Melted Measuring Cups and Rum Flavored Desserts

My host parents returned last night after being on vacation for 12 days. That's right, they let me house sit all by myself for 12 days. No worries though, I was well taken care of. Before leaving my madame had cooked dinner for each night and my host brother and sister who live nearby stopped by occasionally. And when they returned everything was in order except for a plastic measuring cup my friend and I had managed to melt.

After being here for almost a month I can easily say that my French is getting better by the day. Conversation takes less thought and I am beginning to think in French when I am speaking instead of translating from English to French in my head. I am using expressions that only make sense in French and can now have conversations about politics, traveling, and French history. I also started phonetics this past week which is basically an hour of moaning French vowels into a headset. It surprisingly helps a lot though. I am still making humorous language mistakes such as today at Sunday dinner I said I like drinking rum in the desert instead of I like rum flavored desserts. I have also said at another dinner with my host parents that I have my mom's ex-boyfriend instead of saying I have my mom's eyes.

What's wonderful about being in Paris learning French is that it's more than just the language, it's the French culture and history as well. Living with a fairly traditional French family has taught me so many customs I would never have learned otherwise. For instance, proper French families set the table with the forks and spoons turned upside down. I asked my host sister about this and she said that centuries ago when silverware was actually silver the seal of the family was also put on the utensils. In England the seal was put on what we consider the right side up, but in France it was put on the other side and they always set the table with the seal facing up.

Life here has developed a comfortable rhythm and familiarity and as I was telling my real parents the other day, if I could find a way I might just stay here forever.

Self-explanatory

7:45 - my first alarm goes off
8:15 - I finally get up
8:45 - Breakfast consisting of fresh baguette and coffee. Sometimes I eat with Madame and sometimes I eat alone.
9:15 - I leave the apartment
10:00 - My 2 hour French grammar class with M. Fesquet. It is a class of around 25 students from all over the world, although predominantly Asian. It is conducted entirely in French and we spend about an hour each day on grammar excercises and an hour talking about French culture. For instance today M. Fesquet explained to us why the French has 6 weeks of paid vacation. Our professor is a very jolly guy and wears the same purple pants for an entire week.
12:00 - I walk to St. Micheal with a couple of friends for the cheapest lunch we can find
2:30 - We go to the ACCENT center for our class on the history of Paris, or I attend a conference at La Sorbonne, or we met our Paris class somewhere in the city (ex. Musee de Cluny ou Notre Dame)
4:30 - I head home or go to coffee with some friends
6:00 - Go for a run on the Champs des Mars
8:30 - Dinner with M. et Md. Dumontier. Dinner is generally a 3 course meal starting with a salad or soup, then followed by a main dish, and then desert which could be anything from a dark chocolate raspberry tart or fruit salad. Then Madame and I have tea as she continues to converse with me in French. The Dumontiers absolutely spoil me - and I'm loving it.
10:00 - I do my homework
11:30 - sleep.

The Persistence of Memory

This city surprises me everyday. Last Saturday I went to the Salvador Dali museum in Montmatre, a permanent exhibit of over 300 pieces of art by Dali. There were his famous sculptures of melting watches on tree branches, his symbolic representation of the fluidity of time. There were his series on Alice in Wonderland, Romeo and Juliet, and his Old and New Testament interpretations. The walls were all black and as a whole the place was in every way modern. However, the museum is underground and as they were hollowing it out they found an ancient chapel, dating before 1000 AD. There, right behind Dali's erotic elephant was a stone chapel with a broken Virgin Mary somewhat reconstructed. At first this seemed so unreal, but that kind of fit with Dali. This was just one of the many examples of what my professor calls 'the layered city'. Paris is at the cutting edge of fashion, politics, philosophical ideas, and cuisine, but there is an ancient, traditional, and sacred side of the city too. In so many ways this museum left nothing wanting - it was a live example of the fluidity of time. Showing that we will forever be connected to the past and always trying to control the future. Paris is an ancient city, but it also holds so many ideas that will reach the rest of the world tomorrow.

A Note About Parisians

Sitting on the metro the other day I made a mental list on how to become Parisian. This is what I have so far:

1. Wear black and gray - at least during the winter

2. Put your game face on when you enter the metro

3. Do not smile at strangers

4. Be tall, skinny, and beautiful

However, as much as I try I was told during orientation Parisians can always pick out the foreigners. Even the lady who was given the lecture said she has been here 12 years and people still know she is not French. I just wonder how they know.

Parisians have a reputation among us Westerners. I've had friends asking me how I am getting along with my family, are they uptight? Rude? Arrogant? This less than wonderful reputation was certainly something I was aware of before coming here and something I tried not to judge the city by. The truth is some Parisians are rude, but so am I half the time. Yes, they are arrogant, but hardly the only culture that is. What I have noticed more and more is that Parisians have the same problems and concerns about life that we do.

Marielle, the oldest daughter of my host parents is having a baby in two months. However, this pregnancy has been tense and uneasy because last year she lost a baby during her six month for a reason none of the doctors can explain. She was telling me on Sunday that she still can't believe her baby will actually be born alive this time, that she will finally be a mother.

On Saturday when we were at the old Opera house riot police came running past us. There was a a protest marching down one of the nearby streets towards the Opera house - they were waving Palestinian flags and shouting in support of Hamas. They continued down the street with a van in the middle of them from which people were yelling into microphones. Then they marched up the steps and each took hold of a huge Palestinian flag which they waved in unison.

I guess with all the stereotypes and preconceived expectations what I am finding is that Paris is simply full of ordinary people. Mothers who worry about their children, students who are fighting for their people, the person that shoves you on the metro because they want to get to work on time, and the server that chuckles when you butcher their language. Just ordinary people going about their life as they best they can, they just happen to be in Paris.

A Few Pictures

Love the French Advertising.

Les Galeries Lafayette.

Americans have no idea how to shop in style. There were champagne bars in the shops and every single designer you could think of.

The Musee D'Orsay - We are able to get into all the museums for free with our Sorbonne IDs.

My favorite Monet.

Van Gogh's self-portrait with some man in my way.

Me in a sea of scarves, a dream come true. This was a small shop in St. Micheal - the Latin Quarter and popular student part of the city.

An evening boat tour on La Seine - that would be Notre Dame on the horizon.

La Bastille - the square near our student center and another popular place for young people to go out. The new opera house is also on this square.

This is the 6th Floor

Locks in Paris are complicated. Often there are 2 or 3 key holes with different shaped keys for each one. Losing one's keys is a huge problem. You don't simply make a copy - you change the lock something that can cost up to $1000. And so will I ever lose my keys? No. Anyways, back to the complicated lock. I returned last night, quite late, or early however you gage the night. Obviously everyone else in the apartment was asleep and I was going to have face unlocking the door, hopefully quietly. Well, the light on the landing had already been turned off and there were 3 switches; one was our doorbell, one was the neighbor's doorbell, and the other was the light. I didn't take any chances on the switches. Instead, in my brilliance I pushed the elevator door button continually because when the doors opened there was some light. So I would push the button and run to the door to try and fit one of the keys in. Well, every time the elevator doors opened a voice said "C'est le sixieme etage" (this is the 6th floor). For some reason I thought this would not wake anyone up, but I am pretty sure after I pressed that button 7 times, everyone on the 6th and 5th floor were awake.

This was not my first incident with the door. On Friday night I successfully locked my host parents out. Their son had to call my cellphone to ask me to go let them in. Not only was I in before my host parents on a Friday night, but apparently I can't lock a door. The Dumontiers keep asking me what university I go to, I'm not sure they believe I finished high school.

As my dad said I might be the last student the Dumontiers have.

Paris is not a dream

Today we had two more orientation sessions and then we met our home stay families. I honestly can't imagine a more perfect family for me to stay with. Monsieur et Madame Dumontier are an older couple with four grown children. Jacques Dumontier (the dad) is a retired journalist having spent his career as a radio journalist, traveling all around the world. Now, his oldest daughter was telling me, he sits at home, in his chair, reading and drinking coffee - I told him he had lived and was living my ideal life. Gaelle Dumontier is a high school teacher, she teaches Latin and French. Two of their children live in Paris and were here for dinner tonight. Their other daughter lives with her husband in Boston and their other son works at the French embassy in Tunisia. There are books everywhere in the apartment, every single room, including the toilet, has a sagging bookshelf. Marielle, the eldest daughter, told me her dad has never given away a book. In my room they have placed all the English books and few French ones that Jacques expects me to read and discuss with him, we'll see how that goes. They are a very international family. Marielle is married to a man from Mozambique whom she met while she was teaching French there. Elliot, the older son, works for Zodiac and is constantly traveling. The younger son who works in Tunisia has also worked in Egypt and Syria. Jacques himself saw a lot of the world while working. So we had a lot to talk about at dinner.

Before dinner Jacques had driven me from the hotel to their apartment and I had an entire tour of Paris at night. He pointed out the museums, the parliament, Notre Dame, mosques , and so on. To complete this perfect fit of a home, from my window you can see the Eiffel Tower. Gaelle said they give this room to the students so that they can assure themselves Paris is not a dream - they are really here.