15 days, 6 countries, & 1 very small backpack

Packing for spring break has never been this challenging or amusing in my whole life.
I just don't know how this is going to work. I'm really hoping Aer Lingus doesn't mind a very large handbag as a personal item!

I just want to quickly check in before jetting off until the 2nd of May...

I did 9 euros worth of laundry today, painted my nails and they look horrendous, and now I'm about to go and make myself a lunch out of all the food left in my refrigerator. I still need to put minutes on my phone and get out some cash to have on hand, ready to exchange into whatever foreign currency I happen upon.

Although Colleen and I have still not booked hostels for either Vienna or Milan, I hope we can do so either when I see her in London on Monday/Tuesday, or while we're in a hostel elsewhere.
She and her parents are in town so it's been crazy knowing that we'll have seen each other twice in our respective cities.

Ok ok I guess I'll write a bit-- Niamh's visit was really really great. Apart from overpacking a massive suitcase to haul from my foyer to our hotel on the other side of town, we had a great time. She was happy enough to go off on her own when I had classes (I had no problem skipping a few as well...) and we ate some delicious food, including L'Entrecote, a veritable Parisian institution with crowded tables, enigmatic steak sauce, and no menu. Our hotel was comfortable but certainly not luxurious-- I suppose if 53 euros a night can get you comfort in the heart of Paris, we didn't do too badly! Unfortunately I had quite a few tests and assignments due the week she was here, but I managed and we had a really great time. In between getting asked if we were twins, running around Rue Mouffetard, and eating entire fish still on the bone, we took some great pics and just generally enjoyed both being so in love with this city.

"It's bad that we're here together. I get enough compliments as it is, senorita!"

Mum's visit was quite different, as it started out on a train from Paris to the countryside last Thursday. The combination of fresh air, cows, lavender, and a comfy bed made my two nights in Beaufort absolute heaven. I also got a homecooked meal, with ingredients bought hours earlier at the market. I got my cough checked out at the doctor, filled myself with homeopathic medicine, and by the time we sprinted to catch our eternally-prompt TGV to Paris on Saturday, after a chaotic rental-car drop-off, I felt really refreshed and ready to spend the weekend back in the city. We stayed in a great area, smack between the Marais and the Bastille quarters. The weather was decent, meaning the rain was patchy, so we ate some great meals, did some boutique-browsing, ran into our old friend Sofia Coppola on the Ile St. Louis, and shopped at the Bastille market on Sunday morning. After a bottle of Spanish wine and tapas on Sunday night, we conversed with an Argentinian, Philippe, who was, we concluded, completely full of shit, but works with fashion photographers for French Vogue. He called me two nights ago to go and get a drink, but Colleen was in town so I'll have to save that little rendez-vous for after les vacances.

Les Blanchardieres in Beaufort.. just what I needed.

At the market, with the Bastille in the background

I was sad to see Mum leave on Monday morning, but I've been completely recharged and am now ready to take on this last month-and-a-bit of la vie parisienne, as well as 5 other countries, before Philadelphia and I catch up.

The sky has been blue every morning this week, the trees are budding and blossoming, the flowerbeds are planted in the Jardin du Luxembourg, and I think it's going to be harder to leave than I once thought after all.



So, if I survive budget-airline flights, 7-hour bus rides, and the languages of Eastern Europe, I'll be back on the 2nd of May. A bientôt!

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.