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.