just keep walking

Paris is without doubt the most confusing city I have ever been to. Even when I orient myself with a map, pointing to North and South, I take a few steps and am somehow immediately lost again. Something about being on the opposite side of the world, not having an ocean nearby, and having street signs either missing or hidden on the walls of buildings. Fortunately, I am not alone in this confusion, and the Parisians must be aware of my naive tourist knowledge, as there are maps on every other street corner, as well as friendly policemen scattered about. [And friendly musicians...one of whom creeped me out so much that I had to pretend to get a phone call so that I could run away as fast as possible, despite not knowing where the nearest metro was.] Anyway, what is good about the intersections that have seven entrances and the streets that never line up parallel or perpendicular is that the confusion forces us to walk well out of our way and often unknowingly make circles. Which helps us to walk off the nutella crepes and fromage-this and baguette-that from the past day's meals. Which helps us to stay fit. Because you wouldnt think I could eat bread, soup, fish, apple tart, bread, two crepes, soup, bread, and probably more bread... and still fit into my pants. but alas, do as the parisians do. Even the metro is a bit of an excursion when you must hurriedly join the crowd of people up and down stairs and on those freaky moving walkways to get to the next bus, on which you might need to have more than a light grip in order to prevent falling into your neighbor's lap as the train jerks to a stop or start.

Yesterday my camera decided to end its life in the Monmartre cemetary. [Ironic??] As I leaned through the bridge's gate to snap a perhaps not-so-respectful shot of the amazingly grande tombstones, I failed to realize that as I kept walking, my hand would inevitably hit the pole of the gate, causing my fingers to lose their grip, and therefore toss my camera into the depths of...a cemetery, where it lost its screen life and knocked out a small bulge at its base. So I can still take pictures, but just not see what I am snapping in the shot. Oh well. Perhaps we will get some surprising photos that turn out even better than before!. But seriously- my camera died in a cemetery. I still think its a great story. La fin.

fashion whoops

apparently french women are ectotherms, because they can stand mingling in a crowded bar wearing tights, boots, two layered shirts, a scarf, and a blazer. meanwhile, the three americans prance into the place with a pair of pants and one shirt [each], perfectly comfortable, if not a little toasty. why are we made so differently? so i now know, to be cool, to dress for the outside, despite spending most of my time inside, when 'going out' at night.

the french boys didnt seem to mind our fashion faux pas however, and after speaking with us for a few minutes, tibault et sebastian told us oh so convincingly how great our french is... for americans. im not sure exactly how to take that, especially since after we said things they smiled all-knowlingly. or after they said things and we stared blankly before asking 'comment?,' they did this little snort-giggle that i think only a french guy could pull off, while glancing at each other. oh well. i do think they meant it, that we speak better than most americans. so i guess that says a lot about...les autres americains? if only they believed us when we would tell them that the main reason we didnt understand what they were saying most of the time was because of all the other conversations going on around us and of course the blaring 'love shack' or 'pretty woman' [i know, what country is this?] pumping through the speakers. apparently that handicap isnt a legit excuse.

i got the boots part of my outfit right! but next time, dressing down is the way to go, surprisingly. however, its not like they were wearing plaid shirts from goodwill or hand-me-down worn leather belts. this is still paris. it was this odd kind of upper-class polished seattle grungish atmosphere. like when hollywood celebrities buy jeans with more holes than fabric... for $700.

all in all, the martini was lovely, the whole street was lively, and we didnt miss the metro stop on the way back. [on the way out...maybe.] i turned down the offers to smoke cigarettes, but im sure i could not have convinced anyone of my good decisions, judging by the aroma that overtook my clothes and hair.

yellow tights paired with teased hair is back in style. expect to see it in the usa next year.

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in other news, pictures from day 1:

this is everywhere. its really getting to be no big deal.

les invalides, on the way to la tour eiffel

our sneak peak of the destination. about 20 minutes til we got there.

in all its glory, from the exact center. this positioning caused some near-accidents with my fellow tourists.

peace wall close by.

day one in france

I didn’t think that I would make it to the Eiffel Tower on my first day in Paris, but it just so happened that, after scrounging up our first baguette of the trip, Hannah and I decided to go for a walk to “see the neighborhood.” Well, la Tour Eiffel is not exactly in our neighborhood- we could see it from the road, but that does not mean much about its distance from us, considering how huge it is. During our very long walk, I thought of the things I have learned about French culture since arriving in this foggy little place, less than 24 hours ago.

1. The French do not wear all black. But they do wear a heck of a lot of it.

2. When in doubt or confused, “c’est bon” is a good guess at an appropriate response.

3. Small ten-year-old boys smoke cigarettes. And it is not abnormal.

4. Unlike in the US, the internet is not, much to my frustration, as essential as food.

5. Crossing the street is downright scary. Even when the little green walking man is lit up ahead of you, look both ways.

6. Tuna and sunflower oil go well together [I did not test this, I'm just trusting the label on the can].

7. There are reasons why you never see pictures of the underside of the Eiffel Tower- it reminded me of looking at the underside of an octopus…just not pretty.

In other news, all of my bags arrived safely and on time, much to my relief. We wandered about a bit before being greeted by Marie Claire, the program director, who led us to the parking garage where we loaded approximately 30 large bags into one minivan. Then we took the metro, accompanied by Renault. He’s the “cute French guy” we have been hearing about who is basically our tour guide for the next week and a half and is indeed cute, but more importantly, he speaks slowly and knows just about everything about everything in Paris. We arrived in the middle of the city, close to l’Ile Seine Louis and Notre Dame. We toured La Vigie, where some of the girls are staying, before Hannah and I left for Didot, where we are staying. Every five minutes I would look at my watch and not be able to believe that it was still so early in the day. Living through 7am to 3pm twice in what is somehow one day makes for a very long day indeed.

And, I am obviously still awake, which is good, thanks to the Advil PM on the second leg of our trip, and, more recently, some caffeine. However, I am crossing my fingers that I can get all the sleep I need tonight since I will be sleeping on the floor of Hannah’s room. Mine is occupied until tomorrow [better planning next time, dorm people?] so I think the ‘go with the flow’ outlook is the necessary approach to take for this one.

We’ve got more Paris knowledge to learn with Renault tomorrow, as well as me moving into my dorm and hopefully getting internet connection so that I can actually post this online. All in all, I would say I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, excited, and- in this gigantic city- feeling very small. C’est bon.