prayers, chez le coiffeur

These past four months studying abroad haven't contained as many "firsts" as I'd expected, but this was unexpected: The First Time I Fervently Muttered Hail Marys While Getting My Hair Cut.
For as long as I can remember... realistically probably since our second year in the United States, I have faithfully visited David J. Witchell on State Street in Newtown, PA, every time I've wanted a haircut. When I chopped off eleven inches to give myself a more "mature" look in sixth grade, David was there for me. He's been there for prom hairstyles that cost way too much money, spa pedicures with friends, and the not-so-frequent trim in-between all that.

Now that I'm far away from Newtown, PA, the time came for me to brave the elements and head to "chez le coiffeur" to attempt a safe haircut.
I just wanted a trim, and was in dire need of one since my last haircut was during Thanksgiving break. Althought I had done a decent job translating for Matt in Geneva over the summer, the prospect of describing a hairstyle to Parisians "coiffeuses" was extremely intimidating.
I spent the night before in my room with Anna, poring through the four American magazines in my room, brought to me care of De and Becky. We tried to find a decent photo of a hairstyle I could imagine on my head, but of course neither the paparazzi-style shots in Us Weekly, nor the fashion spreads in Vanity Fair sufficed. We searched for "haircut" vocab on Google instead, and, armed with a little notebook with words like "dégradé" (layered) and "refraîcher" (refresh, a trim), I made my way to the little salon around the corner, where haircuts were advertised for 40 euros.... cheap by Parisian standards, unfortunately.

The women inside were really nice; I had to wait a while to get seen, and I had a literature test later that afternoon so the relaxed French attitude was getting to me. I was finally shampooed, and as I lay with my neck in the little nook that's never ever comfortable, I missed the trendy music and even trendier staff at David Witchell. I missed the fact that there, despite the perpetually uncomfortable neck situation, I could fall asleep to the feeling of a head massage instead of the rigorous scrubbing I received Chez Le Coiffeur.
The haircut itself was a short-lived, rough affair. The five centimeters I had requested were snipped off, a rough short piece was cut in the front, and when I responded that yes, it was in fact short enough, the hairdresser proceeded to snip at it some more. They do that trick at David Witchell too, but somehow I don't really mind as much.

A part down the middle and one incredibly flat, drab blow-dry later, I thought to myself, "She must be able to tell that I don't like it. I just cannot make my face look pleased."

After shelling out forty euros, I marched out of there, short pieces of hair flying into my eyes, and looked forward to showering so I could rinse out the middle part and flatness in an effort to improve my look.
I think it worked.

The cut is simple and definitely growing on me. I don't know if I'll ever jump at the opportunity to go through that again, but it's definitely a story worth telling.
Ah, language barriers.

I spent a fabulous weekend in Alicante, Spain with Matt from Friday night to Sunday. The sun shone, it was about 75 degrees during the day, and we had some delicious tapas, sangria, and paella to give ourselves the full Mediterranean experience. I was sad to leave that little taste of paradise behind, especially as I gazed out the airplane window at the other side of the Pyrenees, where the cloud cover prevented me from seeing any patch of ground. It was only as I sat on the bus back to the city center in Paris on Sunday evening that I realized it was not only cloudy in France, but snowing. I had to change out of flip-flops immediately.
My sunburned shoulders are starting to peel.

I've just come from the second of two very delicious dinners thanks to Finn and Adrian; I feel so lucky to have family close by that can treat me to a four-course meal at the drop of a hat. And tomorrow, FINALLY, I get to see mum. Unfortunately my train won't stop in Angers until 10:30pm, but that way I can still go to my history class tomorrow night and get to Montparnasse with time to spare. We don't have much planned; a market here and there, some yummy food, and a comfy bed in the countryside. We'll be coming back to Paris on Saturday and hopefully hit some of the spots I have yet to see.
I've started making my final list of "Things to Accomplish Before the End of May" as spring break lurks just one week away. I feel already as if my time is running out!

New guilty pleasure, thanks to dad: Catherine Tate comedy bits on YouTube.
If you can handle British humor, sneak a peek here.

how time flies.

I promise a real update soon.

April is upon me and she came out of nowhere; I suddenly find myself going to be away from Paris for the best part of the next five weekends. I also have less than two months to go before my semester here ends.

April 4-6: Alicante, Spain with Matt
April 10-12: Beaufort with Mumsy!
April 17-21: Dublin with Matt
April 21 & 22: London
April 22-24: Budapest with Coll
April 24-27: Prague with Coll to see Rob and Erica
April 27-30: Vienna with Coll
April 30-May 2: Milan "


What is my life.
I'm also only bringing hand luggage...



Bullet point updates:

• I think I'm getting sick; my glands are swollen and both Anna and I are suffering from a bit of a sore throat and cough.
• Niamh was here and I laughed for a week.
• I got an A on my first French exam.
• The sun shone yesterday & today, and it stayed light until 8pm (because Daylight Savings only just arrived on Sunday).
• New favorite dinner: mini leek & cheese quiche, salad with cherry tomatoes, glass of red wine.
• I'm taking my chances and trying my hand at French haircutting vocabulary on Thursday morning, when I'll venture around the corner to the "Coiffure" for a trim.
• I can't wait for the 70 degrees and sunny that awaits me in Spain!
• I find dealing with registration & summer internship applications really foreign as I sit at my desk in Paris.

And I leave you with a few glimpses of my humble abode, at 22 rue de Naples, Paris 75008.

my daily bread.

French bread must be tainted with a sort of addictive narcotic. I just can't get enough. I don't drink as much coffee or tea here as I do at home, and my caffeine-dependency headaches frequently make their presence known, but this bread addiction is something else entirely.


I spent last weekend in London, visiting Colleen and Matt, and I even got to spend some time with Paula and Ju, although unfortunately not as much as I would have liked. Colleen's friends threw a party on Friday night, and because the English freshmen are English freshmen, the party's title was GLOW and we were expected to dress the part.
Armed with neon paint from Poundworld and Hanes men's undershirts, Coll and I transformed old t-shirts into magnificent (and witty!) costumes, with the help of neon tights and glittery bangles. God bless Primark.

"Costume? My hair IS my costume."

I took myself on a little walking tour during the day, as Colleen had a full day of classes and Matt is now working at the Royal Bank of Scotland. We met for lunch, and afterwards I meandered along Oxford Street, saw Piccadilly Circus and Covent Garden, and perused the tabloid that Londoners call their daily metro paper. Instead of learning about Sarkozy's latest snub, I got to see what Bob Geldof's kids wore to their latest birthday party. Who needs real news when you've got celeb goss?!



After meeting Matt for dinner at an Indian restaurant on Brick Lane, Colleen and I went to the party sufficiently decked out and ready for a good time.

If this isn't appropriate "glow-wear", then I don't know what is.

The next morning, much to our chagrin, we found that the water had been turned off throughout the building as work was being done on the pipes. After a short meeting, we decided to head to Leicester Square to meet Ju and Paula for the Ireland v. England rugby match. I threw my facewash, toothbrush, and some makeup into my bag and we freshened up in the bathroom of the pub. It was hilarious.
Unfortunately, Ireland lost the match, but Matt, Colleen, and I got to see Ju and Paula and chat a bit before parting ways for dinner. I grabbed fish and chips at a pub with Matt before going to see his room in South Kensington, where I met his roommates and hung out a bit before going back to Mile End with Coll.

Paula, me, Coll, Ju, Matt (sleeping?)

It was a great trip and although I didn't stay for the St. Patrick's Day festivities, I was all celebrated out nonetheless. I'm luckily going back in April, en route to Budapest for spring break!

Our group went to see an opera called "Zampa" on the night of March 17th, and therefore, celebratory activities were limited to two drinks at a bar called O'Sullivan's after the three-hour performance. After paying 7 euros for a pint of cider, I preceded my next order by asking the bartender if there was any discount for "real Irish people". He looked at me, left my Guinness to settle on the bar, and refused payment, saying in his English accent, "There's your discount then." It made my night.

Niamh arrives on Monday morning, and I don't know if I'm prepared for the onslaught of sightseeing and activity her visit will inevitably bring. Unfortunately, I've been stuck with my first grammar test on Wednesday, as well as a petit résumé of "Bonjour Tristesse," a novel by French writer Françoise Sagan. I have a midterm on Thursday night for my History of France class, but luckily, that shouldn't be any chore for Niamh as she's quite enamored of l'histoire de la France. We have lots to see and I'm so excited for her to see my life here in Paris; although I have classes and homework this week, she speaks French well and will be glad to wander around herself a bit.


Paris never disappoints. I was feeling down earlier, and finding the trials of forced friendships preoccupying. I sat on the computer for too long, worrying about class registration, internships, the schoolwork of the upcoming week-- and then I decided to throw on some clothes and go out. I'm learning the art of being alone.
I sat in a café today after venturing to Montmartre for cheap postcards. The following is from those few hours:

I love the life of this city: the way it breathes, moves, seems to be a living being. Depending on my mood, Paris can be the coldest, loneliest space possible, but I think that the city is the best friend I've got here. It's just right. I love that little babies wear bonnets that fasten under the chin. I love the couple I see walking past this café right now, sporting identical knit green hats. I love that I meant to walk outside for just a breath of fresh air when I left the foyer over two hours ago. Only in Paris could I eat a delicious meal in the middle of the afternoon, in the same space that cigarettes in brightly colored packages are sold to busy people on their lunch breaks. Two girls sat outside under the canopy with their picnic lunch, just purchased at the market I can see from this window, as first the rain fell, then hailstones. The owner didn't mind their presence. Now they're inside, hands wrapped around steaming drinks.
The woman who I've seen looking in my direction out of the corner of my eye is on her third coffee, and I know she'll order another before leaving. I've been sitting here for about two hours. My croque madame and salad are long gone, I've order and subsequently finished a café crème, and all the waiter has said to me since is, "Ca va?" He knows I'm in no rush, and therefore he relaxes as well. It's really another world over here.

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.