I know it's so soon after my last post, but last night was so fun that I feel it must have its own entry.
One of my friends from the language exchange, Arnaud (my two main French friends are Arnaud and Ben. Both will be mentioned in this entry), asked me if I wanted to go to a party at a club. I hadn't been to an actual club yet while here (I know, I've been here for two months. It's a very sad state of affairs. I generally just go to bars and pubs), so I agreed.
I got off at the metro stop he gave me, and Ben (he's been mentioned before- he's the ridiculously tall one. 6'6" I found out last night) was there so we waited for Arnaud to come show us where this place was. Ben asked me, "Have you ever been to an afterwork party before?" And I admitted that I had not. And he said, "Well, there's an open bar from 7-9, so the point is to drink as much as possible during that time. So drink fast."
When we got there, the line was huge. This wasn't a problem as all the guys knew Arnaud. At one point, I lost him in line. About 5 seconds later, someone said, "Wait, are you with Arnaud's group?" and immdiately let me and my friend from Texas (Charisse) inside when I said yes even though there were people in front of me. Yay having connections! The inside of the club was awesome. Charisse and I went to get our champagne and found out there was a free buffet as well, so there was an endless supply of food AND champagne. Considering that it was 15 euro to get in and a glass of champagne would normally cost 4-7 euros, a meal would cost around 10, and getting into a club on the Champs Elysees (which is where we were) would cost anywhere between 15 to 40 euro and that's MAYBE including one drink, I feel like I saved a lot of money last night.
There were 7 guys in our group and 4 girls: me, Charisse and 2 Finnish girls. The Finnish girls left an hour in, I have no idea why. They probably weren't taking proper advantage of the open bar. But their leaving meant the Charisse and I had 7 Frenchmen all to ourselves. I haven't danced that much since the high school dances of my far-away youth.
Most of the guys weren't the best dancers because they're European and European males as a whole have no concept of rhythm. One of the French guys told Charisse and I that Americans didn't know how to dance (before he saw us dance) and we were like, "Yeah, you're flailing your arms about like a dying fish and WE'RE the ones who don't know how to dance."
Even though they don't really know how to dance, they try. They were all twirling us around and I got lifted into the air a few times. Arnaud and my other friend, MJ (he has a long, complicated French name so he has allowed us to just call him MJ), know how to do the pretzel so we did that as well. It was just a fabulous evening all around.
Well, I should go work on my Twilight speech. A few of Giovanni's friends are in town, so I'm going to meet them all at the Louvre tonight. Charisse is also presenting a few paintings there for a class, and I told her I'd go to her presentation. It's free for students on Fridays, so why not?!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
An Entry in Which Food Isn't Mentioned. Progress?
I decided my speech topic will be... TWILIGHT! There are only 3 Americans in the class, so everyone else really needs to be educated. One of the Americans (Katie, she's also in my Central College program), fully supports this decision and claims it will be the best presentation of all time. It will be even though I'll be presenting it in French just because Twilight is that magical.
I was going to present on trashy romance novels, but it's a Catholic college and there are nuns in my class, so I refrained. Although, it would have been the presentation that would make all other presentations weep in jealousy, even the Twilight one.
Next time.
I have extended my stay by two weeks so that I can finish my classes. Originally, our program ends and we're supposed to leave before the classes we're taking actually end (it works out somehow, but it's kind of a lot confusing). I think it's silly to leave before the classes are finished. I came here to learn French and I technically paid for the full courses, so I've decided to finish them. I talked to my program director and my foyer director and I have a place to live! It's not the Dubuque isn't cool, I'd just rather stay here for a bit longer. I'm sad that I'll be missing Brendan's graduation, but when I apologized to him he said, "I wish I wasn't going, too." So I think I'm ok.
Last night we had another language exchange. This time even MORE people came. I have no idea who most of them are, but I did get to learn some more slang. I'm glad I'm not living in the suburbs. They take words and invert them. Like "voiture" (car) becomes "turevoi". I don't even know the real words, so I'm glad I don't have to guess their slang counterparts. The French guy who told me about it said, "I speak French fluently, and even I don't know what they're saying." I'd heard of this trend before, but now I'm really glad the inner city Parisians frown on this practice.
I learned more swear words, so all-in-all it was a very productive night. I know I'm getting better at French because I only have to ask people to repeat themselves 3 times instead of 6. They're less likely to give up and start talking to me in English now! My comprehension is now pretty good. I can mostly figure out what people are trying to say to me. I can't always respond properly, but they forgive me. I think.
Real Life Examples (pretend these are written in French):
Previously-
Frenchman: Can I have your phone number?
Me: The price of the bus back to Paris? I think it's 13 euro.
Now-
French Teacher: Are you leaving in May or June?
Me: I is leave June. I stay for all the course.
Judging by my second response, I think staying is a good idea.
I was going to present on trashy romance novels, but it's a Catholic college and there are nuns in my class, so I refrained. Although, it would have been the presentation that would make all other presentations weep in jealousy, even the Twilight one.
Next time.
I have extended my stay by two weeks so that I can finish my classes. Originally, our program ends and we're supposed to leave before the classes we're taking actually end (it works out somehow, but it's kind of a lot confusing). I think it's silly to leave before the classes are finished. I came here to learn French and I technically paid for the full courses, so I've decided to finish them. I talked to my program director and my foyer director and I have a place to live! It's not the Dubuque isn't cool, I'd just rather stay here for a bit longer. I'm sad that I'll be missing Brendan's graduation, but when I apologized to him he said, "I wish I wasn't going, too." So I think I'm ok.
Last night we had another language exchange. This time even MORE people came. I have no idea who most of them are, but I did get to learn some more slang. I'm glad I'm not living in the suburbs. They take words and invert them. Like "voiture" (car) becomes "turevoi". I don't even know the real words, so I'm glad I don't have to guess their slang counterparts. The French guy who told me about it said, "I speak French fluently, and even I don't know what they're saying." I'd heard of this trend before, but now I'm really glad the inner city Parisians frown on this practice.
I learned more swear words, so all-in-all it was a very productive night. I know I'm getting better at French because I only have to ask people to repeat themselves 3 times instead of 6. They're less likely to give up and start talking to me in English now! My comprehension is now pretty good. I can mostly figure out what people are trying to say to me. I can't always respond properly, but they forgive me. I think.
Real Life Examples (pretend these are written in French):
Previously-
Frenchman: Can I have your phone number?
Me: The price of the bus back to Paris? I think it's 13 euro.
Now-
French Teacher: Are you leaving in May or June?
Me: I is leave June. I stay for all the course.
Judging by my second response, I think staying is a good idea.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Shells and Bones
Marseille was not as cool as Nice (they'd be upset with me for saying that because apparently the two cities have a rivalry. When we mentioned Carnival to our tour guide she basically implied that Marseille had invented Carnival and Nice had no business celebrating it at all). It was a little dirtier and there wasn't Carnival, so it was already facing a huge loss. Unless Brad Pitt had been there trying to adopt oprhans off the street, it really had no chance.
It was still fun though. A bunch of us went to the Chateau d'If- which is where the Count of Monte Cristo takes place (yay literary reference!)- and took sad-looking pictures in the prison rooms. I also bought the book and started reading it IN the prison, because I thought it would be cool to say "yeah, i read the Count of Monte Cristo in the actual prison where it takes place. Be jealous." Everyone I was with decided to talk in British accents for some strange reason unknown to me, and I'm pretty sure we annoyed all the British tourists on the island with us. Well, they did. I stopped whenever there were people around us. The youth of America: offending one country at a time.
We got to consume some pretty wonderful seafood. I had mussels and fries, which taste better together than you might think. They give you this excessively large plate with what looks like a billion mussels, but they end up being so small that put together they're more like the size of a hamburger patty. It's magical.
We came back Saturday night, and I went to the Catacombes (basically this huge grave with 6 million dead bodies... again, it's the romantic in me) with Giovanni on Sunday. At least, we tried to get into the Catacombes. We stood in line for an hour, but when we were five people away, the guard closed the line and said, "No more people." Giovanni, being the law student that he is, tried to convince the guy that we should be let in. He gave convincing arguments like "We're only in Paris for this one weekend, and who knows when we'll be back? We came from very far away. This was the one thing we wanted to see in Paris."
I applaud his lying ability, but it didn't work and he walked away saying, "I should have tried to bribe him." And this from the guy who wants to be a judge. I know Italy is corrupt, but he might do well in Chicago.
We ended up going to a movie. I think that's the first time I've been to an actual movie theater in France. We saw Milk, so it was in English with subtitles. Thank God, or I would have annoyed Giovanni by forcing him to translate most of the movie. As it was, he ended up asking me about a few words (they swear a lot). I got to learn several new French words through the subtitles that I should probably not post here, but will do me well in the bars.
We then went for a walk (Molly claims this is all we ever do, but why wouldn't you walk through Paris?!), to Notre Dame and along the Seine, which is very beautiful at night. I took a few pictures, so you can all stalk them down on facebook whenever I get around to putting them up.
Now, I'm off to do homework. I have a test this week that I desperately need to study for (I know, I'm ending a sentence on a preposition, which you're never supposed to do. please forgive me). I also have to give a 15-20 minute speech in French on something. Those were the instructions, just "something." I have no idea what I'm going to talk about. The last woman talked about Mexican cuisine and gave us tortillas and tequila. How am I supposed to top that? What alcoholic beverages can I offer the world?! If you have any ideas, please tell me.
It was still fun though. A bunch of us went to the Chateau d'If- which is where the Count of Monte Cristo takes place (yay literary reference!)- and took sad-looking pictures in the prison rooms. I also bought the book and started reading it IN the prison, because I thought it would be cool to say "yeah, i read the Count of Monte Cristo in the actual prison where it takes place. Be jealous." Everyone I was with decided to talk in British accents for some strange reason unknown to me, and I'm pretty sure we annoyed all the British tourists on the island with us. Well, they did. I stopped whenever there were people around us. The youth of America: offending one country at a time.
We got to consume some pretty wonderful seafood. I had mussels and fries, which taste better together than you might think. They give you this excessively large plate with what looks like a billion mussels, but they end up being so small that put together they're more like the size of a hamburger patty. It's magical.
We came back Saturday night, and I went to the Catacombes (basically this huge grave with 6 million dead bodies... again, it's the romantic in me) with Giovanni on Sunday. At least, we tried to get into the Catacombes. We stood in line for an hour, but when we were five people away, the guard closed the line and said, "No more people." Giovanni, being the law student that he is, tried to convince the guy that we should be let in. He gave convincing arguments like "We're only in Paris for this one weekend, and who knows when we'll be back? We came from very far away. This was the one thing we wanted to see in Paris."
I applaud his lying ability, but it didn't work and he walked away saying, "I should have tried to bribe him." And this from the guy who wants to be a judge. I know Italy is corrupt, but he might do well in Chicago.
We ended up going to a movie. I think that's the first time I've been to an actual movie theater in France. We saw Milk, so it was in English with subtitles. Thank God, or I would have annoyed Giovanni by forcing him to translate most of the movie. As it was, he ended up asking me about a few words (they swear a lot). I got to learn several new French words through the subtitles that I should probably not post here, but will do me well in the bars.
We then went for a walk (Molly claims this is all we ever do, but why wouldn't you walk through Paris?!), to Notre Dame and along the Seine, which is very beautiful at night. I took a few pictures, so you can all stalk them down on facebook whenever I get around to putting them up.
Now, I'm off to do homework. I have a test this week that I desperately need to study for (I know, I'm ending a sentence on a preposition, which you're never supposed to do. please forgive me). I also have to give a 15-20 minute speech in French on something. Those were the instructions, just "something." I have no idea what I'm going to talk about. The last woman talked about Mexican cuisine and gave us tortillas and tequila. How am I supposed to top that? What alcoholic beverages can I offer the world?! If you have any ideas, please tell me.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Strike of the Opera
Last night I saw a ballet entitled Le Parc, which means The Park in English. I know, that one was tough to guess. Don't worry guys, I'll always translate those difficult French words for you.
Now what exactly was Le Parc about? Well, that's a very good question. One I puzzled at through the entire ballet. I stared at the people dancing and went, "Wow, you're all lovely dancers and I wish I could do that, but seriously WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
Of course, being the creative-minded person that I am, I made up what I thought was a plausible storyline. First, the curtain opened to reveal 4 men in goggles and apron-type things. They were dancing robotically, so I was pretty sure they were either from the future or aliens. I just read a review and apparently they were supposed to be gardners. This makes no sense to me at all, so we're just going to flow with my storyline.
So the people from the future danced robot-ballet (it can be done), and then they disappeared. In their place came a bunch of men and women dressed in 18th century clothing. They danced with chairs and flirted with each other. I assumed the aliens had gone back in time to a party. Everyone left the stage, and a woman and a man shared a dance. I think she turned him down. It looked like a rejection dance. Obviously, they were the main people.
There was more group dancing (which is obviously just filler so the real people can have a clothing change), and then the main people danced again. She rejected him again, and then the aliens with the goggles got her. They dance with her and then return her back to the main guy, who she finally kisses. I assume this was because she was so happy to be back on planet Earth and not with the aliens.
Ok, so what it was supposed to be about: love. The aliens in goggles (or "gardners") were supposed to represent love being blind and all the dances were different facets of love.
That's not a real story. I need a concrete plot. New plot: the main girl didn't love the main guy until she got kidnapped by aliens and realized that he was better than an eternity in space.
Who really cared what the ballet was about? I was in the Phantom of the Opera's opera house. I couldn't find my camera, but here's the picture of the famous chandelier that one of my friends took:
Isn't it fabulous? The movie did a really good job of sticking to what the opera house looked like. I want to live there.
I was worried today because everyone kept making a big deal about the metro strike today. Everyone told me it was going to be horrible, and that I would have to walk to school (an idea which I shot down- that's several miles away). I was told that people in Paris enjoyed striking in the spring so they could take the day off. Molly and I went early, but everything was running according to schedule. Apparently, someone forgot to tell the metro guys they were striking. The closest thing I saw to a strike was a bus driver wearing a sweatshirt. I suppose that's one way to sick it to the man. "Damn you! I'm wearing casual clothing to work today!" You go, dude.
Molly went on the RER, which is the metro that goes out to the suburbs. Apparently, that was a million times worse. Thankfully, I didn't have to take it. I suppose I can't blame them for wanting the day off, it was a very nice day with actual sunshine and everything.
Tomorrow, I head to Marseilles. It's in the south of France, so hopefully it's even nicer there!
Now what exactly was Le Parc about? Well, that's a very good question. One I puzzled at through the entire ballet. I stared at the people dancing and went, "Wow, you're all lovely dancers and I wish I could do that, but seriously WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
Of course, being the creative-minded person that I am, I made up what I thought was a plausible storyline. First, the curtain opened to reveal 4 men in goggles and apron-type things. They were dancing robotically, so I was pretty sure they were either from the future or aliens. I just read a review and apparently they were supposed to be gardners. This makes no sense to me at all, so we're just going to flow with my storyline.
So the people from the future danced robot-ballet (it can be done), and then they disappeared. In their place came a bunch of men and women dressed in 18th century clothing. They danced with chairs and flirted with each other. I assumed the aliens had gone back in time to a party. Everyone left the stage, and a woman and a man shared a dance. I think she turned him down. It looked like a rejection dance. Obviously, they were the main people.
There was more group dancing (which is obviously just filler so the real people can have a clothing change), and then the main people danced again. She rejected him again, and then the aliens with the goggles got her. They dance with her and then return her back to the main guy, who she finally kisses. I assume this was because she was so happy to be back on planet Earth and not with the aliens.
Ok, so what it was supposed to be about: love. The aliens in goggles (or "gardners") were supposed to represent love being blind and all the dances were different facets of love.
That's not a real story. I need a concrete plot. New plot: the main girl didn't love the main guy until she got kidnapped by aliens and realized that he was better than an eternity in space.
Who really cared what the ballet was about? I was in the Phantom of the Opera's opera house. I couldn't find my camera, but here's the picture of the famous chandelier that one of my friends took:
Isn't it fabulous? The movie did a really good job of sticking to what the opera house looked like. I want to live there.
I was worried today because everyone kept making a big deal about the metro strike today. Everyone told me it was going to be horrible, and that I would have to walk to school (an idea which I shot down- that's several miles away). I was told that people in Paris enjoyed striking in the spring so they could take the day off. Molly and I went early, but everything was running according to schedule. Apparently, someone forgot to tell the metro guys they were striking. The closest thing I saw to a strike was a bus driver wearing a sweatshirt. I suppose that's one way to sick it to the man. "Damn you! I'm wearing casual clothing to work today!" You go, dude.
Molly went on the RER, which is the metro that goes out to the suburbs. Apparently, that was a million times worse. Thankfully, I didn't have to take it. I suppose I can't blame them for wanting the day off, it was a very nice day with actual sunshine and everything.
Tomorrow, I head to Marseilles. It's in the south of France, so hopefully it's even nicer there!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
St. Paddy's Day Parisian Style
Tonight Molly and I had planned on going out with a bunch of people for St. Paddy's Day, but it didn't work out. My French friends ended up going somewhere else, my American friends decided to drink beforehand and were too drunk to stand straight, let alone find a pub in the middle of the city, and a certain Italian was like "I have 'jet lag' from moving to a new place." I wanted to say, "Pansy! Molly and I have real jet lag and we're still going out." But I resisted. Mainly because the term "pansy" is hard to explain through text message.
That's right. Giovanni moved to a foyer outside of Paris. It's very sad, but I'll see him again eventually. Though not if he's going to be a pansy about going out. (I'm being cruel, I know. I feel bad for him even though he's never going to read this.)
It turned out ok, because Molly and I went to a place that calls itself the oldest pub in Paris and had a ton of fun. There were a lot of Irish people there, surprisingly. Most people were speaking English. Molly and I really want to go back there one night. We were shocked at how crowded it was. Apparently, the French really want to celebrate their Irish roots, too. Afterwards, we walked around looking for McDonalds, but couldn't find one open. I'm not sure how Irish going to McDonalds is, but we didn't care.
Dublin was lovely. I got to see all my Loras roommates. Their jet lag surpassed mine by quite a bit. It was nice to be one of the normal people. We all went out drinking on Friday night at one of the pubs. We saw a lot of tourists in green hats. We also went to the Guinness Factory one day. I'm not going to lie, I got a soda at the end instead of my complimentary Guinness. Nothing against Guinness, I just hate it.
Tomorrow I get to see a ballet at the actual opera house that the Phantom of the Opera was based off of. Molly and I are really excited, and have been singing Phantom songs all week in preparation. Everyone is probably really excited for when we stop. Little do they know that we will probably continue even when it's over...
That's right. Giovanni moved to a foyer outside of Paris. It's very sad, but I'll see him again eventually. Though not if he's going to be a pansy about going out. (I'm being cruel, I know. I feel bad for him even though he's never going to read this.)
It turned out ok, because Molly and I went to a place that calls itself the oldest pub in Paris and had a ton of fun. There were a lot of Irish people there, surprisingly. Most people were speaking English. Molly and I really want to go back there one night. We were shocked at how crowded it was. Apparently, the French really want to celebrate their Irish roots, too. Afterwards, we walked around looking for McDonalds, but couldn't find one open. I'm not sure how Irish going to McDonalds is, but we didn't care.
Dublin was lovely. I got to see all my Loras roommates. Their jet lag surpassed mine by quite a bit. It was nice to be one of the normal people. We all went out drinking on Friday night at one of the pubs. We saw a lot of tourists in green hats. We also went to the Guinness Factory one day. I'm not going to lie, I got a soda at the end instead of my complimentary Guinness. Nothing against Guinness, I just hate it.
Tomorrow I get to see a ballet at the actual opera house that the Phantom of the Opera was based off of. Molly and I are really excited, and have been singing Phantom songs all week in preparation. Everyone is probably really excited for when we stop. Little do they know that we will probably continue even when it's over...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
In Which Meghan Discusses Food Far Too Much
I'm getting busier and busier, which I think has become more evident as I write less and less frequently. Now that I'm actually making friends, I have things to do at night. It's quite fabulous. I'm still hanging out with the French guys I met last week. One of them has been helping me with my French a lot. I get to learn all the words they won't teach you in school.
I met more Parisans! This time they were girls. I like them because they offered to take me to what they refer to ask "one of the best bakeries in France" as soon as they found out about my love for food. One of them said, "It's a bit more on the expensive side, but it's really good." I told her that when it came to baked goods, this was ok. I'm doing what the Italians refer to as "tasting instead of eating." Those Italians know what they're doing when it comes to food.
Speaking of food, I got some authentic Italian pasta last night. Giovanni made some for me. It was really amazing, and made me excited for touring Italy over Spring Break. I did have a little parmesan cheese with it, though just a little. I informed him early on that I wouldn't be able to eat cheese with the pasta and he got very upset and said, "Well then, it will not be pasta." Oh those crazy Italians getting all dramatic about their cheese. I told him I was lactose intolerant, and he allowed for the no cheese. And by "allowed," I mean he still grated the cheese and kept going, "Are you suuuuuuuure?" just in case my allergy had magically disappeared.
On an unfood-related note, I'm going to Dublin! (It's unfood-related because Dublin's food compared to Paris' is like a Beatles' cover band compared to the Beatles.) I'm going to see Christine (again!). My Loras roommates will all also be there. We plan on celebrating St. Patrick's Day the way God intended: drunk. Well, technically it's just the weekend before St. Patrick's, but you don't need an excuse to party in Dublin. I'll be back in Paris for St. Patrick's, and I've informed everyone that we are partying like it's 1999.
I met more Parisans! This time they were girls. I like them because they offered to take me to what they refer to ask "one of the best bakeries in France" as soon as they found out about my love for food. One of them said, "It's a bit more on the expensive side, but it's really good." I told her that when it came to baked goods, this was ok. I'm doing what the Italians refer to as "tasting instead of eating." Those Italians know what they're doing when it comes to food.
Molly and I have decided to open a French bakery in the United States. We're getting the baguette recipes and pain au chocolate (crossiant bread with chocolate in it... my favorite thing ever). I think everyone will renounce all other bread when they come to our bakery. I think one of the best gifts you can give to people is great bread. How can someone be unhappy when they're eating something so beautiful? Answer: they can't. I've found the solution to world peace: French bread.
On an unfood-related note, I'm going to Dublin! (It's unfood-related because Dublin's food compared to Paris' is like a Beatles' cover band compared to the Beatles.) I'm going to see Christine (again!). My Loras roommates will all also be there. We plan on celebrating St. Patrick's Day the way God intended: drunk. Well, technically it's just the weekend before St. Patrick's, but you don't need an excuse to party in Dublin. I'll be back in Paris for St. Patrick's, and I've informed everyone that we are partying like it's 1999.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Travelers from Distant Lands
Yes, the title of this entry is a quote from Lord of the Rings. No judgements please.
I GOT TO SEE MY PARENTS AND SALLY (AND JIM MORRISONS GRAVE, THOUGH NOT AT THE SAME TIME)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's been such a great weekend. I love being Paris, but there's always something wonderful about seeing people you love and haven't seen in awhile.
I ate frog legs! I'm pretty sure frog legs are the one thing that no actual Parisian has eaten. They probably were all gathered around a table one day and were like, "What's one thing we'd never eat that we can convince tourists is good?" "Well, those weird Brits already have us eating cows brains. Let's get them to eat frog's legs!" "Brilliant! That'll show them. Spread the rumor that frog's legs are a delicacy." My dad and I ate them, and decided they did not taste like chicken. They tasted more like butter and garlic, though that may have just been the sauce.
I loved being able to eat in good restuarants this weekend. Definitely the best weekend food-wise. Not that I'm saying anything bad about my own cooking skills. I just don't have the talent to cook roasted duck. Or frog's legs.
My parents got to witness my mad French skills. Alright, so more "ok" than "mad." Chances were when my mom pointed to something and asked what it said that I had no earthly idea, but I haven't memorized the French dictionary yet, so just give me some time. It's only been 54 days according to my father's calculations.
My parents got to meet Molly the second night they were here. We went for crepes and told them all about our plans to become Disney princesses after college. (No joke, people. We have looked this up. Although, I doubt that surprises anyone.) I'd already found out how to be a princess in Disney World Florida, so I was proud of Molly for finding the steps to Princesshood for Paris.
The next day, I picked up Sally at the metro and we came to my foyer to wait for my parents. It was fun to talk to her and compare notes about living in a country where English isn't the first language. We also talked about how our English grammar has degenerated. (I used the wrong your on my last post. It's been fixed, but I'm so ashamed of myself that it hurts to discuss it.) I'm probably going to go back and accidentally write parts of my papers in French and use the wrong tenses. Of course, I'll probably also be going through massive culture shock when I go back. Not that Dubuque and Paris are that different. I mean, they both have... people in them.
When my parents got to the foyer, we all went to dinner. The tables were all pretty close together, so we were very close to the couple next to us. A little too close for my taste, as they were taking the "city of love" thing a little too seriously. Because of them, it was technically a dinner and a show. We were all tempted to applaud as we left.
Giovanni met us as we were leaving (yes, he actually met my parents. I expected him to be like, "I'd love to, but I have a root canal scheduled for that time." Italian boys apparently don't scare as easily), and we all trudged to the top of the Arch de Triomphe. My parents were by far in the best shape, and were about ten stairs in front of us twenty-something-year-olds the whole time. I showed them the sparkling Eiffel Tower (it glitters every hour on the hour for five minutes), which I will never get tired of seeing because it's a shiny object, and I'm like a bird in that I love shiny objects. It's a little known fact that the Arch de Triomphe gives the best view of Paris at night. Don't listen to those who say it's the Eiffel Tower. They're lying. You can't see it light up if you're standing on it. And besides, the Arch de Triomphe is surrounded by the most dangerous turnabout in France. One of my favorite things to do is stand at the top and watch the cars almost hit each other. It's like The Fast and the Furious without Vin Diesel and the cheesey lines about living life a quarter mile at a time.
Traffic example (though during the day):
I judge the idiot in this picture who thinks he can make it out alive on a Vespa.
Sally and my parents asked if Giovanni knew about my blog. He does and he knows he's in it, because I told him. When my mom asked if I was going to start filtering my posts because of this I said, "Nope. He knows it exists, but he also knows he's not allowed to read it." I'm pretty sure he's confused by the term "blog" though and thinks this is a diary. We'll just let him keep on thinking that, shall we?
I was sad to say goodbye to everyone today and last night, but all-in-all it was a very good weekend.
I GOT TO SEE MY PARENTS AND SALLY (AND JIM MORRISONS GRAVE, THOUGH NOT AT THE SAME TIME)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's been such a great weekend. I love being Paris, but there's always something wonderful about seeing people you love and haven't seen in awhile.
I ate frog legs! I'm pretty sure frog legs are the one thing that no actual Parisian has eaten. They probably were all gathered around a table one day and were like, "What's one thing we'd never eat that we can convince tourists is good?" "Well, those weird Brits already have us eating cows brains. Let's get them to eat frog's legs!" "Brilliant! That'll show them. Spread the rumor that frog's legs are a delicacy." My dad and I ate them, and decided they did not taste like chicken. They tasted more like butter and garlic, though that may have just been the sauce.
I loved being able to eat in good restuarants this weekend. Definitely the best weekend food-wise. Not that I'm saying anything bad about my own cooking skills. I just don't have the talent to cook roasted duck. Or frog's legs.
My parents got to witness my mad French skills. Alright, so more "ok" than "mad." Chances were when my mom pointed to something and asked what it said that I had no earthly idea, but I haven't memorized the French dictionary yet, so just give me some time. It's only been 54 days according to my father's calculations.
My parents got to meet Molly the second night they were here. We went for crepes and told them all about our plans to become Disney princesses after college. (No joke, people. We have looked this up. Although, I doubt that surprises anyone.) I'd already found out how to be a princess in Disney World Florida, so I was proud of Molly for finding the steps to Princesshood for Paris.
The next day, I picked up Sally at the metro and we came to my foyer to wait for my parents. It was fun to talk to her and compare notes about living in a country where English isn't the first language. We also talked about how our English grammar has degenerated. (I used the wrong your on my last post. It's been fixed, but I'm so ashamed of myself that it hurts to discuss it.) I'm probably going to go back and accidentally write parts of my papers in French and use the wrong tenses. Of course, I'll probably also be going through massive culture shock when I go back. Not that Dubuque and Paris are that different. I mean, they both have... people in them.
When my parents got to the foyer, we all went to dinner. The tables were all pretty close together, so we were very close to the couple next to us. A little too close for my taste, as they were taking the "city of love" thing a little too seriously. Because of them, it was technically a dinner and a show. We were all tempted to applaud as we left.
Giovanni met us as we were leaving (yes, he actually met my parents. I expected him to be like, "I'd love to, but I have a root canal scheduled for that time." Italian boys apparently don't scare as easily), and we all trudged to the top of the Arch de Triomphe. My parents were by far in the best shape, and were about ten stairs in front of us twenty-something-year-olds the whole time. I showed them the sparkling Eiffel Tower (it glitters every hour on the hour for five minutes), which I will never get tired of seeing because it's a shiny object, and I'm like a bird in that I love shiny objects. It's a little known fact that the Arch de Triomphe gives the best view of Paris at night. Don't listen to those who say it's the Eiffel Tower. They're lying. You can't see it light up if you're standing on it. And besides, the Arch de Triomphe is surrounded by the most dangerous turnabout in France. One of my favorite things to do is stand at the top and watch the cars almost hit each other. It's like The Fast and the Furious without Vin Diesel and the cheesey lines about living life a quarter mile at a time.
Traffic example (though during the day):
I judge the idiot in this picture who thinks he can make it out alive on a Vespa.
Sally and my parents asked if Giovanni knew about my blog. He does and he knows he's in it, because I told him. When my mom asked if I was going to start filtering my posts because of this I said, "Nope. He knows it exists, but he also knows he's not allowed to read it." I'm pretty sure he's confused by the term "blog" though and thinks this is a diary. We'll just let him keep on thinking that, shall we?
I was sad to say goodbye to everyone today and last night, but all-in-all it was a very good weekend.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Man Walks Into a Bar...
Last night, Giovanni and I went to an Irish pub with 2 Frenchmen, 2 Finnish girls, and a Mexican girl. When I texted this to Michelle, she replied "it'd be funnier if you were with a priest and a rabbi." Sadly, none of them could be convinced to change their vocations based on how funny I wanted my life to be.
Giovanni and I met one of the Frenchmen on the metro on the way to the pub. Giovanni's over 6 feet tall and his friend was even taller, so I looked like one of the munchkins from the Wizard of Oz standing next to them. I had to cran my neck up to even see their faces. I couldn't hear what they were saying because they were so high up. It's hard enough to understand French, but it's even harder when it sounds like it's coming from far away. I should probably buy a ridiculously tall pair of high heels to fix this. I'm not sure they make foot-tall high heels that I can actually walk in, though.
I guess the night did end up helping me with my French. The guys were all trying to help me and so they had me explain "wingman" and "take one for the team" in French, which turned out to be slightly easier than I thought it would be. I'm so glad they wanted to know such wholesome, family-friendly, American slang. I felt like a horrible person when I was saying things like (in French), "Ok, so 'take one for the team' is when there's this pretty girl who has a not-so-pretty friend and your friend 'takes one for the team' by distracting the ugly girl so you can get with the pretty girl." When I asked them what the term in French for this was, they laughed and said, "There isn't one. We don't need anyone to help us get with a pretty girl."
Clearly, European males lack self-esteem.
I found out last night that Nutella is Italian. I should probably have already known this (just by the name), but I just assumed it was French. Oops. Because I have utterly failed at researching this fabulous product, I looked up some information. Apparently there's a World Nutella Day that nobody told me about. I missed it! Next February 5th, I'm going all out. Nutella for everyone! I'll hand it out on my campus and everyone will be like, "This is really creepy. What's wrong with you?" But then they'll taste it after I convince them I haven't poisoned it, and they'll ask me if they can be my friend. Really, you can't not want to be friends with someone who gives you food.
Speaking of people giving food, my parents are coming! I'm very excited to see them again. I have no idea what we'll be doing, but I'm sure it'll be fun.
And now, I'm going to take a nap. One of my French teachers has been a little too excited about giving us a lot of homework, so I need more sleep.
Giovanni and I met one of the Frenchmen on the metro on the way to the pub. Giovanni's over 6 feet tall and his friend was even taller, so I looked like one of the munchkins from the Wizard of Oz standing next to them. I had to cran my neck up to even see their faces. I couldn't hear what they were saying because they were so high up. It's hard enough to understand French, but it's even harder when it sounds like it's coming from far away. I should probably buy a ridiculously tall pair of high heels to fix this. I'm not sure they make foot-tall high heels that I can actually walk in, though.
I guess the night did end up helping me with my French. The guys were all trying to help me and so they had me explain "wingman" and "take one for the team" in French, which turned out to be slightly easier than I thought it would be. I'm so glad they wanted to know such wholesome, family-friendly, American slang. I felt like a horrible person when I was saying things like (in French), "Ok, so 'take one for the team' is when there's this pretty girl who has a not-so-pretty friend and your friend 'takes one for the team' by distracting the ugly girl so you can get with the pretty girl." When I asked them what the term in French for this was, they laughed and said, "There isn't one. We don't need anyone to help us get with a pretty girl."
Clearly, European males lack self-esteem.
I found out last night that Nutella is Italian. I should probably have already known this (just by the name), but I just assumed it was French. Oops. Because I have utterly failed at researching this fabulous product, I looked up some information. Apparently there's a World Nutella Day that nobody told me about. I missed it! Next February 5th, I'm going all out. Nutella for everyone! I'll hand it out on my campus and everyone will be like, "This is really creepy. What's wrong with you?" But then they'll taste it after I convince them I haven't poisoned it, and they'll ask me if they can be my friend. Really, you can't not want to be friends with someone who gives you food.
Speaking of people giving food, my parents are coming! I'm very excited to see them again. I have no idea what we'll be doing, but I'm sure it'll be fun.
And now, I'm going to take a nap. One of my French teachers has been a little too excited about giving us a lot of homework, so I need more sleep.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Disneyland: Meghan's Future Home
I LOVE DISNEYLAND PARIS! If I could live there, I would. At the end of the day, Molly and I were trying to think of places we could hide for the night so that no one would be able to kick us out. Though we had a few promising sleeping places, we did actually end up leaving.
We went on almost every single ride, except "It's A Small World" because I have a great fear of getting stuck on the ride and being forced to listen to that stupid song for hours on end, after which I will go crazy and jump off the boat, smashing in all the heads of those singing dolls.
It's a very detailed fear.
There really aren't words to describe my day, so I'll make one up: funnificent. Yes, it was a very funnificent day. We ran around all through the park and were probably more excited than all the small children when we saw Sleeping Beauty and Prince Phillip. Of course, they'd only take pictures with the small children (it's prejudice, I tell you), but I still saw them!
We were exhausted but incredibly happy by the time we got back.
This morning I found a note from the Italian I met in the kitchen asking if I wanted to do something. We ended up going to a free museum with Molly, Musée du quai Branly. It was mostly African, Native American, and Indonesian art. Though it had no French stuff, it was still pretty cool. The national museums in Paris are always free the first Sunday of the month. It's quite lovely.
The Italian's name is Giovanni, which is so Italian that it's equal to meeting someone named Pierre in France. I've convinced him to be our guide through Italy for Spring Break. Myriem (Mimi, the Moroccan girl from our foyer) is going to be our guide through Morocco, and we're still attempting to find a Grecian to show us through Greece but Mimi and Molly have a Greek friend here so it shouldn't be too hard.
I think I should be their guide through Disneyland. It's only fair.
We went on almost every single ride, except "It's A Small World" because I have a great fear of getting stuck on the ride and being forced to listen to that stupid song for hours on end, after which I will go crazy and jump off the boat, smashing in all the heads of those singing dolls.
It's a very detailed fear.
There really aren't words to describe my day, so I'll make one up: funnificent. Yes, it was a very funnificent day. We ran around all through the park and were probably more excited than all the small children when we saw Sleeping Beauty and Prince Phillip. Of course, they'd only take pictures with the small children (it's prejudice, I tell you), but I still saw them!
We were exhausted but incredibly happy by the time we got back.
This morning I found a note from the Italian I met in the kitchen asking if I wanted to do something. We ended up going to a free museum with Molly, Musée du quai Branly. It was mostly African, Native American, and Indonesian art. Though it had no French stuff, it was still pretty cool. The national museums in Paris are always free the first Sunday of the month. It's quite lovely.
The Italian's name is Giovanni, which is so Italian that it's equal to meeting someone named Pierre in France. I've convinced him to be our guide through Italy for Spring Break. Myriem (Mimi, the Moroccan girl from our foyer) is going to be our guide through Morocco, and we're still attempting to find a Grecian to show us through Greece but Mimi and Molly have a Greek friend here so it shouldn't be too hard.
I think I should be their guide through Disneyland. It's only fair.
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