A Little Gin in the Cake

It's funny how a place or an event can remind us why we fell in love with something in the first place.  The past week I had my first 'I hate Paris moment.'  I never thought the day would come.  I'd heard about it from other exchange students (and written about it), but I always told myself that I was too easy-going to be phased by Paris, much less the French culture.  But then it happened.

The series of frustrating events began Wednesday of last week.  I had just gotten home from a class around one and was preparing lunch when I heard the doorbell right.  It turned out to be a delivery man with a package from home.  'Ah yes, score!' I'm thinking to myself...until he says, 'Alors, ça fait quatre-vingt trois euros pour le colis, Monsieur.'  I did a double take at him to make sure what I heard was correct and not my poor French rearing it's head again.  He repeated the same phrase, but it turns out this time my comprehension was on the money.  The customs agents required 83 euros for the package!  After a few not-so pleasant insults about the delivery man ran through my head I finally told him that he would have to come back another day, preferably Friday, to give him the money.  'C'est pas possible car le colis va retour au destination originaire après demain.'  Translation:  I either pay the money Thursday or the package goes BACK to the States.

I had class the next day at noon, therefore that means I must leave Paris an hour before to get to St. Denis via the Métro.  So it was decided he would deliver the package at 9 the next morning.  'Tu seras la?' He asked.  'Yes, I'll be here,' I replied.  It goes without saying that the rest of the day was wasted on a way to bypass having to pay the 83 euros.  This involved being on hold for at least an hour combined and talking to people who obviously did not care about their job.  Imagine the DPS back home but magnified to a new level of 'I don't give a damn about your problem.'  The only solution found?  Pay the 83 euros.

Thursday morning comes, and much less arrives on time...I can't say the same about our friend.  9 o'clock.  Nothing.  10 o'clock.  Still nothing.  Now it's 11 and not a sign of Captain Incompetence.  I decide to even give him another 15 minutes of leeway just in case he's possibly behind his delivery schedule.  Rien.  Enough is enough, it's time to head to school...behind schedule.  Football equipment and school materials in hand I stumbled down the six flights of stairs into the street.  Even before getting one foot out of the door who's delivery truck is parked across the street?  The Captain himself.  We immediately recognize each other and he gives me that weird, conniving smile that reeks of, 'Oh I have something that you desire.'  I then begrudgingly approach him and we exchange pleasantries.  Seeing the frustration and agitation on my face he asks what sport I play.  'Football,' I replied, and nothing more (in France is it's ok to voice displeasure if the situation warrants it).

He noticed that I wasn't one for conversation at the moment and just wanted the package.  'Ok, I'm going to go around the corner to the Post Office.  You go take out your money and we'll meet in front of the Post Office.'  Not having three euros on me (partially my fault), I was forced to take out 100 euros.  This initially posed a problem because, not failing to live up to his name, the Captain didn't have enough 17 euros in change.  Fortunately he was able to spot a euro to accompany the two I already had.

After what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to get the package and take it back up the six flights of stairs to my room.  The time now:  11:30.  Génial.  I finally arrived at St. Denis after a rather annoying Métro ride that included countless stares because of my gym shorts and football equipment in my hand.  Ah no, and the crying baby for a good 30 minutes didn't help either.  Fortunately the rest of the day improved gradually with football practice (below) and getting in touch with friends at my old job.

But then, Friday night happened.  And all was well.

'You look around and every street, every boulevard, is its own special art form and when you think that in the cold, violent, meaningless universe that Paris exists, these lights, I mean come on, there's nothing happening on Jupiter or Neptune, but from way out in space you can see these lights, the cafés, people drinking and singing.' -Owen Wilson, Midnight in Paris

And I then remembered why I fell in love with this city in the first place.  Above is church that Owen Wilson sat in front of in Midnight in Paris.  Who would have thought?  This only solidifies why Rue de la Montagne Sainte Genevieve is without a doubt Paris' best street and neighborhood.  Charming winding street, cafés, and the best bar Paris has to offer.  What more is needed?

For some, more apparently.

'This area sucks.  There's nowhere open to go eat.  It's awful here around here.' -remark from an ignorant exchange student at the Violon Dingue that night.

Some people just don't get it. 

Friday's discovery opened up a new desire to explore more of the area near Pantheon and Ile de Saint Louis.  Pictures below.

Pont de la Tournelle

The Poliodor.  So good!  Also where part of Midnight in Paris was filmed.

Football practice was exactly what the doctor ordered as it was good way to let out the stress that had been building up since Wednesday.  It was also a chance for us, as a team, to unleash our frustrations from last week.  Those who read last week's blog post know that we lost dismally 35-0.  I think I can speak for the rest of the team that we did everything we could to forget that atrocity.  This week however was much better as we went Hamma' Time on our opponent winning a scrimmage match 26-6.  It was a good morale boost for the troops even though it was a scrimmage.  Here's to looking to this week's match against the Pandas.  I'll keep y'all updated.

Some vocab for y'all:

-Grain de beauté: freckles
-Les alés de la vie:  things we can't change in life
-Frignant:  dashing, magnificent
-Biberon: baby bottle

Le Parc Buttes Chaumont; Sacré Coeur in the distance

Don't Call It a Comeback...No Really, Don't

There is a term in French to describe someone with a forgetful memory much like a gold fish memory in English.  However in French it's poisson rouge or for the non French-speakers, red fish.  Very forgetful in my ways, I fall under this category.  It's because of this that I've decided to resurrect this blog AGAIN.  To be frank, I hate it.  It's a time-consuming chore that is hardly what I would call fun.  However, it does serve as something I will be able to look back on years to come.  I don't want to forget any of this experience nor the memories I make.  I think the main reason I started a blog was to keep y'all, the masses, informed on my experiences in the land of wine, cheese and mustard.  But this offered absolutely no motivation when it came to writing new posts; a large reason why I stopped.  So in brief (brèf), this is a blog for me and my goldfish memory, however an audience is welcome.  Introductions aside, below is some of what has been going on over here and everything else in between.

I believe as study abroad students we all have one thing in common:  we don't know where life is going to take us or where we want to go.  We know we want to go explore a new quartier of Paris, visit the Colosseum in Rome, or run with the bulls in Spain; essentially expose ourselves to new cultures.  But when asked us what we're going to do with our lives after living abroad the answer is normally 'Well, I'm hoping I can find the answer while studying abroad.'  The more I have seen in France and Europe has made me question what it is I want out of life once I get back to the States in the summer.  Frankly, it's downright scary.  This is coming from a person who has always had a plan growing up from middle school, to high school, to university.  But living in France since September has seen everything and the kitchen sink thrown out the window.  I know what I like and don't like, but the tough part is connecting the dots looking forward.  How can one connect music, French, history, sports, art, technology, and culture into one career?  It looks more like a recipe for a dish or a Skyrim skills list if anything.  It can be done.  Look at Steve Jobs.  He took his love for art and technology and founded one of, if not the greatest, influential companies our generation has seen.  In his biography by Walter Isaacson it mentions how during his twenties he dropped out of Reed College but sat in on some calligraphy classes that would later influence the font types on the first Macintosh.  I'm sure many of you already knew this little story, but it truly goes to show how the past experience gained in a class, job, or whatever does provide some sort of reference point to the what we may decide to do later in life.  It just takes recognizing when to pull it from the archives in the back of our brain.

This is a big reason why I've decided to take as many courses as I can while here in France.  Rather than being confined to the normal 15 hours I'm going to branch out and take some extra courses I would otherwise never take at UT.  Just to give an idea of what I'm talking about, I dropped in on a Portuguese class this past Friday.  Wow what a language.  The best description would be a melange between Italian, Spanish, and French.  The language seems to be pronounced in the upper  back part of the mouth with an emphasis on rolling the r's like Spanish.  Hence the reference to a mix of languages.  Ah yes, in regards to courses.  Other courses this semester include:  an advanced French grammar course, French middle age literature, French language in relation to the press, history of communication, phonetics class, and a media discourse class.  It's looking to be a wild ride and one that hopefully doesn't end too soon.

A few updates on what's been going on over here:

Christmas and New Years:  Christmas saw everyone go over to Laurence's daughter's home, Hélene, to celebrate.  In traditional French cuisine fashion, the food and wine was both plentiful and fantastic.  Sorry folks, but Honey Baked Ham just doesn't compare to smoaked salmon, roasted chicken, potatoes, maccarons, and much much more.  A few days later we celebrated a second Christmas that saw the side of the family who couldn't make it to Hélene's come over to the maison to celebrate.  The next day I went to the airport to pick up Chase, Anne, Fransisco, Cole, and his sister, May.  Hot dog was it great to have them to come visit.  Just when home was beginning to feel very distant, seeing them changed all of that.  They stayed for about a week.  In between that time I tried to show them as much of Paris as I could.  Fortunately we were also able to have a good time New Year's Eve by going to a new club near Opèra...even if we were putting our coats in the vestiare at the moment the ball dropped.  It was awesome that they were able to come over and share Paris with all of them.

Free Mobile:  YES!  An exchange students dream in France.  For 20 euro a month you get:  unlimited texts and calls in France and unlimited calls home without charge.  The signal is kind of week, but for what you're paying it's worth it.  It took a bit of jailbreaking and elbow grease to get the simcard to work with my old iPhone, but the work paid off.  As for Free's service plan,  it's definitely a game changer in the French cell phone market and could possibly be in the States too if the companies back home took a page from Free.  Ah and one more thing...there's no binding contract.

 Football:  While football season may be over back home in the States, it's just getting under way here in France.  My team, Blackjack 21, has already played two games.  So far we're 1-1.  I (usually) play free safety and tight end.  We managed to pull out the W in our first game even with sloppy play, but the second game was another story...35-0.  Then again, it does a present a problem when half of the offensive line doesn't show up and this guy has to play offensive tackle.  The game is still fun as ever, but it's taking time getting readjusted to the physicality of the game.  Each week I've managed to get nicked up and bruised somewhere new.  Our second match was especially brutal.  The outside linebacker I would have to block each series thought it would be a good idea to charge in each time leading with his head.  Needless to say, my head was ringing the first few offensive series before he finally began to slow down.  I think the few blocks to his knees started to make him think twice before bull rushing in.

It wouldn't be a true football post if I didn't mention the Super Bowl.  In true fashion it was celebrated at the Violon Dingue with the usual suspects.  It was a great time with the exception of seeing my former English teaching boss there.  In short, I decided to quit that job because, well I'm here to learn French, not teach English.  My boss, at the bar, decided to remind me of this by saying in French, 'Oh Austin, we're in France so we should be speaking French.'  Yup, awkward doesn't begin to describe that moment.  To add some humor to the event though, Maurice and I made a bet on who the winner of the Super Bowl would be.  If the Patriots won he would have to watch a full episode of the Simpsons (in his view the epidemy of all evil).  If the Giants won I would have to eat Roquefort cheese one night for dinner (In my opinion of the epidemy of evil of French cheeses.  It really is that bad).  You all know who won that bet.  A week later I swallowed my pride and the family and I had Roquefort cheese after dinner.  Thank you Wes Welker for that one!  Gisel Bundchen sends her regards, too.

Manchester United:  now this was the big one.  It's always been a dream to go see a match at Old Trafford, so the fact that it happened against Liverpool, a big rival, was pretty mind-blowing.  The match couldn't have been scripted better.  Dreary English day, pre-game drama between players on each side, and a packed house.  The match lived up to it's billing and then some.  The sounds of fans chanting during the match only added to the atmosphere.  There was probably a good 20 songs we heard whether it was for the Red Devils or mocking a player on Liverpool.  At the end of the day, ManUtd came out on top 2-1 with Rooney scoring both goals.  Perfect.  Hopefully one day I can make it back to Manchester to see a match there.  It truly is the Theatre of Dreams.  Magic doesn't begin to describe a ManUtd match.

I've omitted a lot of things that have occurred since last visiting here.  It would probably take a good three or four blog posts to include what has been happening here since we last visited at the end of November, so hopefully (crosses fingers) this will be updated on a weekly basis.  This is one of the best times of my life and it would be a shame if the slightest moment was forgotten.