PARIS
Day 4

I was a wreck the first two days. Letters from home made me cry. Seeing couples by the Seine made me sad. And I felt lonely without all my amazing American friends.

But. I’ve pushed through, slept off the jet lag with generous naps and 10pm bedtimes (that’s 1pm for you, friends), and finally figured out how to work the coffee machine in our hotel. And by hotel, I mean the tiny room with the pretty view of the cobbled streets, brimming with piles of my and my roommate’s clothes and suitcases and books and bags. We can’t see the floor. And… although I promised myself I would forget it and never speak of it again --until we had it fixed this morning-- our bathroom sink was clogged and sprinkled with tiny black worms.

La belle Paris.

But it really is a beautiful city. People honestly walk down the streets carry baguettes, and there actually are cafes with outdoor patios on every corner. Like people say, the French don’t really smile or make eye contact on the street, but I’ve noticed that the people sitting in cafes feel like they have the right to blatantly stare at you as you walk by, people watching, not expecting to get caught. Oh, but I catch them!

One of the first days we went on a Bateux-Mouche cruise on the Seine, surprisingly not as visually interesting as I thought it would be, the green water around you, the flashing cameras of other tourists, and the best monuments covered in trees. But it made me want to explore everything on foot. I think tomorrow, my free day, I’m going to explore the banks around the Louvre and Jardin Tulleries, and then check out the infamous studenty Left Bank and “Shakespeare and Co,” an Anglophone bookstore that purportedly lets you read in the store for hours. (On the right you can see me and Notre-Dame from the boat!)

And since my school trickily put “Art Student” on my student ID, I can sign up for a pass that allows me to get into any art museum (like the Louvre and Orly) for free all year. Devious, devious people. I love it.

I think I really started to love the city when I walked around by myself one lunch break, and suddenly ran into the beautiful Church Saint-Euguene, just casually tucked around a corner and hidden between street buildings. Here is me finally happy!

We walked around the Ile de la Cite a bit yesterday (on the most boring 2 hour tour imaginable), but Notre Dame is amazing to see up close. (Left)

Today we had a day trip to Vaux de Vicomte, a beautiful very French looking castle, and then rambled around the back 33 acre sculpted gardens for a few hours.

That is how I like France.

So probably going out tonight, and rambling around the city tomorrow. Intensive language course next week (I’m in the more advanced half of the program and considering taking a course or two in French), and then we move in soon to our apartments.

LOVE YOU EVERYONE!

Tomorrow

Days Until I Leave For Paris And Can't Call Josh Anymore: 1



So I'm finished packing. And I didn't even have to sit on the suitcases to close them.

I mean, I did. But it was just for show. They weren't THAT full....

Okay. So I sat on them, and struggled with the zippers. But they closed, and that is the point.



High Points of the day:

My sister DJ-ing while I packed (with various French selections)

A pretty pedicure

A hasty 3 minute pay phone conversation with Josh

Sitting on the suitcases



Low Points of the day:

The ugly manicure--then coming home and spending a half hour trying to get all the ugly polish off of my fingers
(But I'm going to call that 18 dollars a valuable learning experience. Whenever someone who can't speak English mumbles "18" at you and then shakes his head encouragingly--when you know the cheap manicure you wants only costs ten--you should say "No please" and make some archetypal NO face. I suggest a frown)


The minute after my hasty 3 minute pay phone conversation with Josh
(and realizing that I'm flying away without a phone, and he's decided to be a rustic woodsman, build a lean-to in the wilderness around Mt. Ranier, and have the woodland creatures for friends, and won't be able to e-mail me for 14 days)

Sitting on the suitcases



But I'm packed. And I'm going to Paris. Tomorrow.


Miss you! (Picture taken with my amazing new camera from amazingly generous, lovable friends).

That Unadulterated Kind of Hate

Days Until I Get to France and Realize that I have all the wrong shoes: 9

I just read this book on French women-- okay, 3 pages of a book on French women-- and I 've already learned that I'm screwed. I don't have the mandatory 2 lipsticks, I don't have ANYTHING in chasmere, and my hair wouldn't know how to twist itself into a flawless bob. And apparently, a real "francaise" would NEVER leave the house wearing tennis shoes, not even to buy a loaf of bread, because they may run into someone they know. Apparently tennis shoes give the wrong impression. And I think that impression is: American.

Okay, so I'm an American. So what? Who cares if they know it? Maybe this red flag tennis shoe monstrosity (that I'll have to wear just to relieve my feet from the blisters and pain from the heeled-boots and stiff flats I've bought for France) will have an upside. Maybe my tennis shoes--even the sleek black ones I bought to be as discreet as possible--will let them know to talk to me in pedantic, easy French that I'll actually be able to understand.

I hate shoes.

But I don't hate everything French. Specifically not Chez Shea, the haute cuisine restaurant downtown above Pike Place Market, so beautiful and delicious that you force yourself to eat every bite of the four course meal until you're sick. And then get dessert. It's that good. And my beautiful boy (man soon) looked handsome, all dressed up and smiling (the wine may have helped).

So it's really just the shoes I hate.

Except the delicious black flats Aisha gave me. It's like she handed me this unwanted rock and I polished it to find a diamond. Or something.




It's raining today, the first water I've seen after this desert-90 degree stretch of Seattle torture. And I'm happy, the rain reminding me that i'm going to spend fall in Paris.

The Countdown Begins

Days Until I Leave For Paris, Become an Ex-Patriot, Perfect Walking in Heeled Boots, Take up a Smoking Habit, and Publish the Great American Novel in French: 17


So I'm sitting in a parking booth at an hour that has only really seen my face a handful of times, brooding about summer homework but pretty happy that its raining and that all the blisters on my feet are heeling. I've bought boots- and flats- and they all seem pretty angry at my toes for shoving themselves inside, so they've started to attack. But with an eye for French fashion standards, I've begun some pretty aggressive defensive maneuverings: band-aids on blistered toes and some of those jelly-sole inserts to really let my shoes know who is boss.

Who knew I was so good at rambling? Here's all I know: despite mostly beautiful, simmering Seattle days, beaches, summer reading and Seattle's one month allowance for frozen coffee drinks, all I can think about is this elusive, perfect black coat. And maybe a black trench. And a fitted peacoat. And a pair of flat boots....

And some black flats.

I'm drooling. I'll stop. Okay. But summer isn't over. Even though I can't wait until the dreary, freezing rain that Paris promises (you just THINK I'm joking), summer in Seattle is still proving to be amazing. Last Sunday I went sailing with my friend Nanette in Puget Sound-- six hours of a lackadaisical bobbing to get around a bend and back, and it was magnificent. We sailed right out to where we could see the Seattle skyline, a beautiful view that I never figured I'd see from that angle.

And last Wednesday--some of you will never believe this of this late blooming, blond, California girl-- I went surfing. Can I still call it surfing if I never really stood up on the board, and I got to my knees about once? Oh, but on my stomach, I rode those waves real good! It was more fun than I'd guessed, less scary (until the waves got bigger, and I took my well-earned place on the beach, snacking on cookies and making well-informed comments about the other surfers), and I was amazingly sore the next day, although it didn't feel like I had worked hard at all.


But that was an amazing surfing trip to Seaside, Oregon, Josh and I road-tripping down to meet his sister, Kindra, and brother-in-law, Mike. They are amazing people, fun, interesting, kind and generous. I met Josh's openly embracing grandparents (his grandmother already wants me to write to her, and told me she loves me-- but that was after a glass of wine).

Anyway, not sick of summer yet, just sick of Shakespeare. Although I've been know to "nail" Shakespeare essays. As the countdown continues, I just hope I can resist my natural urges to shop.