who don't know, the language of northern Belgium sounds like a fusion of German and English and is impossible to sound out. As an example, the Market Square is known as Markt and most every street's name ends in "straat."

Other than the language, I think that Belgians are happy people. They see a lot of tourists in Bruges even though the city is a fraction of Paris. It only takes 20 minutes to walk from one end of the city to the other if you're really looking to get a fast walk in. More than that, all the tourist places are pretty close together. It makes for an ideal vacation spot if ever you want to visit Belgium but Brussels is too big. Although, I hear the city of Ghent is wonderful for those looking to find young people, due to the abundance of universities.

Bruges was founded in the year 1277 with the arrival of the first traders from Genova. In 1309, the Stock Exchange opened - a very long time before modern capitalism and yet so similar to the way we do things now. Bruges itself was based on its trade routes via its canals. Even in the medieval era, the town was build on the banks of the water. You can see how integral the water was to the foundation of the city, though a lot of the former sites of canals are covered with streets.

The main attraction of the town is due to the film In Bruges, which stars Colin Farrell. I've never seen it, but apparently it's good! It won critical acclaim for its screenplay, so it must have some merit. Despite its bleak outlook on the city, the film attracts more tourists to the small town than perhaps it should. Personally, I think more people should visit it just for the fun of going to a small town that still acts like a small town despite the tourists. Even if you aren't in the market for a romantic canal ride or a pint of beer, Bruges is a lovely place to spend the weekend. I am so glad I did!

Normandy, My Love

I have to confess that after visiting the Loire Valley, I didn't think there would be a region to live up to my standards of French regions. But I was wrong. The first view of Normandy we took on our latest excursion had me hooked: fishing boats, the Seine, and cute architecture. Pardon my pun.

The town is called Honfleur, and if you have never heard of it, you should look it up. Many of the great French painters, predecessors of the Impressionists, painted and lived in this charming city. Between the history of the oldest wooden church, L'Eglise Sainte Catherine, and the atmosphere of a water-front town, all of your needs can be met in this one place. Not to mention the fact that I found a milkshake there. No joke, it's the first one I've seen this whole time that wasn't suspicious. Next to Honfleur on your list of destinations should be Deauville, and geographically, they are practically neighbors. This lovely ocean-front town is also the site of an important American film festival, as you can see by the beach side changing stalls dedicated to Hollywood stars.

Our home base was Caen, a very typical destination for anyone visiting Normandy. You will find university students and everyday folks just as often as you will find tourists, but the city is worth your time. Though we didn't go for a tour, we walked by William the Conqueror's castle. We visited l'Abbaye aux hommes, home to a wonderful Romanesque/Gothic fusion church. William's ancient remains are interred inside, so if you care about old Norman history, you should stop by. Apparently, they had trouble getting him to go into his grave, so the remains, I'm sure, would testify to that if you could still even find his crumbs.

Anyway, the important site of Normandy happens to be one of the most visited tourist sites in France: Mont St Michel. Not far from Caen, this island is a witness to centuries of history, from William the Conqueror trying to lay siege to the World Wars. What makes this jewel so special is its beautiful views. You hardly make it to the top of the steps (there are a lot) before the view takes away your breath. On top, you will find a church and abbey, still in session for those who want to make pilgrimage there. I found the gardens to be the most enchanting spot.

As a conclusion, we visited the Memorial in Caen, which consists of a very thorough museum on the history of World War II in France. There is also a separate exhibit about D-Day, or Jour J as the French call it, and the landings on Normandy's shore. Unfortunately, our subsequent visit to the shores themselves was overshadowed with fog. Under better conditions, you can see what remains of the British, American, and Canadian landings. We did, however, get to explore a few bunkers, one complete with a tank!

If any of you is wondering, we did visit the American memorial at St Laurent. It was just as moving as I imagined, and the only thing missing was patriotic music. It's funny how nothing seems to patriotic to me now that I've been away from the U.S. for so long. I don't always miss it, but there is nothing like America - even with our problems and vices. I'm actually thankful to be American... but if any French person asks, I'm not really American. I just play one on TV. 

Laisser les bons temps rouler

(Let the good times roll!)

I just want the world to know how much I truly love the Loire Valley. Anyone who is visiting France should add this jewel of a region to their list of places to see. The region is full of beautiful, quaint towns and chateaux that look like they have just sprouted out of the ground. During the Renaissance, the French crown made its primary residence in the area, and the chateaux still exist today for those who are interested in seeing how the other half lived in this time of cultural rebirth.

The best part about this trip is that it has led to beautiful weather in Paris! I welcome spring and sunshine, because it cuts the wind and cold. Even more than that, the good weather is welcoming in the celebration of my birthday! What a wonderful way to celebrate being born. Even the Seine is beautiful to me today, the Seine, the Tour Eiffel, the towers of Notre Dame. All these usual sites of my neighborhood look so much more beautiful to me today. It's la vie en rose! I can't stand it!

Well, yes I can. Anyway, here are some lovely images of the Loire to show you just how beautiful it is! (Le Chateau de Chambord [the first 4 images], Chateau de Blois, D'Ambois, le Chateau de Clos Luce, et le Chateau de Chambord, the final image is of Tours - just a few lovely sites).

Full Circle

I find that in my life, the circumstances that mean the most to me are the ones that show me there is something more to life that just coincidence.

One of those instances just happened upon me, and I must share with you - whoever you may be. In my cinema class, we just finished our discussion of the American era "Hollywood-sur-Seine," in which many Hollywood-funded films were made in Paris to avoid sending massive amounts of money back to the U.S. (In other words, to avoid paying heinous taxes.) One such film is none other than An American in Paris, Vincente Minelli's chez-d'oevure musical. Those of you who have been following this blog closely will remember that I first began my Parisian experience with this very film while I was still in the U.S.

My first thought was that this was too much of a coincidence to be watching this film, albeit just a few clips, in my French cinema class. There were even several points of my own observation in our professor's analysis. Chiefly, the references to French painters during the American in Paris Ballet. However, I learned that my recognition of the paintings was limited to Toulouse Lautrec, while the ballet actually includes many great French painters from the Belle Epoque.

I continued this feeling of coincidence when I watched the most recent Woody Allen film, Midnight in Paris. Everyone it seems has had this film on their lips since I arrived, and I felt it was time to find out what all the buzz meant to me. I'm happy that the film not only lived up to the hype, but it has brought my experience in Paris full circle. There were so many moments in that film, which centers on the fantastic encounter of a 21st century screenwriter with the great American expats of the 1920s, that made me think of my life here. For example, when Gill (the screenwriter/struggling novelist) sits down with Ernest Hemingway, he confesses that he is always reticent to have other people read his work. Hemingway tells him that a writer should never fear death and is always jealous of another writer's talent.

Being a writer myself, I think that this film is the most pertinent look at the effect of romance and environment on the artistic spirit. Granted, I'm no Hemingway, and I'm certainly not the next Woody Allen. But at the same time, I felt that I could identify with this erring protagonist in that I'm always focused on my writing more than I am what's around me. Being here in Paris has given me a new sense of setting and its integral role in the action. Some of that awareness has also come from reading the greats of 19th century French literature, Balzac, Zola and Maupassant to name a few key figures. This city has impacted literature so much that it exists in mystique more than in actuality for most people.

What is Paris to me? For the moment, I hardly know how to put its role into words. I'm with Gill sometimes, who decides at the end of the film to give up his cushy job in Hollywood and move to Paris to work on his novel. Then other times, I'm a cynic. Paris is an ideal, not a physical place. I think Hemingway said it best when he called it a "moveable feast." You can take it with you wherever you go; you don't have to move here to experience it for a lifetime.

So my goal is more than just to experience something as overtly romantic as Gene Kelly in An American in Paris - falling in love with a Parisian dancer and living happily ever after - or even as sentimental as Gill in Midnight in Paris. I just want to understand what this artistic feast means to me and how that plays into my life. In the meantime, I'm enjoying how even in the big city, life is a series of recurring emotion that never ceases to overwhelm me with creative energy. I love it.

Le Ballet

Tchaikovsky is one of my favorite composers, and it just so happens that the Moscow Theater Ballet was performing Swan Lake (Le Lac des Cygnes) here in Paris this weekend. And I am blessed to report that I saw it! I must say that I'm glad my first ballet was this one. The performers were wonderful and professional, and I was in a small enough theater to actually see what was happening on stage!

I think my favorite part was the ambiance. When the scenery changed to the Lake, there was fog and mist to match the broody change in the music. I was very excited when that happened! The only unfortunate part was that the music was previously recorded. If the theater had been bigger, I might have wondered why they didn't have a live orchestra, but it made sense in the space not to try to cram a few dozen players much less a symphony in there. I consoled myself with the lovely view!

I am not much of a ballerina or a dancer, but I am familiar with the forms of ballet. After watching this performance, I really can't fathom performing something as strenuous as a ballet. Each performer not only has to be spot on with the ensemble but he or she also has to stay in character. It's like being a silent film star: your body must convey your words. That in and of itself makes these dancers my heroes.

What's my next goal, you may be asking? To see a ballet/opera in the Opera Garnier. As in the one from the Phantom of the Opera. Don't worry; I'll let you know if that happens.

March Is Here

You know that March is here when the weekly forecast contains sunny, high of 56 and rainy, low of 30. That's exactly the weather we've had in Paris this week, but I'm glad that we started with wet and cold and ended with sunshine. Not only that, we ended in style! Yesterday I went on a walking tour around the area of Mont Ste Genevieve.

Sainte Genevieve is important to the French because she not only discovered the tomb of St Denis, a very important early Christian martyr in France, but she also helped to protect the people of Paris during a long siege by the Huns. There are two churches right next to each other in this area of Mont Ste Genevieve, which is not really a mountain. It's just an elevated part of the city. You can find one church, named for the patron saint herself, that is a glorious mix of late Gothic and Renaissance architecture, and the other is famously not a church. That is to say, it's a mausoleum known as the Pantheon. It's interesting to imagine what the Pantheon might be if the Revolution hadn't happened. But I guess we'll never know. Now it's a very majestic home to important people after they have died. Eerie when you think about it, but so is the fact that the church houses the relic of Ste Genevieve's finger.

In the afternoon, I took my first real stroll on the Champs-Elysses. Honestly, I think that it will be prettier when spring really does arrive. The trees weren't in bloom, despite the deceptive weather. I also think that the only cool part is the view. Everywhere you are surrounded by wonderful 19th century buildings, all leading toward the Arc de Triomphe, which is the center of the spokes of the star (etoile).

I even ate a typical alsacien meal, that is a traditional menu of Alsace in the North of France. It mostly consisted of sausages and cabbage. To my taste buds, it felt more German and even smelled German and not French, but the funny thing about France is how truly different the regions are. In the South, or rather in Provence, everything felt and looked like Italy. In the North, you could have German influence or even something more akin to Great Britain. It's all relative to geography. I think what's truly wonderful about that fact is that France is a fraction of the size of Texas; it's even smaller than Georgia.

I hope to share more wonderful things with Americans in the future, but if you're considering coming here to France, you might just want to prepare yourself for how truly small this space is by remembering that even in Paris, there are more people in the space than such a small city has room to contain.

God's Love Speaks

Today I couldn't eat my lunch - first since I've been in Paris. The reason I am shocked and why I'm writing this here now is because the Holy Spirit was the cause. The Lord was weighing so heavily in my heart, He was so palpable, that I couldn't stomach the taste of something as simple as a ham and cheese sandwich. Perhaps some of you have never felt this before, but I think that one of the most beautiful parts of knowing God is communing with Him. It's just that sometimes we are surprised at the situations that remind us of His presence.

When I went to the grocery store to purchase my pre-made sandwich, I walked past several homeless people sitting beside each of the doors to the store. The thought crossed my mind as I was walking away from the sound of their soft but insistent voices. What was I doing, buying that food for myself when all these people are asking for is something to eat? As I stared at my uneaten half of the sandwich, their simple pleas reverberated in my head.

I went back after what felt like ten minutes of hesitation. Beside the gates of a nearby elementary school, a child, probably 10 years old, sat bundled up on the sidewalk. I reached out and gave this small human form my sandwich, hardly hearing the plea escaping her lips. As I walked away, I realized that I didn't even know how to share more with this child - how to share the reason that drew me to give her food. All the years of learning the "strategy" of evangelism cannot prepare anyone for what it is like to go beyond yourself for the Gospel in real life. I had no words, only a sandwich and a smile.

At the end of the day, strategy is a tactic the world uses in business, not a Biblical necessity. When face to face with human misery, we have to lean on the Lord. There is nothing in human power to provide for the needs of another soul; all we have is food.

I want this moment to be frozen in time as both a turning point and a failure to trust in God. My failure was when I hesitated to go the moment I felt the Lord's rebuke. I thought about just throwing away the uneaten half of my sandwich. It would have been just as easy to do it. But that thought should caused me to recognize the voice of the Lord. We are always tempted to give into the flesh when we are on mission for the Lord. The enemy knows where we are weak and constantly gives us the chance to forget about God, to conveniently believe that He couldn't be present in our daily lives. But the Lord protects us so that we never have to doubt the call of His Gospel.

Perhaps if I had acted immediately to the stirring of His Spirit, I wouldn't have had that trouble speaking the words of God in my heart, yet I know that the Lord's grace will cover me and this child. Even now the Word of God is my food. My strength. My love.

Monday, Monday, Monday

This week is going to make me stronger, because it's certainly not gonna kill me! It's funny how being in a foreign country and doing all of my work in another language has made me appreciate English more.

In the next several days, I will be completing the second and the third French-formatted composition of my life - the first one being an essay that my teacher saw fit not to grade beyond pass/fail for completion. French compositions at their very heart are based on logic. If you make one point, you should acknowledge the opposing view and state why that view is not the argument posed in your essay. It makes sense, of course, to write that way. As my teacher put it, if you show up to a debate without expecting the opposition, you are not equipped to make your own arguments (see every political debate ever).

My dilemma here is that I am writing about literature. What can one possibly do to deny me my right to read a text how I see fit to read it? Honestly, if I write something, I want my readers to read the work in their own way, and that generally doesn't involve picking apart every metaphor and saying, "This section relates to **'s desire to break free of social constraints" and other such literary mumbo-jumbo. But I am a good student of literature, and I secretly enjoy attributing things to authors that they probably didn't intend. I just prefer doing it in a language I fully understand, using my own logical structure.

In France, even the composition is policed. They say that we have issues. Well, at least we teach our students to write essays however they please! There's no real art to writing something using a form for the first time. It's like the first time I tried to write a sonnet. Any self-respecting Shakespearean scholar would have told me in a heartbeat that the metrical feet were wrong in several lines and I had the whole blank verse concept out of proportion in a few places. We've all got to start somewhere.

Here's the point. It's Monday; it's rainy and cold outside. All I want to do is cuddle on my bed and write a story about an American student in Paris who doesn't want to write her essay but who meets some mysterious  Welshman in the metro, and they fall madly in love... Ok, so I'm just being evasive. I think I just wanted to blow off some of my creative steam. The French certainly understand that! If you don't believe me, you should really be looking at this passage from Balzac.

Clouds Can't Bring Me Down!

This morning, I really didn't want to get out of bed. It's sad to admit, because I'm generally a morning person. Today I didn't want to wake up. But there was something making me put my feet on the ground, and that something was the prospect of re-visiting the Eglise Evangelique Baptiste on rue de Sevres. I was surprised even that I not only made it but I was only 5 minutes late!

When I arrived, the first thing we did was sing one of my favorite worship songs: "Shout to the Lord." If you have never heard it, look it up! There are countless versions of it (by now, it's kind of an old chorus), but I think that the French version has something for me the English version lacks. It's pure poetry! Here are the words, and even if you can't read it, you can still appreciate it's aesthetic purity.

Oh ! Jésus, mon Sauveur,

Seigneur, nul n’est comme toi.

Jour après jour je te louerai

Car ton amour est merveilleux.

Mon abri, mon refuge,

Mon réconfort, mon rocher.

Tout ce qui vit, ce que je suis,

Ne cesse de t’adorer.

Chante au Seigneur, crie de joie

Terre entière.

À Dieu la gloire, la puissance et l’honneur ;

Les monts s’inclinent et les flots rugissent

À l’écho de ton nom.

Je vois tes œuvres et mon cœur crie de joie.

Je t’aimerai, je tiendrai par la foi.

Rien ne pourrait égaler tes promesses pour moi.

Even now, I'm smiling just singing it to myself!

I was blessed as soon as I stepped foot in the room. Then we studied in Mark 5:21-34, when a woman touches the hem of Jesus's robe so that He will heal her. The teacher remarked on something very poignant about this passage that we should all remember: this woman came to Jesus because she had heard the rumors of what He had done in someone else's life. Not only that, she pushed beyond the limits of her physical limitations and beyond her status in society. Because of that persistent faith, she was healed. Jesus restored to her the status of humanity gave her a family with God. 

The personal application is that we should be that close to the Lord that people are always talking about Jesus and the miracles He has done in our lives. If He hasn't been present in your life lately, that's probably because you weren't looking for Him. We often miss the opportunities for miracles because we fail to recognize miracles in the ordinary things. Every day that I wake up is a miracle; every second I take a breath because Jesus paid for my breath. I will never step outside these four walls with a frown on my face and paranoia in my brain. It's impossible to fear when you know that the power that raised Christ from the dead is in you (Romans 8:11).

Cloudy day in Paris? No problem. All I see is beautiful.

Another Week for the History Books

Folks, I have officially been in Paris for a month. This is a time to remember, to celebrate, to set down on the page (virtual in this case): a true introvert has survived in a big city for four weeks! I'm imagining a Nice-style parade going on right now, complete with carnaval music and confetti. Except minus the carnaval and the confetti.

Apart from my first test and my first quiz, this week has been unremarkable. I've learned a lot about myself in the process, however, and I know that there are a few lingering questions that I still need to work out, so here we go.

How am I going to be content with living in suburbia after this? When I'm in a moment of weakness, as I often am in the winter months, I'd say I would get along the same as I always have. But that's not going to cut it anymore. The truth is that I've barely done anything in my life that was remarkable while I was at home. It's sad, but that's the truth. The only remarkable things I ever do at home happen in the realm of the imaginary, and I rarely like the things that come out of that state of mind longer than a few months after the mood has past.

My mind is flying in a million directions trying to synthesize what it would be like if I lived like I do here while I was at home. Let me explain, because I feel like this is more for my own benefit than yours.

As an introvert, I generally keep close to what is familiar. I go to classes at school and socialize with the people I live with, and beyond that I don't really stretch my social muscles. If someone says, "So and so is hosting a party. You should come." I generally just smile and make up a ridiculously exaggerated half-truth to get me out of going, whether I like the people or not.

Contrast that with Paris: I take the metro every day by myself. I order meals, go to class and socialize with my hosts all in French. I often walk in the neighborhood, and I do things with a purpose when I am in public. Okay, so not that much different so far. I'm getting there!

What I never do at home is take the time to look around when I'm in public. I don't actually walk around where I live, but if I did, I might be more inclined to care what my neighbors were doing, instead of fearing a conversation with them. At least they would be speaking to me in English.

That's just the tip of the iceberg. What if even in Paris I got into the thick of cultural engagement, and actually went out of my way to understand what makes someone French? That's how I would be able to look at the suburbs differently. After the week I've had, I think that's what I'm most looking forward to enjoying when I go back home. Of course it will be difficult to re-enter the Deep South after living in such a liberal metropolis for a few months, but the difficulty will be inside of me. I won't be able to react to other people in fear, because they share my culture - something I never knew to value before I came to France.

I'm writing this so I don't forget when I go home to remember to be thankful for America, warts and all.

Random is best

I've been on the downward curve of cultural immersion this week - most likely a result of re-entering the big city after so much travel last week. The most ironic thing has happened though: a spontaneous act of a professor that normally would have made me feel awkward has actually brought my spirits back up.

Here is what happened. On Wednesday for my architecture class, we went to visit the cathedral Saint Vincent de Paul, not far from Gare du Nord. This cathedral not only represents the 19th century practice of appropriating styles from previous centuries but also demonstrates a good example of a paleo-christian church. The basic layout and spirit reflect the mysterious reverence of early Catholics in their vision of what a place of worship should be. For inspiration, these early Christians looked to the Roman basilica, which was not a religious building but a secular meeting place. The additions made under Christian influence have lasted even to modern times, such as the altar and the pulpit.

After we visited this eerie monument to times past (eerie because we were the only ones there), our professor decided to take all five of us out for a cup of coffee. I suppose this sort of thing is more of a European concept, since naturally it looks weird for five female students to go out in public with a male professor, especially when he's buying. But actually, this was one of the most normal things that has happened to me this week. We casually drank our lovely free drinks, mine a hot chocolate, and then the professor proceeded to discuss something that is very casual in France: politics. Lovely. This is one area in which I am not well-versed, and I generally make my opinions known with the utmost timidness.

As our professor opened the conversation with, "Do you think Obama will be re-elected? Do the Republicans have a chance?" what are five un-suspecting Americans to do but just say, "Well, the Republicans have a chance, but not a great one." Naturally, this was unsettling but honest; I am a Republican, but sadly, an uneducated Republican. Who am I to deny that President Obama is not only a competent leader but a good president? I just wanted to give my party a chance, even though I actually don't have any clue who these candidates are in terms of their politics.

Anyway, the conversation was mostly one-sided, as the professor is an enthusiast of American politics, and apart from being very French, he probably knows more than I do. Maybe it's just that he is more intelligent about his understandings of government. That is definitely a very French way to be: always curious about other points of view but staying firm in personal convictions. He wanted to discuss something interesting to him, and I was ashamed that I live in a country that I don't really understand, even here in France! I haven't studied government in a year and a half. Here's a Frenchman who follows the speeches of President Obama more closely than I would ever follow President Sarkozy.

This professor said one thing that stuck out more that the rest. "You have to be able to view your country as the world views it in order to have a better opinion of the things that are going on." Clearly, he said it better, because it was French. Come on, the most boring TV add is more interesting in French. (And sometimes it's the same commercial we have in the US, just translated.)

If we in America took ourselves more seriously, we would be able to have a better country in the present, instead of just letting our president harp on and on about our future and how we have to do this and that, etc., to improve it. My generation is really guilty of a general apathy regarding the future, because we have forgotten that we inherit it. At some point very soon, our generation is going to be calling the shots. In a lot of ways, we already are, and that's why we can't seem to have politicians who really care about their constituencies and who can do more than promise change and reform.

Take this French example to heart. In the banlieue or the suburbs of Paris, one can find the highest percentage of illegals and people who have immigrated from other countries. You can also find the highest rate of abstention come election time. Why? It's the same reason there are so many regions and demographics who are under-represented in the U.S. People aren't voting, and the candidate has to incentive to represent their needs. Candidates just want to be elected, like any good business men and women. If we want them to be of the people and for the people, we have to start supporting good ideas, not just letting them fight over botched compromises until their passed in Congress and then say, "Hey, that's not right!" What's not right is our apathy. Since when did we stop being a democracy?

So this random moment is really making me think. I don't even want this to be about politics, but there it is. My architecture professor sparked a torrent of feeling in me that I have never felt - at least not in a while. And he's right. I never would have realized that I needed to wake up if I hadn't gone outside of the U.S. In France, Obama can do no wrong, while in the U.S., he has some pretty vigilant haters who have their own TV shows. The reality is that we can't just let other people tell us what to think. I for one don't want that to be the way I lead my life.

It's a Process

So I have a confession. The title of my blog is actually grammatically incorrect for what my original intent requires. In French, adjectives must make agreement in number and gender to the noun or pronoun which they modify. In this case, the adjective "reveur" should apply to me, but I am a woman... So I need to recall my title, which should be "reveuse."

But actually, I'm okay with this mistake. In this sense, I am bringing myself closer to what I really want out of this experience and out of this blog, which is to make some progress in understanding myself and my relationship with the world. The dreamer of my title refers in this sense to all of us who come to Paris with the image of the myth, the romance and the history of this city. I can honestly say that living here puts not only a new spin on the myth but on my own naivete in coming here.

Anyway, I just want to acknowledge that I am learning throughout this process of studying and living abroad. I haven't quite wrapped my mind around the fact that Paris is as real as Atlanta or Richmond, but I'm working on it. I haven't gone completely crazy yet! Just to show you that I am really having fun here, I'd like to share a few more images from my travels. (Notre Dame de Chartres, le Palais des Papes in Avignon, the Roman amphitheater in Arles, the Rothschild Villa and Gardes, the beach in Nice, and the Chapelle de Matisse).

The Big City Monster

In my literature class, we are reading the novel Ferragus by Honore de Balzac. This is my first introduction to the French literary giant. In his short lifetime Balzac wrote more works than most people dream up in their entire career. As such, I was prepared to be his champion, just like I will always defend Dickens against all the people who write him off for getting paid by the word. A writer has to make a living. And we can't all have Balzac's skill for describing setting.

In Balzac's work, the city of Paris functions as a main character. Even that statement doesn't capture the role if the city as the "milieu" in which these people develop. Paris is personified as a number of figures, including a monster.

You might be wondering what a 21st century student might get out of a 19th century Paris monster. I can think of one example that will help me to share this insight with you.

As I was walking through the neighborhood where I live, I came across a very ornate building. From the looks of its architecture, I'd say that it dates from the 19th century, when Paris underwent massive reconstruction and renovation. On the building, I made out a very famous name: Louis Vuitton. The fact that I randomly stumbled onto this name is a testimony to the elegance of the shopping on rue de Rivoli, a mere block from where I was heading to go home.

I smiled to myself and wished I had brought my camera. That wry thought vanished when I saw a man digging through the trash on the street beside me. I was ashamed and humbled. Here I am, an American student with a bed and a host family waiting for me, and there are people all over Paris like this man who don't have a meal.

I understand where Balzac was coming from. Paris is like most big cities; the gap between rich and poor is both wide and readily apparent. What sets this big city apart is the Myth of Paris - the remnants of Romantic novels, 19th century glitz, and old Hollywood films. If more people came to Paris to see the city for what it really is, I think we Americans might end up thinking our cities aren't half as disgusting as we imagined. Actually, all big cities are like that.

En Provence

After spending a few days away from Paris in the beautiful and exotic south, I just want to say that France is more diverse than people give it credit for. It's a fraction of the size of Texas, but I saw more kinds of vegetation and more regional diversity than I thought was possible in such a small region. And I barely saw anything!

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the region known as "Provence," I should say that Provence in France refers to the Southern region, notably the parts that are not Paris and have nothing to do with Paris. In fact, everything outside of Paris is provincial living. If I had it my way, I'd probably spend more of my time in the provincial towns and less of it taking the metro back and forth everywhere! But anyway, I went to the South with my program, beginning in Avignon and Arles and ending in Nice, Cote d'Azur.

Our trip began with a wonderful train ride, in which we witness the change of terrain from scattered metropolis to mountains and water and wide spaces. What we weren't expecting when we ended the trek in Avignon was the gusting Southern wind. The locals were much more prepared than we tourists, who thought of 60 degrees as t-shirt weather. In this region, it can be 60 degrees and you won't feel it under the icy wind. But despite the wind, we managed to enjoy our visit to the Palais des Papes, the medieval seat of popes before their decision to station themselves in Rome. This museum is at least two hours' worth of information on a guided tour, so by the end you feel like you know less than when you started your head is spinning so fast.

From Avignon, we headed to Arles. This town is a combination of quiet country living and a major tourist attraction for all the Roman remains. We only had time to visit the Roman amphitheater, but I think it was worth the time we spent just staying the night there. It was a quiet town, but full of the charm one expects when travelling to the South. The buildings were colorful, the town completely still at night. In other words, it was a shock to arrive in Nice where everything is bustling with energy at all times. Even the buildings that date back to the Middle Ages seem to pop out of their corners.

I particularly enjoyed a picnic on the beach along the Promenade des Anglais. The walkway got its name because of the British nobility that made the Cote d'Azur such a luxury get-away. They would come to Nice and walk along the beach to see and be seen, then return to their mansions that didn't face the beach. Back then you didn't want a beach view, because the ocean was somewhat of an eye-sore.

The South of France is not only rich in medieval history and luxury (with wine and perfume of the highest quality making their birth there all the time). It is also the place of a lot of artistic history. One of the highlights of our trip was at the very end of the tour, a small chapel run by two nuns but with a giant claim-to-fame: artwork designed by Matisse. I blogged several weeks ago about discovering a latent interest in modern art, but here I found that Matisse is one of my artistic heroes. He not only taught himself how to draw, but he meticulously stripped away everything that he taught himself about mastering art so that he could achieve a new level of purity in his work. This was all coming about when the Impressionists were still the height of art. The chapel was very modern even today because of Matisse's signature. I think that the most impacting vision is just how childlike his art is.

To close, I would like to add the following to my list of favorite things: St Paul, the fortified city, Camembert cheese, and gelato at sunset.

Mots

Mots. Words. There are not enough words to describe the roller coaster that has been this week. I will start off by saying that I think culture shock is best characterized as a wave of emotions that oscillates between depression, elation, apathy and what most normal people feel as a relaxed state of being. Some days, I go through each one of those emotions, from missing fried chicken and biscuits to feeling like I never want to leave a place that sells hot crepes right on the street. That is crepes with Nutella and bananas.

Sunday started this week on a high note. I visited a French Protestant church on rue de Sevres here in Paris, which was in and of itself an adventure. Fortunately, a kind church member told me how to press the button to unlock the gate otherwise I might have just stood outside staring at the church building for a few minutes like a lost American. Well, I was a lost American in that moment.

What made this experience stand out for me was that it felt so much like home, despite the fact that everything was in French and when it came time for the sermon, I was hopelessly lost. I was part of the people there, and no one needed to interrogate me on where I was from or what I was doing there; we were all there to be in the house of the Lord. The songs were for the same purpose as those we sing in the U.S. In one case we sang an American song in French (Chris Tomlin's "How Great Is Our God": "O Dieu Tu Es Grand"). I think the most powerful time for me was after the Communion, when the pastor opened up a time for personal prayer. Some of the people around me began to pray aloud and to sing verses of hymns, and when each person had finished, everyone else said, "Amen." I think that level of community in the Spirit made everything clearer for me. I didn't understand the prayers, but I could say, "Amen," because I heard the praise and the triumph and the exhortation in their voices. We were truly worshiping together.

After that morning, what could top it, right? Well, nothing can truly "top" the experiences I have had this week, and they are numerous. But on Sunday evening I went to a small theater on Boulevard Saint-Michel to watch a production of Cyrano de Bergerac. The play by Edmond Rostand is a French classic, a story of humor and tragic romance. I really enjoyed the atmosphere at the playhouse, and I'm thankful for the internet, because I never would have found it! Well, I'm also thankful for instincts because I did get lost trying to find it. But that's not really the main story. What is important is that I learned to do more research on logistics before I set out on an adventure like that.

Tuesday was Valentine's Day! And oh, Americans, here me when I tell you, don't tell a Frenchman happy Valentine's day. Here in France, you only celebrate if you are in love or if you are trying to tell someone you like them. They will know you are American if you start trying to wish them joy on a day for lovers.

Wednesday is my giant day: Architecture in town (this week in the Marais), then Cinema and Lit classes, and finally choir. I have been trying to join this choir at Reid Hall for two weeks, and this was the first week I successfully attended. At first I wasn't sure what or who to expect. But after a few minutes under this director, I was amazed to find that the director was an American. She came into the room with verve and spunk and a mouth full of French. I think the best part of the night was singing in French--we sang "L'Hymne de l'amour" by Edith Piaf. My least favorite part was realizing I'm too out of practice to call myself a real Soprano 1.

Thursday I had more classes, including a make-up class for Architecture that consisted of a visit to the Cite de l'Architecture et du Patrimoine. We went to an exhibit about the hotel particuliere, which is a noble family's city residence. It was a wonderful exhibit, full of insight into the rooms and their relationships to each other and to the status-symbols of the eras. The most interesting tidbit of information was that the exhibit's creator is a colleague of my professor. Only in Paris!

Today, Saturday, has also proven full of adventure. I set out to take a train to Chartres, about an hour outside of Paris, to visit the Notre Dame cathedral there. But I miscalculated the amount of time it would take me to arrive and to navigate my way through the station and then when I arrived, I had to wait in a very slow line to get my ticket. By that point, my train was gone, so I had to wait another hour for the next train. It was a lovely way to start my day, a very rainy day, too, which always leaves me in a philosophical mood.

To end my day, I realized I had somehow lost my return ticket, which I had naively put in my pocket. I bought another, because it wasn't too cheap, but now I really know that I need a bigger purse to travel with! Just the day in the life of a first-time international resident. Trains are a great way to travel, don't get me wrong here. Things could have gone much worse. But now I think I'm going to be glad when I go on my next trip (Monday, to Provence). Somebody else has already planned it!

I think there are a few good things that I can share with those of you who are like me and need someone's real-life experience as proof before you'll believe things. Here's some more of my random insight into Parisian life.

Always take other people (aka traffic) into consideration when traveling.

Take a big bag, but not too big. You will be doing a lot of walking.

Prepare/dress for all extremes of weather. That includes an umbrella, good shoes, and a hat.

There are sketchy people out at night, but they won't bother you if you are in well-lit and well-populated areas.

If you don't understand, it's really okay to ask someone to repeat it. The French can and will be patient with you when they know you aren't speaking your first language. But at least try to say it all in French.

Most importantly, take someone with you. France is meant to be shared.

To Speak a Language Is Not to Be Native

Today being my second Friday in Paris, I want to take the time to reflect on a few of the things I've found remarkable here. The first thing is a very high love for food. To give you a particularly unique example, I was eating a bit of yogurt for dessert and my hostess cautioned me that I should put sugar in it because it was natural. I couldn't pass up the prospect of a bit of real sugar in my yogurt. But the thing is, the French don't do things halfway. She commented to me that she normally wants to put more sugar than I did... And my tiny cup was already over-flowing.

Another thing is the French oxymoron of common politeness. For the Frenchman, it is polite not to talk to or make eye-contact with other people in the metro. However, you do say hello and goodbye whenever you are receiving a service from someone. In the States, either one might get you targeted as an outsider, depending on the context. One thing is for sure, you won't hear a French equivalent to, "Y'all come back now, ya hear?"

I hear so many foreigners here, though, that sometimes it's easy to forget where I am. In parts of Paris, there are so many English speakers, that you have to look around to remember you aren't in New York or DC. It's the ambiance of history and heritage that sets Paris apart.

I am learning that there is more to adapting to the culture here than speaking the language. Even if I could speak in perfect sentences with expert liasons and puckered lips, there us more to being Parisian. It's in the way you dress, the speed with which you walk down the street, and the carriage of your head that makes one Parisian.

Maybe these things can be taught. Maybe you are born into this heritage the same way growing up in the Deep South gives me a certain knowledge of fried chicken and thicker-than-summer-heat accents. But I'm here to observe at the very least. Perhaps you'll hear me say I never want to go back to the way I used to live. At this point, who knows? I'd give my last bit of common sense just to hear a country music song playing over the Cracker Barrel speakers right about now.

When in Paris

I think it's safe now to say that I've made it. I'm finally installed here in the City of Lights. After only two weeks (or just shy of two weeks) I have seen and done things I previously read about in books and learned about in the safety of a classroom. Here in Paris, the city is my real tutor, and there is no grading system. To succeed is to survive the day without falling prey to the many tourist traps and faux-pas that we Americans create for ourselves while abroad.

So maybe I have fallen into the traps. That's what keeps me coming back to the same place for my lunches everyday, what makes me repeat after my hostess when she tells me the correct way to say a sentence or phrase in French, and most importantly what makes me want to step outside the front door to this apartment building each day.

I don't want this semester to be just another learning experience or just something I did to put on my resume. That's what people did in high school because the teachers told us we had to do that to get into college. This semester is a gateway to new frontiers. If I'm going to live on my own after college, now is the time to test my wings. I apologize for the copious cliches in this one post, but bear with me.

I'm searching for what to say here to get these thoughts out in the open. The best I can do is to say that I want this term to be about being stretched to the point of breaking and then discovering a set of elastic arms. I'm only human, but there is mo sense in living like my life is just mine.

When in Paris, don't do what the Parisians do. Maybe observe and take the time to understand it. That will be the sort of thing you take with you. But don't forget where you came from and what you may have waiting for you when you go back.

Lundi: My First Day of Class

I think that the classes here are a strange amalgamation of college and intense crash-course coaching. After sitting through a slide show of 2000 years' worth of architectural history (in pictures) and a lesson in how to learn French, I think that I will not only be more proficient in French by the end of the semester, but by the end of the month, I think I will have learned more than I thought one person could learn!

The beautiful thing about this program is that I can actually go out into the city every week with my architecture class to study the things we only read about in the U.S., i.e. a Gothic cathedral or the site of Roman ruins. If you stop and think about it, the buildings in this city hold more collective history than most of the cities in the U.S. In Nashville, for example, we have the Ryman Auditorium and a replica of the Parthenon. In Atlanta, the Olympic Park. Paris? Notre Dame, la Sainte-Chapelle, even the church in Saint-Denis which is as I learned the oldest Gothic church. We don't have those around, though we do have Gothic churches.

Have I also mentioned that there is nothing like being able to speak a language I have only read in books for around 10 years? Granted, the first few years I could hardly read a sentence without pausing to catch my breath. Here I can walk in the street and just read the signs. Sometimes that is my main consolation, since French people often think they're doing me a favor by speaking English to me.

At any rate, this is going to be a good semester. But it's already going by at a lightning pace.

The week in review

This week in Paris has been a blur, and I think most of what I've seen will have to be on my list of places to see in the future. I honestly didn't start to feel like I was really here till about Friday, and that was only because I realized how horribly American I look to people. Picture this: a street full of people, men and women all wearing gray, brown, and black wool coats, sometimes black gloves and always black shoes. Then you see this person walking by wearing a powder blue puffy coat. What do you think first? Americaine.

Well, at least I don't blame them. I just wish that didn't make me loose the nerve to speak only French to them when they insist on switching to English for my benefit. I am at least trying to learn the etiquette of French dining, how to navigate the metro without looking completely lost, and even how to walk in the street without feeling the urge to smile if I accidentally make eye-contact with someone who seems nice. It's considered a pick-up or an invitation if you do that here in France, and the last thing I need is to look like an American and to start picking up strangers in the street!

I will say in the defense of the French that we Americans do tend to stick out for better or for worse. It's like we want to be noticed or something. At the Centre Pompidou, I could tell which visitors were Americans and which were Europeans because the Americans wandered through the exhibit and periodically carried on commentary in normal speaking voices, whereas the Europeans generally only speak in hushed tones while they are in public.

One of my chief satisfactions at the end of this week is that I successfully rode the RER this morning to a part of Paris I've never been to and I didn't get lost! I made it there and back safely, despite the snow on the ground. (Yes, SNOW!) And yesterday, I was able to wander around and still find a way back to the metro station. I think the trick now is to keep myself aware of what's going on instead of just walking around in a herd of people. I look less like a bumbling tourist and I get around much better! And don't lose the landmarks. Those are more reliable than the streets, which often curve around so much you can't tell if you're changing streets or just merging into a new block.

Here are some interesting similarities and differences about life in Paris and life in the U.S.

Instead of a thermostat, my hosts have thermometers taped to the wall. Some conveniently just outside the window tell you what temperature it is outside. And the degrees are Celsius, so 0 is an actual temperature.

Eating bread and cheese after dinner is considered traditional, a staple of French cuisine.

Taxes are really high, so turning off the light is not just to save the environment.

Public transportation is your friend, but the people who ride it with you are not. Don't look at them, and keep your stuff where you can see it. You never know when a suspicious-looking minstrel type is going to hop on and try to get your money by singing to you.

If you want to dress like a Parisian woman, you should wear high-heeled, knee-high boots and/or tights and a dress. If you are a young woman, you can wear a mini-skirt and people don't seem to think you're trashy. I think mini-skirts are a pretty hot item here.

McDonald's serves pastries. Yes, pastries! Macaroons and croissants!

Most importantly, speak French. If you are already dressed in clothes that are slightly off, you're a sitting duck. "You are from USA?"

J'ai froid, encore!

The title of this post is integral to the understanding of my experience. So I will translate: I'm still cold. (Or I am cold again). After this week, I think I should receive some kind of award for being a Georgian and still surviving this weather. We have had walking tours every day in weather as cold as -8 degrees Celsius. With the wind chill, that translates to very, very cold. Even the news is filled with snow forecasts and reports from places as far south as Marseilles and Greece that actually have snow on the ground!

But enough about the cold. I still managed to get out and about. Yesterday, we began our educational tour with the Louvre. Even though I was very excited to be out of the cold, I will say that the Louvre is going to be my second home for a while now that I know Reid Hall has worked it out so that we can get in for free! (We are students of Art History here.)

Our tour began with the Medieval foundations of the royal castle, which were only dug up during the 1980s. No one had thought till then to look under the Louvre for artifacts! Now you can see the remains of the old moat and the foundation of the former home and fortress of French kings. It is awesome, for someone who wants to study Medieval society for the rest of her life. (That may not happen, but who knows?)

Then we proceeded to take a highlighted tour of the rest of the exhibits. We viewed the exibits of art from the Antiquities, including the Venus de Milo. Then we went to the Red Rooms and saw Classical, Romantic, Renaissance and you name it art. My favorite was a painting by de la Croix. Some of you might recognize it as the cover art of a recent Coldplay album.

During our tour of the Renaissance art, we seemingly stumbled onto a large crowd gathering around a painting covered by glass. It took me a few minutes to figure out what I was looking at because it was so familiar: the Mona Lisa, or the Jocande as the French call her. It's strange to see something at once so famous and at once so ordinary. It's just a portrait of an Italian noblewoman. But da Vinci has some kind of magic in his art, because even it's disappointing size can't keep the flocks of people (including myself) from being mesmerized by it!

During a bit of free time, we managed to hike up to the Tour Eiffel, not up it but up to it. There was neither time nor patience between all of us to wait in the lines that were surely gathering to view the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was enough just to look at it and to take a few tourist photos.

I think we reached a new level of appreciation for the locals during our abbreviated tour of Marais today. With its beautiful assortment of ancient buildings, this part of town is the place to be. It is a historically Jewish district that is also home to one of the most expensive area to live in Paris. You can view the place where Mozart's talent was first discovered and eat authentic falafel for lunch.

I think my favorite part of today, though, was a semi-spontaneous visit to Shakespeare & Co. - the place that first published James Joyce's Ulysses and a welcome site for someone already missing the English litterature scene. I ended up buying a copy of Hemingway's A Movable Feast. Get back to me in a while about whether or not I've finished it! There are also events there, like readings and discussions for writers. I will be on the look out for things to do there!

Well, I have to go now. I'm preparing to eat a feast of crepes tonight in honor of la Chandaleur. Bonsoir!