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!