If I had any reservations about
today paling in comparison to yesterday, I was wrong. Most importantly… It didn’t rain! It was mainly overcast, windy, and cold, but around midday
the sun peeked its head out. I
even used my sunglasses and took off my jacket. Needless to say, I realized the weather report I read prior
to flying to France was far too optimistic. 69 degrees Fahrenheit?
More like 50 degrees with wind and overcast. I’ve been layering like a desperate woman. Today it was a camisole, jean shirt,
and jacket with jeans and ballet flats.
It was freezing, but it was far more bearable than yesterday. Afraid it would rain again, I braided
my hair out of my face to keep from any frizzy disasters.
We were expected for breakfast at
8AM. The hostel serves
“breakfast.” Yes, the quotation
marks are necessary. Their
breakfast is some random gathering of food: sliced pound cake, toast, jam,
honey, plain Greek yogurt, room temperature orange juice, Kellogs flakes, whole
milk, and (my favorite) coffee in a bowl.
This seems to be a general trend
in French food that is delicious albeit dangerous haha I never noticed the
emphasis on protein in American meals until I arrived in France and realized
how the protein of a meal is optional or, more likely, cheese or eggs. Otherwise primarily there is bread and
butter. I’ve decided French people
are so skinny because everyone smokes (I thought it was a cliché, but no, everyone smokes), drinks coffee, and
walks. I have yet to see an obese
French person, so it must be the water.
Well, water’s not incredibly popular either.
I’ve been very conscious of my
French diet to be sure my pants still fit each morning. Everywhere on the streets of Paris
there is a café, a boulangerie, a patisserie, a restaurant, a bar, a creperie,
or something like that. Clearly
food is an integral part of the culture, so it would be very easy to lose
yourself in trying all the delicacies.
Luckily, I’ve been too preoccupied walking and exploring the city to
lounge around these establishments.
For my breakfast, I usually have cereal and milk (whole milk, there
isn’t another option), coffee in a bowl (with a bit of milk and sugar because
there’s no artificial sweeteners I can find), a slice of baguette with some
jam, and water. I don’t eat again
until lunch around 12:30 or 1 when I’ve had a feuillete one day and then a
slice of pizza with mushrooms and tomatoes yesterday. While Tara and I were exploring l’Ile de la cite yesterday,
we split a Nutella crepe (my first French crepe) which I’ll discuss more in a
bit, but I don’t eat again until dinner which for the French is very late –like
9PM. Last night, to save money, a
group of us when to a market and bought dinner. I had a wrap with diced roasted chicken, marinated tomatoes,
lettuce, and herbed cream, an apple, and a bottle of water -4 Euros all
together! It was delicious and my
attempt to eat something a little bit healthier. Then I don’t eat again until the morning. The portions are small, I’m walking all
day, but I still feel so indulgent from the pureness of everything (again, no
artificial sweeteners, no preservatives, no skim milk, etc).
Our group gathered yesterday at
9AM in the lobby of the hostel and proceeded to the metro. I love the Paris metro! You have a metro card with a purple
swish on it, and you touch it to a reader. Green arrows light up, and the doors part or the turn style
releases for you to pass through.
Much like New York, people in Paris walk with purpose and rush past
you. They have the moving
treadmill-like walkways to expedite everything. It was much cleaner than I expected. There are markets, places to shop, and
more scattered throughout the metro.
The lines are a bit confusing, but luckily I’ve not had to figure them
out myself –yet. The interesting
thing about French subway cars is usually you have to push a button to
enter/exit the cars which is kind of fun.
On Tuesday, we took the number 7 to Chatelet then the number 4 to Cite.
I will be honest… Thus far
–admittedly not that long, yet- l’Ile de la Cite is my favorite part of
Paris. It is the small island
where the Notre Dame and the Sorbonne are. The streets are a mixture of contemporary and Medieval
architecture. Multi-lane
streets with mopeds and cars give way to cobblestone, skinny walkways between
buildings. Many of the buildings
lean away from the street because they were built when engineering wouldn’t
allow tall buildings to be built straight up and down. The terraces are beautiful with billowy
drapes and potted flowers. The
streets are crowded with young people like college students from the 3
universities on the island. There
are bookstores packed the brim with musty, yellowed books (Tara and I stopped
to smell them… Weird but we did).
I also realized my latest obsession with Paris…
Doors. Parisien doors are amazing. They range from tall to gigantic, heavy carved oak to
painted egg shell blue, with beautiful gold handles in the center or wrought
iron swirling across the windows.
They’re amazing. No two are
alike that I’ve discovered. I love
them.
On l’Ile de la Cite, we first
went to the Conciergerie where legal matters are taken care of. While waiting in line to enter, we
watched the lawyers slip outside in their long black robes for a smoking break. The Conciergerie, like everything in Paris,
has an extensive history. During
the French Revolution, prisoners were kept there, including Marie Antoinette
before her beheading. Despite a
bloody history, it is beautiful.
We wind our way through the sections while drinking in all that we can
see.
Next, we slip to the
Sainte-Chapelle which is right beside the Conciergerie. The staff refuse to accept us before the other people, so
we’re forced to wait in a ridiculously long line outside on the street in the freezing
weather. Within minutes, I can’t
feel my feet, fingers, or nose, and I look longingly at the French people
passing me by in their boots, scarves, and snug jackets. It doesn’t rain, but it is overcast and
dreary and cold. We make it inside
the Sainte-Chapelle almost 20 minutes later, and I’m discouraged to realize the
inside is no warmer than the outside.
At least I have the breath-taking architecture to distract me. Gothic at its finest. The stained glass windows are so
overwhelming I can’t find the proper picture to display them. Every column, every nook, every cranny
is painted in rich colors with ornate patterns and gold-leaf. No expense was spared.
After Sainte-Chapelle, we’re
dismissed for lunch. Most of the
students take the easy route and head across the street to tourist-laden
cafes. Tara and I don’t see the
appeal. Without question, we’re
strolling down the street, hands dug deep in our pockets. We cross the Seine, pass Notre Dame,
and head toward le Quartier Latin.
There, we find a pizza shop where I order a slice of pizza and a Coke
Zero (I found it hilarious that the nutrition information was in French). The pizza is garlicky and delicious,
and we sit in the back of the shop across from some rowdy, French university
boys. We still have time before we
need to meet back with our group, so we wander the cobble stone streets.
I can’t take pictures enough to
capture how quaint and perfect the streets and shops are. We explore every which way, weaving
through the web of streets dating back to Medieval times. After walking past numerous
creperies, we cave and enter a small creperie where a skinny, white Frenchman
with cornrows makes us a crepe with Nutella inside. We split it.
The chocolate melts on your tongue. The crepe is simultaneously crispy and fluffy. It feels a little sinful, but it is my
first crepe in Paris!
After finishing our crepe, Tara
and I meet the rest of our group at la Fontaine de Saint Michel where we
discover a random duck bathing in the water (how cute!). When the rest of our group shows up, we
divide in half. I follow Professor
Vessely into le Quartier Latin where he leads us through the streets and gives
his infamous stories along the way –no seriously the man is a walking
encyclopedia of French history. We
discover Shakespeare & Co (the famous bookstore), the Sorbonne,
l’Universite de Paris, et more!
We make our way to the Pantheon which is absolutely amazing! In the crypts below, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and more are buried!
Before he releases us to explore on our own, he guides us to les Jardins du Luxemburg. The gardens in France are beautiful, but they have a specific theme of man conquering nature. Everything is arranged in symmetrical, perfect rows. The grass is fenced in with signs instructing people not to walk/sit on it. Inside the French sit in chairs around the patches of grass and gardens and smoke. We gather chairs and form a circle and talk about everything.
Finally, we take the metro back
to the hostel and prepare ourselves for a night to remember! On Tuesday night, we go on a boat ride
on the Seine for a tour of Paris. Again and again our professors warn us that it
will be the coldest night of our trips, and again and again I stare at my
luggage wondering how I’ll stave off frostbite. After dinner, I part from the group and take off down the
streets of Paris alone in search of H&M or Zara. My objective: boots, a scarf, a jacket, anything. The boots I find are 129 Euros. For 129 Euros, I’ll wear my neon Nike
sneakers. When I find H&M,
their displays and clothes center around upcoming summer. I rush across the street to Zara, but
the stores in Paris close around 8PM.
Empty-handed, I return to the hostel and decide that for once fashion
would need to yield for functionality.
I’m tired of freezing my ass off.
Next thing I know, I’m dress in jeans, a camisole, jean shirt with the
sleeves rolled down and the front buttoned up, my white sweater on top, a
borrowed tan scarf from Tara, and (the crowning cherry) my neon Nike sneakers.
Charles makes Michelan man jokes
about my sweater. People chuckle
about my sneakers. I shrug and
head off toward the metro to return to l’Ile de la Cite. I can take the odd looks. After all I’m about to have a one in a
lifetime experience. From the metro,
we pass Notre Dame and follow the Seine down to where our boat is waiting. Apparently boat tours are an extremely
popular pass time in Paris. Beyond
tourists, Parisiens board the boats with drinks in hand and are dancing or
having business meetings. Night is
falling. The sun is setting. The last rays are touching the Notre
Dame and the streets. Our boat
takes off, and my camera is ready.
Paris at night is like
magic. Beautiful street lamps
light up. The marble and stone
buildings are illuminated in a soft, warm glow. The air is crisp and fresh. The lights reflect in the Seine’s surface. It’s…. amazing. Words and photos cannot do it
justice. Chugging patiently up the
Seine, our tour guide points out important buildings in French, then English,
then Spanish. I’m dismayed to see
my camera won’t capture the beauty of the city. The dark color watercolor of the sky as its turning to
night, the golden glow of the lamps, the rich colors of the buildings… Nothing
can do it justice! But I
tried… As we ebb along the river,
the Eiffel Tower is lit up with gold lights, and I’m anxious to finally see the
pride of Paris, the emblem that I have arrived officially.
We pass the Louvre, the Musee
d’art moderne, and much more. It’s
all so perfect. Even the bridges
are a feat of beauty. Then, all at
once, we round a corner, and there’s the Eiffel Tower. It is so tall, so bright, so ridiculously
awesome that I take nearly 50 pictures of it alone. Every angle.
Every inch. Again, nothing
does it justice, and again, I try.
We turn and make our way back
down the Seine to where we started.
We’re all frozen through.
It’s now 11PM. I’m dizzy
with love for Paris. We talk about
finding a café and sharing a bottle of wine. Instead, I think of the long day ahead of me, take (or
attempt to take) a shower, and climb into bed. A little after midnight, I go to sleep.
At 4 AM, one of the girl’s alarms
goes off. It’s silenced
promptly. 5 minutes later, it goes
off again, but she doesn’t wake up.
Being a light sleeper, I’m immediately awake and groggily hold my
breath. She doesn’t hear it. Gradually we all wake up and
progressively start yelling at her, “Turn off the alarm! It’s 4AM!” Eventually she wakes up and turns it off. I wake up at 6:45 feeling more exhausted
than when I went to bed. I’m
optimistic about the weather. I
wear jeans, a tank top, blazer, and sandals and cross my fingers I won’t freeze
to death. It’s hard to appreciate
Paris when you can’t feel your feet.
The hostel breakfast is the exact
same, but it’s easy to swallow when surrounded by new friends. We speak sporadically in French and
English. It’s fun to complain in
French or exaggerate, but most of the time it’s easier to speak in
English. But Andres and I like to
practice our French, so inevitably when we see each other it’s, “Bonjour,
monsieur, ca va?” “Ca va bien, mademoiselle, et toi?” And off we go into a broken French conversation! It’s good practice. I feel comfortable with my French. I love going into cafes and speaking
with the locals.
Today we went to the Louvre, and
then we explored les Jardins Tuilleries, l’Arc de Triomphe, et finalement les
Champs-Elysses. BUT that’s for
another blog entry :) A bientot!
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