Sights from the Streets

I know I updated yesterday, or to be more specific, I updated around 3 in the morning here, but a thought occurred to me today.

I seem to be writing only when something of significance happens to me, such as moving in, a specific walk around the city, or my laundry situation.

Is this necessary? There are of course a cornucopia of things happening to me every day, even things I am not aware of at first. These observations and tiny moments have as much a right to be told as more monumental or amusing occurrences.

For example, there are a variety of things to observe while walking down the street that have become secondary to me, but might make someone unfamiliar with them go, “say whaa??”

Let's start with something simple: a trash can. It has a familiar shape, and is often found outside some apartments or in their internal courtyards (like mine). Used to deposit trash to be picked up later.

Too easy you say?

How about this one?

A public trash bag, all exactly alike in this city (as far as I can tell), and depending on the street, can range as close as several meters. These bags are replaced daily, so this city is fairly devoid of garbage piles.

 Still too obvious?

Ahh, signs then, perhaps? Here we have a mix of pedestrian crossing, do not enter, and towing zone.

Also, a lovely example of a street sign indicating its name, as they are posted on every corner of every street.

Still logical enough?

Okay smartypants...

Care to explain these?

Any guesses what this establishment could be?

A Pharmacy! The neon green cross is the symbol of a pharmacy here in France, and they are absolutely EVERYWHERE. The French love their pharmacy products.

Still not really sure what those red circular signs are...

Good grief! It's a dinosaur egg! It's a space pod! It's a ... recycling bin?

Bottles are disposed of in a very green fashion here.

 What the...?

This is actually a piece of art on the corner of a building, called a space invader. You can find out more about these installations here:

 http://www.space-invaders.com/som.html

They are quite common in Europe and other places around the world evidently, and I myself have spotted 3 so far.

So there are many new and interesting things to see here every day! I haven't had the pleasure recently to go exploring much, but I surely will again. Well then, what have I been up to on my down time?

... what I would probably do on any ordinary rainy Saturday afternoon. Eat soup, listen to music, and play cards by myself. Yeah, not that exciting, but some days that's the way the cookie crumbles. 

But updates should get more interesting in the next few days while I am in the Alps!

À Bientôt!

Find a dry spot and stay there

Today, I decided to hand wash my clothes.

No, that is incorrectly stated. If I had my way, there would be a washer and dryer in this building, and I would not have to pay for it. Laundry day would be a magical thing like at home or at school, when I can put my clothes in the trustworthy, free machine(s), do homework or watch TV in the meantime, and after a possible few hours, I will have a huuuge pile of warm, clean, nuzzly laundry to fold at my leisure.

The harsh reality hits in the real world.

I washed my clothes at a nearby Laundromat a couple of times before I realized that this just couldn’t continue for the sake of my livelihood: it can cost me anywhere between 8€-16€ for the washers alone, depending on how much I bring in that day. The dryers cost 1€ for every 10 minutes.

Have I managed to stress yet that I live on the sixth floor without an elevator?

In an attempt to save a little cash, the last time I washed my clothes, I brought them to a friend’s apartment that came equipped with a washer. This proved effective in the cash-saving department, though it did take a bit longer than usual, being only one small washer that somehow took 1.5 hours to wash anything, and I had two loads. I ended up taking my damp clothes back with me to my part of the city, and sitting in my local Laundromat for an extra 30 minutes, just to get that nuzzly, warm laundry feeling I crave. So far, this seemed like a manageable option.

As the end of this week began to draw near, I realized with dread that my laundry pile was growing under my bed again, and spring break was looming. Could I possibly skip over to my friend’s house again to wash enough clothes to get me through my ski trip?

Alas, I realized that because the time when my account would be replenished back in the states was also drawing near, I did not have a significant enough amount of money left to withdraw into cash. I could use my debit card if necessary, but for anything coin operated, such as dryers and even (ulp) metro tickets, I was strictly barred.

What to do??

Necessity reined. Let me refer back to where I started.

Today, I decided to hand wash my clothes.

I went to my local supermarket, in this case being a Monoprix (I could write a whole page based on how much I love this place, but maybe another time). I needed to buy a recharge card for my cell phone and a bit more food to get me through the end of the week anyway. I picked up a box of textile-hand-washing-powdery-soap.

Trying to look towards the optimistic side of life, I thought to myself,

“This will be fun! I can wash some clothes in my sink, and I have the whole afternoon to do it! It costs less than just the dryer would, so it has to be better!”

Humming merrily to myself, I set about other cleaning tasks while my clothes were soaking. I swept and washed the floor, as well as disinfecting the countertop and other surfaces. A feeling of great productivity was coursing through me.

My resolve slowly deteriorated after the third sink-load or so.

Sure, the actual washing was a cinch. It was a non-rubbing wash, whatever that means, so I didn’t have to pound away at my clothes with a rock or anything. By the time I drained the sink and rinsed the soap out of my clothes, I was left with the task of wringing everything out and hanging things to dry.

By the third load, my hands were stinging from all the wringing (yes, I am a rhyming genius). I was also running out of places to hang my clothes. The towel rack was full, as was the shower, along with the hangers in the closet, my curtain-rods, and my socks laid carefully over a towel on the counter. Towels lay on surfaces everywhere to catch the drips, and every few minutes or so, I took something down to give it an extra wring in the sink. I washed five sink-loads of clothes, and that was only what was necessary. The rest of my laundry awaits under my bed.

Now I lie scrunched up on my bed with my computer in the dark before going to sleep, listening to the almost sinister drip, drip, drip…

But hey, with luck, everything may be dry by the end of the week…

À Bientôt! 

The Hot Plate

Since eating out in Paris is ridiculously expensive, I am for the most part confined to the means provided for me in my room to eat: a mini fridge and a hot plate. The fridge is even more mini than the one I keep back at school, but I’ve managed to keep it appropriately stocked. The hot plate has given me some grief though.

To start with, it didn’t even work. Actually that’s an understatement. It didn’t work so much that it blew a fuse in my room. The first time I turned it on that first week here, all the lights instantly went out. With the help of a neighbor, we called the guy we talk to concerning rent and the like, and had him come over to check out the problem. I do have a fuse box in my room, I just wasn’t flicking the switch hard enough >.<

After a few tries, my first hot plate was deemed defective and the guy brought over a new one to replace it. I haven’t had technical problems with the new one thus far (except the light doesn’t work so I have to be mindful about whether it’s on or off without a visual queue).

Still. It’s just one hot plate. For someone who likes to cook, this feels pretty limiting. I wish I had an oven, or a microwave even. I’d take just one more hot plate so I could cook multiple parts of my meals at once. Just another three months of this and I’ll be back to living large – microwave style.

I have managed to learn to make rice without a rice cooker on my own, a huge achievement. I’ve made mashed potatoes a few times too. I’m not doing too badly.

Also, since I started eating gyros (not too often, they’re 4,50€ each, and that is a picture I took this time) and pre-made sub sandwiches from the supermarket, I have discovered (da da da DAA) I like tomatoes in my sandwiches. I NEVER used to eat uncooked tomatoes. Ever. I used to even say to myself the last time I was here, four years ago,

“They can make me eat anything here in France, but they can’t make me eat a tomato.”

Evidently they can.

Also, I used to dislike mayonnaise. Mayo in the U.S. doesn’t taste bad to me; I just don’t want it much.

French mayo is delicious – there’s Dijon mustard in it. I loved the sandwiches with mayo so much; I even went out and bought some.

That’s right. IT CAN COME IN A TUBE.

So now I’m making my own tomato, lettuce, and whatever sandwiches. (Chicken for now.) Nom nom nom.

It’s raining today, and according to the internet it will be for the next week, and it’s cold again. Joy. It’s times like these when I wish I had brought at least one hoodie just for when I’m in my room. Also, they DO wear jeans here. I miss those too. (Granted most of the girls seem to wear only skinny jeans). It would have been a good idea to bring my old, beat up sneakers as well. Though yes, my family was right, they don’t wear them around in general, but if you are playing a sport like I do, or if you jog, you do wear very American looking running sneakers. My converses don’t really cut it for running around a track every Monday night.

Enough griping from me. I can live with it. Paris on the whole is really cool and if sightseeing, gorgeous. A country mouse adjusting to a city would be difficult anywhere I imagine.

On a plus note, my French is getting better! At least, I have noticed that I have a better reaction time. It took me a couple of weeks to get used to hearing French everywhere in public, and though my oral comprehension is improving slowly, I do respond faster. I was barely stringing my words together when I got here, mostly due to lack of practice and nerves. Speaking French around the house to my Anglophone family is miles away from speaking to a native Francophone. At least now I have gained a bit of confidence.

Only one week left until Spring Break – I’m going skiing in the Alps with a group of students, and I am very excited.

À Bientôt!

Jardins du Luxembourg

Like something out of a movie: people from all classes, ages, and identities, are congregated here today. They walk casually through the park, parents with strollers and small children, with one family laughing as their toddler animatedly tells a story. All sorts gather on the park benches, from young friends eating sandwiches and chatting happily, to old couples talking quietly together. Some sit alone, reading or writing in a journal. Though the trees are bare and the grassy spots are roped off, the park is more inviting than any I have seen. The sky is a clear, perfect blue; the air is unseasonably warm for February, though still mild and fresh. There are people in the tennis courts, and an occasional jogger with his iPod.

And the children.

Children on scooters, laughing and racing each other along the cement pathways; children on the playground, and in the sandboxes with their parents; smaller children still, waving their arms with delight as they chase fluttering pigeons, and one small boy playing hide-and-seek with his grandmother.

No sense of irony or showmanship in this scene; this is a genuine portrait of life here in the gardens, and the people are not acting. It is beautiful.

I Love This City

The air feels like the high forties in Fahrenheit as the remaining sunlight fades and the lights of the city start to glow. The streets are filled with pedestrians of all ages, university students chatting amiably, people walking their dogs, elderly couples wearing thick furs and shuffling along arm in arm, and parents towing laughing children by the hand. Crêpe stands are steaming, their proprietors circling the light batter with their spatulas and calling out to their customers crowding the counters. Newspaper kiosks that nearly obscure their sellers by the papers spill out racks and stands for more magazines and post cards, and are standing on nearly every corner. Outdoor seating at the cafés is starting to fill in their semi-enclosed quarters, mostly containing middle-aged men and women, sipping small aperitifs and flicking their cigarettes into the tabletop ashtrays.

Heading down Blvd Saint-Germain towards Blvd Saint-Michel is always a delight for me, but especially on nights such as this. It’s a Saturday evening, not yet late enough for dinner, and everyone is about, but few people are in a rush. Passing la Fontaine Saint-Michel, I hear a speaker protesting something through a megaphone, something about liberty in Iran. Several people have stopped to listen, but most walk on without much notice. I take a turn off Saint-Michel towards one of my favorite haunts: the Latin Quarter in the 5^th arrondissement. Specifically, the gyro stands. Sandwiches Grecs. 

Respect them. RESPECT.

I moseyed about in this part of the city for a while, eating my gyro with frites, and contemplating the establishments. These are narrow, cobblestoned streets, with few cars, some not accessible by car at all, and filled with people perusing about in a similar fashion as myself. There are not only gyro stands, but also pizza and other Italian food, touristy shops brightly lit with t-shirts, magnets, postcards and key chains, balanced with more upscale-looking restaurants, cozy and not over-priced. It is busy and bright, with flashing lights inviting pedestrians to come in. Without motor-traffic, people take their time as they consider where to spend their dinner this evening.   

I finish my gyro as I head back towards home, picking up a small bag of bonbons on the way, and consider myself lucky to be staying in this multi-faceted city, and can’t wait to explore the rest of it.

(I did not take the pictures of the gryos. I always eat mine too quickly and forget to take a picture. Please know I don't take credit for these.)

(Display of the candy I bought. Just figured out how to add photos, so I will continue to do so in the future)

À Bientôt!

Shivering, Schmoozing, Shopping, and… OMG OLIVES!!!

This is my REAL first week. Last week was made of paperwork and sleeping, a dubious existence at best. I have had four of the five classes so far that I am taking this semester, the fifth being a French class on Thursday and Friday mornings. I am very excited about my classes so far, and anticipate a fun and moderately challenging semester.

I also had my first Frisbee practice with Sciences Po last night.

I had looked up the directions to the stadium where practice would be held, but felt a little unsure about looking for it alone late at night in a part of the city I’m unfamiliar with. I found the actual stadium without too much difficulty (it’s a stadium, it’s huge and lit up, hard to miss) it just took me a little while to find my way in and where I needed to go. Once I did, I found the small group claiming to be the Frisbee team. They showed me where the changing rooms were inside, and I headed in to change into my cleats, not wanting to take my shoes off in this cold. I was dismayed that we would be playing outside on the field. I guess I should have expected as much, but I have grown too accustomed to playing indoor Frisbee from mid-November until mid-March. Never had I tried outdoor in January, and I was not dressed for it. I came out in shorts and a T-shirt with my large, very feminine winter coat over it, shivering. I guess I looked very silly partnering this with a pair of cleats.

By then the whole team was assembled, and the coach introduced himself. I was not the only new member of the team, though there were very few of us in total. I was, however, the player who had been playing the longest. I say longest because this is fact, and I cannot judge for how much this attributes to my overall skill. The coach directed us to walk to another location a few blocks down so that we could watch a video on the technique. I clacked noisily down the street, still unnecessarily wearing cleats, and laughed it off with the others while we made introductions.

We only watched the video briefly, and mostly just on the different throws you can make. While I have had a considerable amount of practice in these throws, I was fascinated to learn the new terms in French. For example, Backhand is le Revers, and Forehand, or Flick, is le Coup-Droit. I realized I might have a lot of new vocabulary to learn. I was assured, however, that a lot of the same terms I know and love, like up, turnover, stack, and zone are the same. I slid pretty easily into stalling in French (un, deux, trois…) but I may have to watch myself or I’ll stall in English.

The practice went really well, despite the cold. They claimed not to be a very good team, but I think that’s a matter of perspective. They seemed fairly skilled to me, though this year will be the first time they compete in a tournament at the collegiate level with other French Universities. Sounds exciting to me, so long as it is warmer by the time March rolls around. Next week I’ll be sure to wear layers >.<

My other adventure today aside from classes and immigration paperwork: grocery shopping!

I broke one of the most important rules though.

Never shop for food when you are hungry.

Oops.

I meant only to get a sandwich, salt, and milk. Sandwich because it was past 4pm and I hadn’t eaten all day, salt because, well, I like to salt my eggs, and I needed milk for cereal. That was the bare minimum.

But I really didn’t have enough food for the week; why not get spaghetti and sauce?

I could use a few more soups.

But I also need tea.

And while I’m in this aisle hot chocolate.

What about a can of peas?

That’s an INSANE deal on ravioli.

… OMG OLIVES!!!

And I’ll snag a bag of potato chips and get the heck out of there before I get out of hand.

One last thing: why can’t I fry sandwiches right? I always seem to burn the bread juuuust too much. I will get the timing right soon, or at least I’d better; I don’t want my neighbors seeing me with the windows open, waving a frying pan around in the air to cool it off.

À Bientôt!