in like a lion...

I guess what I've been waiting for since Day One (now over two months ago!) is a routine. I like to think I'm compulsive and willing to take a chance on what each day brings, but I've found I may be a sucker for schedules after all.
But Paris hasn't really allowed me that.
And so, today I feel at peace knowing that I might have started to accept that, and had to content myself with a balance between the possibility of something new every day, as well as a little routine when the time allows.

My thirst for "normalcy" comes after over a week of visitors, museums, and touring the city I now call home. I had such a great time showing everyone around, from De last week to Maura, Becky, and Coll this past weekend. I think I've probably attained some sort of tour guide certificate at this point, but I can't take all the credit, as everyone was a trooper and paced the entire city mainly on foot, in order to minimize the 1.50 euro metro rides.



I got to see Paris from Sacre Coeur at nightfall, even if it was too cloudy to catch the sunset. I found I'm not the only one with an appreciation for Shakespeare & Co., and all the magic its shelves and visitors carry. I ate three crêpes in two days, thanks to the ever-faithful appetites of my roommates. I drank my cheapest pint of beer yet to be found in Paris, going for a mere 2.60, while the neon lights of Pigalle's "SEXODROME" glared in the background. I stole a sign from a bar by mistake (sort of) and finally figured out the ever-enigmatic night-bus, or Noctilien. I coerced my roommates into posing for jumping pictures on the Champs de Mars, again as hunchbacks at Notre Dame, and, when my wallet grew light on Sunday, mildly considered posing as a gypsy with a pashmina around my head, asking for English-speakers to help feed my hungry family at home.








I just can't complain.
Some of the most interesting conversations of the weekend were with the girls as we compared London and Paris, and the different experiences Coll and I are having as Villanova kids studying abroad for six months. Luckily for me, I get to go and see her London life first-hand this weekend, as I'll be taking the Eurostar under the English Channel on Thursday night. I'll also get to see not only Colleen and Matt, but Paula, Ju, and hopefully Andy too, as the St. Patrick's Day parade in Londontown calls.

Mondays aren't the best days, as most people know, and I found it hard to get out of bed for 9:00 class this morning after chatting to my family until the early hours. As we reviewed imparfait and passé composé yet AGAIN in class, gale winds roared outside and it poured with rain. After returning to the foyer after class finished at noon, I finished watching "The Graduate" and then, to my surprise, saw that the rain had cleared and the showers promised to hold back for a little while. I grudgingly pulled on leggings and my running shoes, and headed to Parc Monceau, only to find the gates closed, so I had to content myself with its periphery. There's nothing quite like being able to see the Arc de Triomphe, knowing the Champs Elysée is mere steps away, while going for an afternoon run.
I came home and grabbed my wallet, then made a visit to the Franprix around the corner. I discovered an "Agriculture Biologique" bakery on the way to school the other day, so after filling my shopping bag with goodies, I stopped there on the way back to Foyer de Naples for a fresh baguette.




If every Monday routine can be like today's, I'll never dread Sunday nights again.

a picnic, a panic, and presque le printemps!

St. Germain-des-Près

I saw my first "to-go" insulated coffee mug this morning, in the hands of a highly animated French man. Not only that, I saw its twin on the desk of one of my classmates this afternoon! Espresso just doesn't work that well with to-go cups I suppose, but it seems that Starbucks is making its mark in France nonetheless.

So I find myself sitting here, waiting for my nails to dry, clean and tired, after a whirlwind of a weekend with De. She arrived bright and early on Friday morning, and somewhere between the picnics outside Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, the nights out gallavanting in front of the Eiffel Tower, and fondue dinners in the Latin Quarter, six days passed and now she's (hopefully) almost back in Philadelphia.

Eiffel Tower from the hill

While we had a great weekend, I can't say I ever want to become a tour guide. I did enjoy playing tourist, however, and taking advantage of the "free first Sunday of the month" special at the Louvre. I've never been before, despite my previous visits to the city, and I was really blown away. The crowds were a little too much, but seeing the magnificent sculptures and works of art recognized almost worldwide was just incredible. I've really developed more of an appreciation for sculpture since being here, if only because I know I could never create something as beautiful as Winged Victory.

Bracing the wind in front of the Louvre



Winged Victory

De and I spent Saturday exploring Montmartre, a neighborhood I've visited before but without so much free time. The sky was so blue and clouds so few that we couldn't resist ducking into the nearest supermarché for a half bottle of red wine, some camembert, and a baguette. We settled ourselves on the steep lawn in front of the Sacre Coeur, and looked out over Paris as we ate lunch.

Looking out at the view from Sacre Coeur



Pique-nique!

Musicians in one of the many squares

I also got to discover a bit of the Bastille for the first time; my roommate is forever telling me to head over there one night for cheap student deals. With a lot of French students currently on break, we couldn't find much of a dancing scene but the bars were decent enough... although still not that cheap!

On Sunday, I decided that although house rules state no guests, I would attempt to get De inside so we could cook here in the kitchen instead of spending more money on a dinner out. It worked perfectly well, as no one made a comment when she walked upstairs with me, but after I had shown her my digs and eaten a yummy pasta dinner, I walked her downstairs only to get interrogated by the man sitting at the front desk. He demanded her room number, and when I replied that she was just my friend visiting for "a few minutes", he shook his head and reminded me that I was forbidden from having any guests. I informed him I had spoken to La Directrice the night before, but he obviously doubted me and told me he would check with her the next day.
I spent the entire night worrying that I was going to be kicked out on the street. Anne, in an attempt to make me feel better, informed me that a girl down the hall had had a crazy party two nights ago, and was given five days' notice before she had to evacuate the premises. Not much of a comfort, but so far nothing has been said and I still have a place to sleep.

Sunday-afternoon crêpes in front of Notre Dame

Gorgeous macaroons at Laduree:
framboise, fleur d'orange, blackcurrant, chocolat noir

Today I had my first real French education hurdle to conquer. I was assigned an "exposition" which is basically just an oral presentation, commonly required a few times a semester. Myself and another girl, Kathryn, had to comment for fifteen minutes on the French government's ban of religious attire in public schools, and after researching exactly why the government has taken this position, I find myself understanding a bit more the strange way in which French people view their liberty.
After the revolution, everything that had been aligned with the monarchy, a.k.a. the Church, was deemed oppressive, and so, like I saw in Loche when I visited in January, many statues of saints in cathedrals have no heads, a reminder of the destruction after the monarchy fell. French people became seen purely as citizens of the Republic, not associated with any group other than the state. State schools, then, cannot accept any sort of outward sign of religious belief, as that contradicts "liberté" in the French sense. Showing one is religious is demonstrating participation as a member of a group, and not as a pure citizen of the state.

Therefore, I've come to conclude that this might be where the strong pride and snobbishness of many French people, especially Parisians, comes from. After winning their liberty and the right to exist simply as citizens and for themselves, the French hesitate when anything seems to threaten that liberty, their autonomy, including when people bash into them on the metro, during rush hour on Wednesdays.

But I digress.

Welsh 312 arrives tomorrow! Becky and Maura want to take advantage of the full day, and are coming in on a 9 a.m. Eurostar; Coll will get to the city around 7 p.m. In all honesty, as tiring as it may be, I love getting to play tour guide and getting to see the museums and neighborhoods I could just as easily pass by. I have no plans as of yet, but I'm sure the weekend will be filled with crêpes, fondue, and possibly one or two things not involving food. The Musée d'Orsay is free tomorrow evening for students, so I think we'll go there and maybe the Louvre on Friday, because I think I could visit every weekend from now until June and still not see it all.

Springtime in the air in the Marais!

Keep the comments coming! Miss you all.

Oh, and HAPPY 15TH BIRTHDAY MOOGS! My little sister isn't so little anymore.

home and away.

I feel homesick tonight.
As I rode the metro home, after a full day of classes and a meeting with our program director, I longed to see a familiar face among the strangers.
It's funny to think that when planning to study abroad, one never really pictures having to go to buy books for class, or dedicating a few hours a week to actually doing homework. Although Villanova generously requests only a "C" in order for credits to transfer, finding out that I'm going to be expected to read a novel in French per week is overwhelming.
And so, as I left Gibert Joseph with more looseleaf that's the wrong size, a wave of longing came over me; longing for my own bed, my family, my friends... even for classes at Villanova, where I can fully express my ideas without stumbling over vocabulary and complicated verb conjugation.

Tonight, home just seems further than usual.

slacker.

That's what I feel like. I mean to update this silly website every day, and by the time I have a free moment, I find myself asleep.


The sky is hanging heavily over Paris today, but I find myself really enamored of this weather. It's very mild, as it usually is when the clouds come, and the possibility of rain lingers but I don't mind, because I've learned my lesson and always carry my little umbrella when I leave the foyer.


Where to begin?


This past weekend was really great. I turned 21 on Sunday, and apart from the generic celebrations that are to be expected, both Matt and dad were here, which just made the weekend that much better. It was very strange, all the same, to find myself surrounded by new faces, and I really did miss celebrating with everyone from home. I can't say I regret not being able to hit all the Villanova hotspots-- there'll be plenty of time for that once June rolls around.

Matt arrived with perfect timing on Thursday the 14th. By the time I met him at the Gare du Nord, it was already 10pm, so we found his hotel and then went for a bite to eat. We spent the weekend sightseeing and strolling around.


Friday was quite miserable, as the temperature plummeted to a frigid 34 degrees, but we made the most of it anyway, since I had skipped class just for the occasion. Although he's been to Paris before, I think Matt developed an appreciation for the smaller details of life in the city; away from the tourist traps, the smaller little neighborhoods and parks can be such a relief.
On Friday night, we found a little restaurant in the Latin Quarter advertising "la cuisine traditionelle" and had delicious steak, French onion soup (which is just onion soup in France of course), and dessert. As we were eating, the waiter approached me and asked, "Parlez-vous francais?" as I had been slipping in and out of both French and English throughout the night. I replied that I did, and he seemed relieved, then requested that I translate charcuterie into English for some tourists he was serving in the back of the restaurant. It was a proud moment for me, to act as translator for a French waiter in the heart of Paris.

Matt and I visited the military museum on Saturday, where they had a lot of memorabilia from the world wars, as well as the tomb of Napoleon, but unfortunately we forgot to visit the tomb as we'd already spent two hours wandering the other parts of the museum. Afterwards, we met up with dad in the Marais and had a coffee before going to the Hotel de Ville to see a free exhibition of color photos from the early twentieth century here in Paris. It was really interesting to see photos that normally would have been taken in black and white- in color.

Out for birthday dinner with the men in my life!

That night, dad took Matt and I to a very trendy restaurant in the Marais, where the food was so tremendously sculpted that we found it hard to eat! With things like potato marshmallow on the menu, it was, without a doubt, one of the most interesting meals I've ever had. Unfortunately dad was feeling a bit tired after we ate, so he headed back to his hotel while Matt and I met up with some people from the program to celebrate my 21st.

My Italian roommate, Anne

Me, Amanda, Deirdre, Lizzie, Nicole, and Anne

It was a lovely weekend, complete with a big American breakfast at a diner on Sunday morning, called "Breakfast in America". We had massive plates of pancakes and eggs, and real drip coffee! I hadn't realized my craving for non-espresso coffee until the steaming cup was set before me, with free refills at my fingertips.
After Matt boarded the Eurostar to head back under the English Channel on Sunday night, I was left with a very funny feeling. Celebrating a landmark birthday with people I've only known for a few weeks was very different. Once dad and Matt had gone, and I was back in my foyer, I felt quite lonely and really wished that my whole family and all my friends from home could have been here. I got some lovely phonecalls from Ju and Paula which really cheered me up, but I was quite homesick and missing everyone a lot. At least Matt and dad came; having bits of my life from home around made it a really special occasion.
Thank you for all your good wishes!

This week saw, at last, the grand finale of my seven-week French intensive language program. After a month in Tours and three weeks here in Paris, I'm just about ready to swear off the language classes altogether. We celebrated with white wine and Indian snacks today at the Catho-- I really enjoyed the class, despite the long hours and often-boring lessons. It's hard to believe that while some people are beginning spring break this week, my "real" semester doesn't start until Monday!
One of our teachers, Julie, is studying English and international relations, and hopes to get a job as a representative in South Africa, so she asked myself and the other girls from Central to have lunch with her today to do a little language exchange; half an hour in French, and then half in English. Unfortunately it didn't work out because she had some administrative stuff to do for the end of term, but she took down our email addresses and we'll hopefully see her later in the semester.

Everyone from my class at the Catho
Julie, the teacher is in front in grey

After classes I met up with my friend Jayne, and her boyfriend, who are both studying in Strasbourg. We had coffee at Les Deux Magots, a "literary" cafe where Hemingway and his cronies spent their days. It's now pretty much just a giant tourist trap, where cappuccinos cost 6 euros and the service is inattentive, but I guess the coffee was pretty good (I have to say that, it cost six euros).

Although the days are long and June seems very far away, time is going quickly. Villanova's spring break starts next Friday, which means a stream of visitors for me! De arrives next weekend, and then after she leaves, the majority of Welsh 312 will be here! Colleen, Becky, and Maura are coming from London and staying through Sunday. I cannot wait to see their faces!

I'm looking forward to the start of the real semester on Monday-- to me, it means I can finally settle into a semi-permanent routine and find time to sleep! With my schedule the way it is, I only have to get up for 9 a.m. classes twice a week, and Fridays are free.

Because we're staying in town this weekend, my friend Lizzie and I are planning on doing a bit of exploring tomorrow and on Sunday. Although there's snow on the ground in Philadelphia, the forecast promises 60 degrees in Paris tomorrow, and I think Montmartre is calling.

Book recommendation of the week: McCarthy's Bar, by Pete McCarthy. Absolutely hilarious.

a word on the wonder that is "la crepe".

I made Sunday a productive day. After paying 7 euros for tokens and discovering that the ONE washing machine and dryer for all 180 residents of the foyer was all booked up for the day, I headed around the corner to spend another six euros at the laundromat. After spreading my jeans out on the heater in my room after an unsuccessful two spins in the dryer, I showered and decided to take the metro to a stop I'd never been to before, right off ligne 4, a pretty direct cut through the heart of touristy Paris.

Line 4 hits a lot of the hot-spots listed in guidebooks: the boulevard St. Michel, St. Germain, Chatelet which leads you right to the Hotel de Ville, etc. It's hellish in the morning, when people are crammed up against the windows like a full glass jar of olives, and businessmen and university students struggle to open their "journal quotidien" to catch up on daily news.

Paris is, however, quite pleasant on Sunday afternoons. The tourists are still around, but I really can't totally exclude myself from those map-reading, photo-taking, overly-chatty crowds because I, like them, am continually awestruck and find it hard to keep my eyes to the ground, in classic Parisian style, as I walk around town.

After walking around the 14th arrondissement for a little while, I decided that, although I have given up chocolate for Lent, my penance for 60 of my limited days in Paris absolutely can NOT extend to Nutella filled crepes. With cold hands from the February air, I fumbled for my precious Carte Orange (my monthly metro pass) and in two minutes, had descended the stairs into the nutty, warm smell of the metro once again.

I rode for about twenty minutes, up to St. Michel, an area I knew that vendors found many tourists, lusting for all things Parisian, to prey upon. With my back to the fountain on the boulevard, which had been filled with bubbles one morning last summer, a large jar with a recognizable red, white, and black label caught my eye.

NUTELLA.

As I anxiously stood in line, two euro coins warm in my palm, I looked on in disbelief as the couple in front of me ordered galettes, savory crepes featuring some mixture of egg, ham, and cheese. With a sweet, oozing Nutella crepe on my mind, I couldn't imagine how anyone could order anything else.

After an agonizing wait, my turn had arrived. One word was all the man needed; I suppose the look in my eyes said the rest. I handed over my money, and at last, the heat from this glorious treat warmed my palms.

I have to announce my disclaimer here:
Stephen Cloughley makes a damn good crepe. On Sunday mornings in the Cloughley house, the big red one with the white trim, you will often find four (sometimes five or more) people happily munching on crepes that have been absolutely perfected over a year or so.

HOWEVER...

No amount of persuasion, or of Dad's masterpieces (sorry dad), could convince me that there is anything better than standing in the middle of the Latin Quarter in Paris, understanding what the man behind the counter just said to me in French, and seeing the color of the Nutella turn another shade of brown inside the crisp shell of the crepe.

I knew it was perfect as I licked the dregs off my now toasty hands, and I got that feeling-- I could drink three liters of water right now.

And so I've decided that Sunday will be crepe day. And if I have a previous engagement, crepe day will be moved accordingly. Also, if I have visitors, I will eat a crepe every day with aforementioned guest... the best hostess should, of course, show Paris in all its glory-- encased in a white paper triangle, crispy around the edges, and oozing with molten Nutella.

ups & downs

Somewhere among the 6 hours of French class (five days a week), evening soirees in the kitchen upstairs, a lack of constant internet connection, and being too tired at the end of each day to make the effort, I'm afraid this poor blog has suffered.

I have so much to say and I don't really know where to begin!
Because the spring term at l'Institut Catholique, or "Catho", runs from the beginning of March until the end of May, we American students have been placed into another month-long language intensive program here in Paris. This means that myself, three others from my group, and thirteen others (who range from Asian missionary priests to Swedish students taking a gap year) take French classes from 9-12 in the morning, and 2-5 in the afternoon. It's really tiring, but good I suppose.

Class is just so amusing.

There's a residential building near the Catho called MEP, which stands for Mission Etrangee de Paris, and the mission itself invites citizens of India, China, Vietnam, and other Asian countries to come to Paris, learn French, and continue their mission work, enriched with the ability to speak another language. This means that Kissinger, Joseph from Vietnam, Mien Chieng, Joseph from China, Dominic, and Stanislaus, all in the same class as me, are here in France to learn French and continue theological study.

I have never been so amused in a class before. Although the dynamic here is very different from the mostly-American-college-student classes in Tours, the differences are all positive and so interesting. For example:
I don't know if all these guys had a chance to continue their studies during their twenties. Now, these 30-40 year old men act like seventh graders during class. They really enjoy whispering the answers to each other when asked a question by the teacher, or poking fun at each other's responses and accents. Observing these guys who have come from so many different countries in one place, speaking a common language, is really something.

Speaking of which, I've recently realized an aspect of French, or foreign languages in general, that I never understood before. It may sound odd, but, in the past, in high school and even into college, learning a foreign language was something extra that happened only while in actual classes. Now, I've begun to understand that French isn't just a language I can learn for three hours a week in an American university-- here, it's an actual form of communication. In order for me to convey any sort of idea to the Indian and Vietnamese people in my class, I have to speak French, and they have to understand.

I guess I just never really perceived the language in that way before.

Here in Paris, I live in the 8th arrondissement, which places me just a fifteen minute walk north of the Champs Elysees. The building I live in, the Foyer de Naples, is close to the metro and 180 students from many different universities and nationalities are housed here during the semester. I live with an Italian girl named Anne from Milan, who studies theatre at the university in Bologna. She's here until July through Erasmus, a European student exchange program. I like her a lot; as far as roommates go, she's been really easy to live with so far and I hope we can start hanging out more when I begin my classes and electives in March.
We speak a mixture of French and English with each other, and late at night she occasionally slips into Italian, but I try to remember as much Italian as I can and we communicate just fine. I hope I can start Italian cooking lessons with her!


After a rather shady exchange last week in the St. Sulpice metro station with a stranger named Alain, I bought three tickets to the France/Ireland 6 Nations rugby match that took place today. Dad arrived this morning, much to my relief. It was really nice to see his familiar face walking into the foyer, and after quickly changing into my Ireland jersey, we walked into the city and had a coffee near the Champs Elysee before heading to L'Entrecote, a famous steak frites restaurant, for lunch. At noon exactly, a line had already formed outside the building, as they don't accept reservations there. Once dad and I had informed the waitress how we wanted our steak cooked, we settled down to enjoy a delicious meal of salad with dressing and walnuts (Mum you've done a great job of recreating it, by the way. I meant to tell you that!) We shared a small bottle of red wine, and then walked down to an Irish pub called James Joyce for a pint before meeting dad's friend Steve for the match.

The weather was absolutely beautiful today, so dad and I really enjoyed hanging around Paris for the day, and once Steve joined us, we each had a beer outside the stadium before the match began. Although Ireland lost, it ended up being a good game and it was really exciting to see it in person after so many trips to Philadelphia to watch games on TV in Fado!

I've never heard so much English spoken in Paris before. The metro was packed with Irish rugby supporters all day. Even after we lost, everyone was in a jovial mood, including the waiters at an Algerian restaurant where we had couscous and North African dishes for dinner.

It's funny how sports bring people together. Even the playful jabs that the Frenchies had been making at us all day were in good fun, and from the old man in a cafe this morning to the French family at the couscous restaurant tonight, the French were generally really receptive to the Irish presence in Paris today.

On the RER ride home from the stadium, a group of Irish people broke out into ballads, shattering the usually silent train ride. When they started "Molly Malone", I couldn't help but join in.

For the first time in a long time, I felt strangely at peace. My schedule may be demanding, the language and the people may be challenging, but today I felt comfortable as I straddled that line between Paris, and home.

a rough start...

Bonjour from Paris!

It's been a rough few days, settling in to a new place much bigger than Tours. On Saturday night, I left my bag (and worse, the bag that Matt gave me for Christmas) in a taxi after a night out at our friend Michael's friend's apartment. My credit card, camera, metro pass, and "plan de Paris" are all gone, and the bag too.

Things are being dealt with, but there's no worse feeling than being alone in these kind of situations. Thankfully my phone was in my coat pocket, so that was saved, but everything else is gone. As soon as we exited the cab and it pulled away, I realized everything was gone and in a futile attempt, I ran after it, in heels, on the cobblestone street and wrenched my ankle.

Paris is charming and can win my heart back within 20 minutes, but yesterday, it seemed just like every other large, cold, city.

I don't think I will ever lose anything ever again.

And now, I'm using free WiFi at a McDonald's one block from the Champs Elysee, because my foyer does not have any reliable internet. It blows my mind that a residence for students doesn't have working internet-- hopefully I don't have to do much research for classes or anything.

Anyway, I'm in Paris for goodness' sake. It just wasn't the smoothest of beginnings.

I'll try to update with more positive details soon... Bises!