Au Revoir, Paris!

As I sit in the airport waiting for my flight, I am reflecting on all that I learned this summer in Paris. From the low points, to the funny memories, to the moments of wisdom, I have collected a genuine abundance of experiences over the past several weeks. 

Of course, I gained so much educational insight and knowledge from my TEFL course. I understand how to better prepare, manage, and adapt lesson plans. I learned new skills and tips from many experienced educators. My instructor, Anton, put us authentic classroom situations that helped broaden our boundaries and comfort zones. I expected this course to simply be a brush up on all that I learned in college and my time in Tanzania. I was surprised when the course offered so much more than my expectations. 

Through this course, my instructor, my classmates, and even my students, I also gained a lot of life lessons. I met many people who came to France for some temporary reason or another, ended up falling in love with the culture, and simply didn't return home. Based on my current onset of depression, I understand how this decision can be made so easily. I spent my summer here earning a certification to teach English overseas. What is the point if I'm not putting this hard earned knowledge to use?! Another one of my peers is an established French teacher in the states. She left her husband and eight year old twins for the summer while she studied in Paris. She is actually in the process of making the decision to bring her family back for an entire year. If a woman with a family can make it work, what is everyone else's excuse?? What's my excuse to not dedicate a year or more to a foreign project? 

Finally, the last lesson I've learned is one most people are familiar with: "Fake it 'til you make it." As a foreigner, I have often felt out of place and awkward due to my lack of direction, language, and culture. However, I got lost and stuttered my broken French with a smile, hoping I would come off nonchalant. I was just starting to see my version of "faking it" paying off. Twice in the last week, I had two people stop and ask me for directions in French. Now, all of my Parisian friends know my French is... very elementary... at best. So, I did my best to play it off like a local and pointed the wanderers in the right direction. On another occasion, I eavesdropped on a group of English girls getting confused on the metro. I was able to jump in and explain what they needed to know. After receiving their comments of gratitude, I thought, Wow, I'm making it! 

So, for all of these reasons, I've decided I will be back to Paris. I don't know when or for how long, but I'm hoping at some point during my youth I will truly be able to call Paris my home. 

Quartier Latin

The Latin Quarter, also known as my Paris hometown, is filled with culture from many centuries. During my past five weeks here in the LQ, I've learned quite a bit. However, in just a couple of hours last night, I nearly tripled my knowledge.

A friend of mine from my TEFL course has been living in Paris for the past few years. Originally from Michigan, she came to Paris for an au pair job that was supposed to last six months. Well, her au pair position came and went, and Molly decided to keep living life in this miraculous city. Now, she is earning her Master's Degree (which is quite affordable compared to the US) and working a tour guide job on the side. She was kind enough to let me jump in on one of her tours last night. Although I travel for extended periods of time to avoid being labeled as a "tourist," this tour was definitely a necessity. 

I gained an immense amount of knowledge that will come in handy in the classroom, in small talk, and whenever I'm looking to impress someone with my cultural awareness. Some fun facts:

• Both Earnest Hemingway and James Joyce called the Latin Quarter home.
• Rumor has it Johnny Depp also owns property in the Latin Quartier, and we passed the supposed quad where he stays. 
• A majority of Midnight in Paris was filmed here (look below for the iconic steps!). 

Do we look like a pondering Owen Wilson?

• Although most believe Sweeney Todd is based on an English horror story, the original story takes place in Paris, specifically the Latin Quarter. Centuries ago, dozens of male students had gone missing from the University of Paris-Sorbonne. Investigators and police eventually discovered a barber was slicing the necks of the students and selling the bodies to the Baker across the way. The baker was then mincing the bodies and using them in his meat pies! Yuck! 
• There is an original wall from King Phillip's reign which was meant to protect the people from attack. The wall is now quite deep into the Latin Quarter, showing how much Paris has grown over the centuries. 
• While the Han warriors were planning an attack on Paris, the government encouraged everyone to leave. However, this also created a dangerous situation without protection from the wild. Instead, Saint Genevieve encouraged everyone to stay. At first, nobody listened. So, she focused her preaching on just the women of the city, who agreed to obey. The men didn't want to be one-upped by this femme congregation, so they too decided to stay. Well, the Han were deterred and Genevieve was inducted a saint. Her fountain still runs in the Latin Quarter. 

As we started to step past the boundaries of the Latin Quartier, I continued to learn more about major monuments that I hadn't known before. 

• The Notre Dame was never meant to exist today. After it was nearly demolished in war, the government planned to finish the job. One architect encouraged the people of Paris to fight back to save the centuries old monument. The people gained interest and overturned the government's decision. The architect then rebuilt the cathedral, with a touch of sense of humor. The fifth hebrew king from the left is actually not a hebrew king, but the architect. The sixth hebrew king was constructed to be looking to his right to signal the small, yet eternal, joke. 

Unfortunately, my picture cuts off the Hebrew kings,
but can you figure out which one is the architect?

• The Hotel De Ville is the central Mairie (courthouse) of Paris. It burned down, but has been since reconstructed to imitate the original architecture. The only element the modern version lacks is the collection of execution structures. It is a beautiful property to visit, as long as your not afraid of Marie Antoinette's ghost! 

• Speaking of ghosts, a man in a red coat is said to haunt the Jardin des Tuileries. He was a henchman to the Queen of France during the 16th century. Well, Catherine de Medicis decided the henchman knew too many secrets about the royal palace and decided to have him executed. His supposed last words were, "I'll be back," (I wonder if that's where Schwarzenegger got his line?!) and shortly after his corpse disappeared from the garden, only leaving behind a puddle of blood. For centuries, residents of the royal palace complained of seeing a man in a red coat in the gardens, including Marie Antoinette. Perhaps this fear is what sparked an interest in real estate in Versailles... 

Le Toilette

It is so hard to believe I only have a few days left here in Paris, which means I may have to start double posting in order to squeeze in all my thoughts and experiences!

Starting with.. the toilet. I just can't leave this country without giving some insight on the culture of bathroom etiquette in Paris. Lindsay and I have spent an inappropriate amount of time giggling, explaining, and gossiping about our bathroom adventures.

When we first moved in our apartment, we noticed the toilet and shower were in completely separate rooms. This was bizarre, but something I was familiar with from my time in Tanzania. Of course, we just assumed our residential bathroom situation would be where our bathroom confusion stayed. Oh boy, were we wrong.

I've mentioned our favorite pub in previous posts, and this is where our first real toilet confusion happened. I asked to use the toilet during our very first visit, and first I ended up in the kitchen. When I finally found the appropriate door, I walked into a room with a skink and a urinal, which I had to walk past to get to a separate room with an actual toilet. So, I did what I had to do, came out to wash my hands, just as a man walked in. I did a little jump, as is normal for someone comes into the bathroom unannounced, but he didn't even give me a second glance as he walked up to the urinal. Okay, I guess he just realizes I am done. 

The next time we were at the Pub, it was Lindsay who had the awkward bathroom encounter, and this time the tables were turned. She pulled open the main room door to find a man standing at the urinal. She quick shut the door and jumped back, embarrassed giggles pouring out. Just as we stood back to wait in line though, we noticed another woman who just walked right in and breezed past the man at the urinal. Okay, so... French people are conservative in clothes, not in privacy. 

I experienced similar situations in many other bathrooms, so it eventually became custom to just look the other way. However, the toilette confusion didn't stop there. I have yet to see a single American flusher in Europe. Instead, most flushers are a round button. Sometimes, two round buttons, which I'm not sure why so I always just push both. Sometimes, it is not a round button on the toilet, but a round button on the wall. Other times it is some gadget connected to a pipe running from the toilet to the ceiling. For a long time, the I spent most of my time in the bathroom just simply trying to figure out how to flush.

Once you flush, you have to go through the same scavenger hunt for the sink. There have been plenty of times that the sink looks hands-free because there is no obvious nozzle, but it turns out it usually isn't. I am a true germaphobe, which plenty of my students can attest to, so I simply just won't accept this challenge as a feat. Usually there is some hidden button, like on the toilets, but there have been trickier times, like when it was a tiny step that needed to be pushed with your foot. Like, in that case, the restaurant staff really didn't think to make a sign?!

Some other notes on les toilettes:

• If there are stairs in the shop or restaurant, follow them. That is where the bathroom is. 
• You are rarely going to find a clean bathroom (not even in Louis Vuitton!), so get in and get out as fast as possible. 
• The isolated bathroom stalls scattered on the streets are actually typically way cleaner, if you are willing to spare a euro. 
• I have a pretty hard time finding purse hooks in stalls or bathrooms, so be ready to makeshift.
• I've never had to pay for using a bathroom in a restaurant, even if I didn't eat or drink there.

Bienvenue!

Welcome!

This post may be a little late in my trip, but I figured some people may want to see the place I've been calling home this summer!

The small rue where my apartment is. 

The view down the street.

This is the view of the apartment when you first walk in the door.
I am most commonly found sprawled out on the rug, using the low
coffee table to hold my computer, notebook, or even my dinner!
I hardly ever sit on the couch. Actually, if I hadn't cleaned before this picture,
you would find our school supplies taking up most of the cushions.

When you turn to the left, you can find our small, but quaint, kitchen area.
Hiding behind the refrigerator is the dishwasher and toaster oven.
Notice the lack of conventional oven! 

Once you walk through the apartment, you can turn and see the doorway,
through which we just entered. I love that our host/landlord decided to hide the
ugly steel with the happy yellow curtain. To the far left is the only full-length mirror,
which Lindsay and I are constantly battling (in a friendly roomie way) over space to use.

Here is the lovely closet, I mean bathroom, that houses le toilette, some medicine,
and your occasional classic reads. The lightswitch, located in the hallway,
also triggers a continuous angry screech, so we try to keep it off as often
as possible. The rest of the bathroom is in a separate room off to the right.
Of course, no French shower would be authentic if the spout wasn't handheld. I've
become quite talented at the one-handed scrub! 

Above the kitchen, you can find our little loft area, which also counts as
Lindsay's mezzanine crib. It's a relaxing little nook where she can often be
found sleeping, reading, or hanging out in her hammock.

A close up view of Lindsay's peaceful mezzanine.

Last but not least, my own sleeping quarter. Yes, I am a twenty-four year old
that travels with my stuffed panda. My Mommom gave it to me when I was a little
girl and now I have taken it everywhere I go: college, vacation, Tanzania, and now Paris.
As much as I adore Lindsay's loft, I am a person that needs a quiet getaway once in a while,
where I can take a break from the chaotic city life. 

Humanity

Well, this isn't quite how I expected my post-Barcelona blogging to go, but aside from the sun and fun, there was a bigger lesson learned from this weekend's vacation: Human compassion is disappearing.

That may sound harsh, unwarranted, or dramatic, but most people know that I am typically an advocate for the human race. I have always been a firm believer that people are born good, and life is what corrupts that good nature for some. However, my trip to Barcelona showed me a very inhuman side to the species I've always cared the most about.

Lindsay and I spent Saturday afternoon hiking through Park Güell in Barcelona. Every time we reached a new height, we stopped to take in the views and take advantage of amazing photo ops. Once we reached the very top, we sat on a bench overlooking Barcelona from way above. We were both entirely consumed in the view and our conversation about how lucky we were to be experiencing it. Two foreign girls about our age walked over and interrupted our conversation. "Photo, camera," they kept saying and looking at each other uncomfortably. At first, we thought they wanted us to take their photo with the amazing backdrop. Unfortunately, this was not at all the case.

"That man take your camera," one girl finally stuttered out. I looked down between Lindsay and I, where my new Cannon DSLR camera was literally sitting brushed up to my leg, and now it was not. The girls did their best to describe the man and I bolted off in the direction they saw him go. Based on their description and my gut instincts, I spotted a man in a hat and sunglasses walking intently, and I just had a feeling. Of course, there was no way to know for sure it was the thief, but he confirmed my intuitions when I started catching up and yelling for him to stop. He turned a corner, and when I turned it just thirty seconds after him, he was sprinting off out of the park and into the city. Normally, my rational mind wouldn't have made the decisions I made next, but I had no time to think. I ran after him out of the park, into a poor, residential area of Barcelona. As I ran, I screamed for help, "Policìa! Ayúdame! Help me, anybody!" I had faith in the people nearby, hoping somebody would lend me a minute of their time. Not a single person did. 

The thief turned another corner and when I followed, he was gone. I was trapped in an intersection in a strange area of the city. I was lost, devastated, confused, and hurt. I realized then I had been so focused on my predator, I had no idea how I ended up where I did. After a long fifteen minutes, I finally trudged through an entrance to the park, with tears rolling down my face. At this point, not only did I not know where I came from, I also had no idea where Lindsay went, since she had run off in another direction to look for the predator.

As I walked in confused circles, taking occasional breaks to sit down and cry some more, I was really hoping someone would come to my rescue. Someone would know how to get my camera, or my friend, or how to get me back home to my bed in Pennsylvania. However, shockingly, being robbed by a single man wasn't the worst part of the experience. The absolute lowest point of my day, was the abundance of tourists from all different cultures who turned their heads away from me as I wandered lost in circles, tears streaming down my face. Not a single person stopped to ask, "Are you okay?" or "Do you need help?" I can accept that there are individual bad people in the world, but this experience corrupted my faith in human nature, and that is not as easily replaced as a camera. 

Finally, I found Lindsay and we sat in defeat for quite some time. Eventually, it was time to leave Park Güell and the bad memories behind us. We spent the rest of the day walking through the city, but neither one of us felt the energy we had in the morning. At one point, I realized I was walking into shops and completely ignoring the clerks who greeted me. It just felt like such extreme effort to smile at someone, let alone respond, when I was feeling so disappointed in the world. Then I remembered, this is exactly how I always believed the world works: The Domino Effect. If we are all born good-natured, it takes someone or something to rub its bad-nature off on you. The man who stole the camera rubbed his bad-nature off on me, as well as all the people who ignored me, and here I was passing it off to innocent people by ignoring them.

I stopped Lindsay right then and decided to verbalize all the ways the day could have been worse. The man could have grabbed my passport, stranding me in Spain, or my money and credit cards. He could have taken my entire purse. Or, I could have ended up catching him and he could have hurt me. I could be in a Spanish hospital right now. I could have gotten much more lost to the point I would not have found Lindsay or the park again. Things could have been much worse. Verbalizing these thoughts helped lift my spirits. Turning my attitude around helped scrub off my brush with bad-nature. The next store I walked into, I gave a forced and smile and responded, "Hola."

Today, the trip came to an end after a day of biking and beaching in the sun. We hopped in a cab for the airport with another girl from our hostel. The cab driver charged us 29 euros for the 20 minute trip, not a bad deal at all. Actually, really not a bad deal considering our cab driver on Thursday night charged us 40 dollars for the exact same distance. Wow, I thought, Young American women really are the preferred targets in this city.

But, I still went into the airport and smiled and thanked the people that helped me.

The only picture I snapped on my phone. 

Musée du Louvre

The Louvre Museum

"What did you think of the Louvre?" has been a question I've been avoiding for three weeks now. What kind of tourist doesn't go straight to the Louvre? Well, I'm not someone that really considers myself a "museum person," but I obviously can't head home explaining that I didn't quite catch that one.

So, the other day, Lindsay and I sat down to plan out the rest of our trip and my first reaction was Umm.. Where did all of our time go?! Granted, we still have two weeks in Europe, which is more than some people have at all. However, we spend our weekdays learning and teaching, this weekend we are jetting off to Barcelona, and we are still trying to squeeze in DisneyLand! So, our only option dwindled down to checking out the Louvre on the rare night it is open late. After doing a bit of shopping in nearby stores, we headed over to the grande Palais-Royal around 7pm. Sure, this only gave us a couple hours to explore the museum, but like I mentioned, I was more-so going just to see what the fuss is all about.

Right from my first glimpse, the Louvre really proved what the fuss is all about. Was this royal palace really not good enough for Louis XIV?! From the cobblestone courtyard surrounding the fountains to the extravagant architecture, I would have gladly settled for what is easily considered Paris' most extravagant monument. But, kings will be kings, I suppose and Louis needed something bigger, hence, Versailles.

Luckily, we pre-ordered our tickets and were able to skip some of the chaotic lines. Once we entered through the pyramid dome, we headed for the most obvious and well-renowned exhibit: the Mona Lisa! For once, it didn't take much language decoding, because the crowds helped lead the way. My first observation of da Vinci's famous masterpiece is... well.. it's a bit smaller than expected. I guess when he was creating he Mona Lisa, da Vinci didn't realize it would be one of the most famous paintings in history. The painting is more protected than our country's constitution and crowded by a swarm of people, so it is difficult to get a good shot. I did manage to raise my camera above the crowd though and snap one. Oops, there goes my flash! A big no-no in the museum business, as I've learned during my trip. I tried to walk away discretely, but I could feel the eyes lingering on the back of my head. Sorry, Mona!

Take note of all the people in the reflection!

The next stop on my list was the statue, Aphrodite of Milos, by Alexandros of Antioch. It may not ring a bell at first, but once you see the picture, you will recognize the piece. Surprisingly, the Aphrodite didn't draw quite the same crowd as Mona Lisa. I was sure, being the art amateur that I am, that if I was dedicated to seeing the statue, everyone else would be as well. Even more surprisingly, is how many Aphrodite statues are on display at the Louvre. Some are simply miscellaneous pieces discovered over the years, but others are completely intact sculptures of the Greek goddess in various poses. This got me wondering, With so many miraculously complete statues, why is it that the armless Aphrodite is the well-recognized variation? There may be some obvious answer to this, but either way I am set to figure it out!

Not as famous, complete Aphrodite.

Famous armless Aphrodite

After seeing a few more popular exhibits we finally started heading towards the sortie near the Jardin Tuileries. While walking, I realized maybe I'm not entirely immune to art, I just never took the opportunity to understand it. After the Louvre's impression on me, maybe I will start to change that... 

All thoughts of the Louvre were pushed aside though as we climbed the steps above ground to the garden. The landscaping the royal property is in itself a form of art. The mazes of bushes and bouquets of flowers perfectly cushion the center fountain. To the left is a postcard view of the Tour Eiffel and to the right the picturesque Roue du Paris. We strolled through the gardens and then headed right for the quaint amusement park. After loading up on churros and ice cream we were drawn to the Ferris wheel like a couple of magnets. The ten euros were well worth the view from the top. You get a clear picture of Paris' flat top landscape, only interrupted by the occasional towering monument. It was beyond incredible. As much as I love my new professional Cannon, pictures will simply never do it justice.

Once we stepped of the roué, we decided to head back to the Louvre. Since we arrived to the museum so late in the evening, I rushed Lindsay along without allowing any photo opportunities. So, we decided to take full advantage now that the night was coming to an end. I mean, no day trip is complete without the obnoxious photo shoot, right? Well, this blogpost wouldn't be, either!

Inconveniently, this post was supposed to be posted a couple days ago. Now, I am rushing it together from my iphone will using a hostel's wifi. (By the way, the next post will be all about my time in Barcelona!) 

Bastille

Bastille Day

Bastille Day is the day that marks the beginning of the French Revolution. Bastille was actually a prison which was raided, even though it only held seven prisoners. Because the term "Bastille" holds somewhat negate connotations, French people typically just refer to the holiday as 14 July.

Just like Americans make holidays into holiweekends, Bastille Day simply cannot be celebrated in just one day. Over the weekend, I noticed many shops and businesses shut down, simply to enjoy the time with friends and families. Our class was cancelled not only the Monday of the 14th, but the preceding Friday, as well.

Even though the French people like to relax and enjoy the extended weekend, the real celebrations begin on the 13th of July, starting with the Firemen's Ball. Traditionally, fire houses in every arrondissement  open their doors to the public for a night of dancing and celebrating. Of course, the parties range in size and ambience from fire house to fire house, but after lots of research, it seemed that no matter where you went, you would have a blast. Lindsay and I decide to stay close to home and go to the fire station we pass every day on our way to school. The parties last from 9pm-4am, so we decided to head over shortly before midnight.

What we didn't expect was the hour long line wrapped down the block. We decided to grab a glass of wine at a nearby café and hope the line would dwindle by the time we came back. As it happens in a small bar, we ended up making conversation with the bartender and couple next to us. They then noted that they were pretty well acquainted with the firemen and could help us skip the line. We got right in via the VIP access and were greeted with loud music, both American and French, a massive swarm of people, also American and French, and a great time!

Getting trampled by the crowds. 

The Port-Royal Firemen's Ball. 

Needless to say, we allowed ourselves to sleep in the following morning and missed the military parade. I ended up taking a late afternoon stroll through the Gardens of Luxembourg, just as people were beginning to lay claim on spots to view the fireworks. It was tempting to stay put here myself, however, once again I put well over an hour of research into the fireworks and discovered a hidden gem of an area to watch.

But before we jump ahead, let's talk about our holiday meal. Lindsay and I met for dinner at La Rotonde, a place we stumbled upon it by happenstance. The prices were a bit much, but the holiday spirit had rubbed off on us and we decided to splurge. If you ever find yourself in Montparnasse, I would highly recommend this grand eatery, especially for the beef filet with bernaise sauce. Also, if you're as daring us to try the snails, they too were wonderfully tasteful. Even more delightful than the food though, was the company we met. A friendly American couple was seated right besides us, and in Paris, that means you are practically sharing a table. We started by making small talk with them, and ended up staying for the duration of their meal, even though we were finished before they even received their first course. We laughed over jokes and stories and they graciously shared some insight on life with us. When a street vendor came around selling roses, the husband treated all three of ladies! I just keep learning that traveling brings you closer to humanity through all the amazing people you meet.

Enjoying some snails!

The wonderful couple from Florida!

Finally, after our perfect holiday meal, we ventured off to a spot I read about on another man's blog. We looked into dinner cruises (too expensive) and the famous view from Champ de Mars (too crowded), and finally came across a little area called Place de Catalogne, a high peak of Montparnasse. As we were walking, we could hardly get a glimpse of the beautiful Tour Eiffel, so I was becoming disheartened with this stranger's advice. I was becoming especially doubtful when we started venturing into what looked like the financial district of Paris, with sleek modern buildings and even a high rise. However, after one turn of a corner, the buildings opened up just enough for a picturesque view of the tower. We grabbed a seat on a wide platform in the center of the roundabout and waited with a crowd of about a hundred for the show to start.

Normally, the next segment of this post would describe the fireworks show itself. However, my words cannot do the view justice. I've tried to capture a moment in my photo below, but even still, it is one of those life moments you need to experience for yourself. As much as I love the Fourth of July, nothing will ever quite compare to seeing fireworks shooting out of the Eiffel Tower.

View from Place de Catalogne

Le Château de Versailles

The Versailles Palace

After two weeks in this whirlwind of a city, Lindsay and I were ready to get out of town for a day. We hopped on our local metro, got lost in a huge transfer station, and finally ran up to a train platform moments before it pulled away. After we were in full motion, I had the brilliant idea of asking someone near me if we were even on the right train. Luckily, we were. Phew! 

A mere 20 minutes later, we pulled up to the Versailles-Chantier train station, which happens to be another 20 minute walk from the actual palace. During our journey, we made a couple wrong turns and ended up in a small square of restaurants. Even though we were two hours behind schedule, our rumbly bellies told us it was time to eat. Actually, we happened to be standing in front of a small joint called "Japan Sushi," so we figured what would be cooler than eating Japanese in France. Well, there is probably a lot of things cooler, but it was still worth the experience, especially for our hungry stomachs.

Once again, the language barrier made ordering a bit difficult. The authentic Japanese experience came with a waitress who seemed to be of Japanese origin, probably speaking some type of broken French. She's then paired with us English speakers, also trying to speak some type of broken French. In the end, we reverted to the old point and nod method. Surrounded by beautiful flowers and a cobblestone street, we remained immersed in the beauty of France while enjoying our asian snack.

Enjoying a quick lunch at Japan Sushi. 

After filling up on raw fish and miso soup, we continued our journey towards the Palace. We walked through a beautiful assortment of flowers for sale, and stumbled upon a small carousel. Of course, to two young women, this is a perfect opportunity for a photo shoot. To our dismay, but not to our surprise, the woman running the ride wasn't so enthused and quickly shooed us away.

Moments later, we entered the grounds of the royal palace. Our first sight- the three hour line to get in. Versailles is not unlike many other French businesses in that its hours of operation are very limited, meaning, we really only had a few hours as it was. We decided to hold off on the line, see what else was on the grounds, and potentially come back. Well, we ended up getting sucked into the beauty and culture of the enormous property, and unfortunately didn't make it back in time. 

Instead, we discovered some other amazing sights. First, we strolled through the beautiful royal gardens, stopping at every fountain and sculpture to snap a picture. We mused through a maze of high bushes and found a small italian ice cream shop tucked in the corner. Yum! We finally found the domaine of Marie-Antoinette and the Grand Trianon, furnished with the most remarkable pieces I have ever seen. Each room had a theme centered on a certain color, print, or even expensive stone. We ogled at the decadent chandeliers and the dark, shiny woodwork. It is truly fascinating how the properties have been restored to imitate their original layouts. Visiting the smaller monuments has convinced us to plan another trip to Versailles in order to see the Royal Palace.

On top of all these fascinating experiences, I must say my favorite part of the day by far, was when Lindsay and I rented a row boat on the massive royal lake. The renters only have a handful of boats so the lake is wide open and uncrowded as tourists and natives alike glide smoothly across the water. On the first beautiful day in a week, we figured what could be better? Well, needless to say, Lindsay and I were not as smooth and serene as the many people around us. We struggled at first, taking turns to see who could actually get the small boat to budge. It was like our boat was doggie-paddling, while all the others were doing a perfect breast stroke. Finally, we agreed to each take one side. Eventually we inched our way out to the middle, and decided to float and relax. Okay, it wasn't actually to relax, it was to have a mini-photo shoot. So, while many of the other boaters enjoyed a romantic date on the water, we took full advantage of being in a beautiful moment with a girlfriend, which means lots of pictures. 

After our 30 minutes were up, I took over the paddling and got us impressively far. As soon as my confidence was swimming laps, we had our first "fender bender." Luckily, we were close enough that one of the crew just pulled us back in. We may not have left feeling like pros, but we certainly left laughing. 

We were finally making our way off the grounds around quarter after 6, when we noticed the gates that were blocking off our exit. We decided to follow the other flocks of people heading down a small alley to the right. Luckily we did, because we happened to meet two fantastic locals who offered to show us how to get back to the train station. They were an older couple, whose three kids were on holiday for a month with grandparents, so they had time to kill and enjoyed the walk. As we walked, we learned about all the places they had been, and how much they appreciate when locals are willing to take the few minutes to help, so they simply wanted to pass it forward to us. After generously giving us thirty minutes and a couple miles of their time, they sent us on our way feeling entirely humbled and grateful. Going back to what I said in my last post, there is just no way to label an entire culture of people as "unkind." Hopefully next time a foreigner, stranger, or even acquaintance asks you for some help, you pass it on kindly. 

As hard as we try to fit in with the Parisians, our best days are when we take on the city as tourists!

bienveillance

kindness

As I was preparing to head on this trip, many of my friends in the states warned me that French people aren't very kind to Americans. I was quick to let those warnings slide off my back, because I simply didn't understand how that could be. When I finally arrived in this magical city, I was eager to disprove the common stereotype of French people, and so far, most Parisians have helped me do that. I have made many friends over the past couple weeks, and as a whole, the French have been quite amiable towards me. However, there has certainly been times when I've felt uncomfortable, scrutinized, judged, and downright bullied.

"Just got made fun of in French. My heart hurts." 

I received this text from my roommate, Lindsay, last night while I was in The Pub bathroom. When I came back out, her demeanor had gone from bubbly and energetic to quiet and introverted. It turns out that after she had tried ordering a drink in French, a French girl at the bar just openly mimicked her.

The ignorant French girl must not have realized that despite being foreigners, we've actually become regulars at The Pub and have developed a friendly relationship with the bartenders. Of course, this pub has some French name attached to it, but we've simply come to refer to it as The Pub since that is what it advertises itself as. When the said bartenders first met us, we would simply order in English and throw in a "s'il vous plait" at the end to be polite. Last night, Lindsay and I confidently strode to the bar and placed our order entirely in French. The bartenders were so impressed at how far we have come in such a short time! Which is why it was even more hurtful to be made fun of for putting the effort out there. However, our bartender friends came to Lindsay's rescue and proved that there are kind Parisians still out there. After the French girl's rude outburst, they had a few angry words in French with her that got her quiet for the remainder of the night.

Unfortunately, there is more than one ignorant French girl in this big city. Today as we strolled along Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Lindsay bumped into someone and quickly said, "sorry." A nearby girl, who was by no means involved in the situation, also mimicked Lindsay loud to her friends and started slurring out other obnoxious American sayings, like "oh my gawwwd." I was immediately frustrated with the girl for being so rude, but then I started thinking, American actually do this all the time. I can't count how many times we've imitated a British accent or tried sounding Aussie by using the word "mate." Maybe the girl just thought we sounded funny and couldn't help but spit out a couple slogans she knew. I don't think her imitation was quite that innocent, but I can give her the benefit of the doubt.

Aside from being mocked in public, I've also learned small talk is a no-no. I was trying to order from the the Pub's bartender last night, but I had to wait a few minutes while he chose another song to play. After doing so, I simply tried to say, "Good song." Now, it was a pretty catchy tune, I suppose, but nothing that blew me away. I was simply trying to make small talk. Well, the bartender didn't quite understand what I was saying, whether I tried in French or English. At some point, another woman came and was waiting besides me. As I tried to spitting out various French and English phrases to explain what I meant, I could feel the other woman's irritable gaze settling on me. I figured the best solution to this would be to include her in the confusing conversation. Maybe I offended her by how slow and loud I was trying to speak at the time, but when I again stated it was a good song, she simply replied with, "It's a French song." Her compilation of verbal and non-verbal cues implied that 1. I was not bright enough to figure out the song was in French and 2. How dare I, an American, imply that I like a French song.

Despite the sprinkles of tension throughout my trip, I will stick with my original theory. There are kind people and not-so-kind people all over the world in every city. Paris is no different. It is not a city made up of a few million unkind people, however, you are bound to run into a few grumps once in a while. 

Paris ne s'est pas fait en un jour.

Paris wasn't made in a day.

I know the traditional saying is "Rome wasn't built in a day," but this is an actual French proverb that possibly derived from the one we are used to hearing about patience. After today, I think I may need my own derivative of the proverb. Something along the lines of "A teacher can't teach an entire unit in a day." Ok, it needs some work.

When I woke up this morning, I was looking forward to my mentally drafted blog post bellowing of a successful first day of teaching. After lesson planning, lesson revising, lesson re-writing, and lesson practicing, I assumed my nerves were all for nothing and I would wrap up my evening session feeling triumphant. Did I think the magic of Paris also helped void the reality that lessons hardly ever go according to plan? Apparently so.

Let me rewind...

When I think of foreign language, I think of my middle school Spanish lessons teaching me the names of colors and how to talk about the weather. At first, that is the type of content I assumed I would be teaching in English, which I did before in Tanzania, no problem. Then, I realized all my students are adult volunteers pursuing the English language for various reasons, from business ventures to romantic relationships. Colors and weather patterns just simply won't cut it.

I finally decided to teach my first lesson on advertising. My students would consist of a few upper-intermediate language learners plus a couple of my peers. I felt like I could construct a lesson on advertising that would be interesting regardless of language level, while still providing insight into  culture and vocabulary. The language arts teacher in me also thought I could incorporate adjectives and how they are used in promoting products. I found a few great examples that hit the nail on my objectives from Coca-cola, Butterfingers, and Samsung. I even had an extra activity ready explaining how to use comparative and superlative adjectives (-er, -est, more, and most). I used competitive ads to create relevance, such as a McDonald's ad that specifically discriminates against Burger King. I was happy with my content and planned on wrapping it up with the students creating their own advertisements. Voilà! I was actually excited to get in front of my new students!













This morning I went into class feeling confident and at ease, until lesson plan was thrown back into its drafting stages. My TEFL course leader suggested I make things a bit more challenging for my upper-intermediate students. He helped me add another mini-lesson on adverbs (words that describe adjectives, verbs, and adverbs) and changed my final "activate" lesson to a creative writing assignment that would be completed in groups. At first, I was bummed, because I loved my create-an-ad assignment, but I had to accept that this isn't my forte (yet) and I needed to put my trust in his hands!

Finally, 6pm rolled around and I took a deep breath to get started. Actually, I had time for many deep breaths because the French culture runs about 20 minutes behind schedule on a daily basis. At 6:20, I got everyone engaged and laughing at my "Sexy and I Know It" M&M commercial. Looking back, I wish I would have savored these first few minutes because it turns out they were the peak of my lesson. Despite the higher level of English fluency, the majority of my students had very little background on the parts of speech, even the Americans! This unexpected hiccup caught my entire lesson off guard and I still had 90 minutes to go. So, I threw an impromptu grammar lesson on the board to help both my French and American speakers survive the rest of lesson. The butterflies in my stomach were no longer flittering, but now playing a violent game of manhunt. My lack of experience with students older than 12 and the drastic change of direction in my plans left me feeling drab about my teaching quality. In the end, the one skill that really helped me get through the evening tear-free was my ability to differentiate. I've learned that this isn't a common skill across the globe and luckily as an American, I am able to keep my students moving at different paces so no one sits waiting for the others. Thank you, College of Education!

After what felt like hours, my lesson finally started winding down. I received a lot of praise and appreciation from my students, and my course leader admitted he overestimated some ability levels. However, as all teachers know, it is discouraging to walk away from a lesson feeling anything but successful, especially when the expectations were so high. As if I had stepped into a "Bridget Jones' Diary" film, I sulked home in the pouring rain, slowly at that because my sandals were slipping frantically under my feet. After climbing the four flights of stairs to my apartment in a saggy skirt and even saggier state of mind, I felt more relief than triumph as I sunk into the couch and opened my laptop.

After this elongated vent and a generous helping of French cookie spread paired with a couple glasses of wine, I am finally feeling more optimistic about my next lesson, which happens to be tomorrow. Maybe my blogpost bellowing of success isn't cancelled after all, but simply on hold for another day. Like we started with, nothing worthwhile is achieved in a day. If we never encountered failure, or a mere sense of deflation, what would drive us to improve ourselves?

pas cher

Cheap

For our first couple weeks in Paris, Lindsay and I have been exploring, eating, drinking, shopping, sightseeing, eating, drinking. Despite my previous sprinkled insinuations of cutting back, it is simply impossible for two 20-something women to live on a budget in a city where you are meant to splurge. Until now. It's with a sense of accomplishment that I state, we have finally succeeded in staying within our budget! Kind of. Okay, we have stayed within our grocery budget. But, it is a start!

With a fresh week of busy schedules ahead of us, Lindsay and I forced ourselves out into the rain on Sunday to pick up some groceries. After deflating encounters with strange, two-shelf markets, we finally stumbled upon a promising supermarket. We stocked up on fruit, cereal, pasta, chicken, and a couple frozen meals for our busy days. Our eyes met in shock when the register only rung up 25 euros, about what we spend on a single meal dining out!

Despite our accomplished grocery run, we've still encountered a couple complications with our purchases. 

Problem: I've was so excited to find some name-brand yogurt that I could pack for lunch! Then I realized I have nowhere to store my yogurt during my first four hours of class. (FYI, I am someone that is overly conscious of past due dates and warm dairy products).
Solution: I have make-shifted a container that I fill with ice and wrap a plastic grocery bag around and carry it with care on my 15 minute walk every morning.

Problem: We bought a frozen pizza, reminiscing of what used to be a classy college dinner, now a last resort. Last night, I went to pop it in the oven for us after an 11 hour school day. Oh, our apartment doesn't have an oven. Good to know!
Solution: I had to do some negotiating with the toaster oven. We'll leave it at that for sake of my landlord.

Problem: Our gas stove requires you to stick a match up to it when you're turning it on. I am quite pyrophobic and the only kind of lighter I can use is the kind with the six inch handle. This may or may not be subconsciously related to the time I burnt half of my hair off when I was five.
Solution: My roommate.

As is true in any discourse, challenges are merely scenic rides in the journey. Finally, Lindsay and I cooked a real meal together! Alright, it may not compare to the freshly scaled salmon from last post, but it is a perfectly budgeted meal that doesn't require an oven.

Pasta, chicken, broccoli in Alfredo sauce
and a baguette for a French touch!

Did I mention that all this effort to budget is just so we can hopefully afford Louis Vuittons and a trip to Barcelona? Well, girls will be girls! 

Ville de Hemingway

As an English major and lover of The Sun Also Rises, I couldn't help but to track down some Parisian locations closely associated with Earnest Hemingway, the literature genius himself. 

It just so happens that my apartment is in the area that Hemingway and other expats spent a lot of time, the Latin Quarter. Specifically, my roommate and I travel through Rue Mouffetard frequently which Hemingway describes as a "wonderful, narrow crowded market street" in A Moveable Feast. To this day, as I stroll through a Sunday market, I can feel how Hemingway would soak in the choas of vendors and the smell of fresh food. Walking along the cobblestone makes it feel that not much has changed over these generations on Rue Mouffetard. When you reach the top of the rue, you can find another small street where Hemingway had rented his first Parisian apartment at 74 Rue du Cardinal Lemoine, which honors his memory with a plaque.

An afternoon on Rue Mouffetard, looking downhill. 

My next Hemingway journey took me north to visit the famous bookshop, Shakespeare & Company. Hemingway and other literary geniuses frequented this American themed shop for the hospitable owner and the peaceful environment. In a city that is bright with lights and noise, American writers used this shop to work on their soon-to-be classics. Once, Hemingway read a bad review while sitting in Shakespeare & Co, and impulsively broke one of the shop's lamps.

The shop had to be relocated after a fire, but it's environment is still as cozy as Hemingway would remember it. Even though the shop is filled with patrons, everyone has the same unspoken notion that this is a holy ground for literature lovers alike, and should respect it as we would when in the Notre Dame. Eventually I found myself in a small corner room upstairs dedicated to Syliva Beach, the original founder, that acted as an in-house lending library. I pulled out a book on the history of best sellers and sat down a few cushions away from the lazy bookshop cat. Although the book wasn't as interesting as I had hoped, the distant live piano and the comfort of the cushions pulled me in anyway. 

The Sylvia Beach Room in Shakespeare & Co.

I had two goals in mind heading into the bookshop, to find a book that was meaningful of the location and to find a book for my new classroom. Considering this is in fact a tourist destination and the euro exchange rate isn't quite in my favor, I unfortunately had to budget myself to just a couple items. When browsing in the Children and Young Adult sections, I found a book whose title in itself intrigued me, If I Were a Book. Each page is filled with a different way the narrator would want to capture his audience if he were a book. It is fascinating, encouraging, and inspiring to be the most engaging and influential person you can be. When I flipped through the small hardback, I was immersed in a list of how to make your life better each and every day. I cannot way to incorporate this into a lesson this year!

When I first entered the shop, right away I spotted a book that consisted of letters written from Syliva Beach throughout her life. The content apparently helped explain her life within and beyond her famous bookshop and even more famous patrons. I am very much interested in learning about someone through personal content rather than an autobiography, but as I was getting ready to leave the store, an even better classic caught my eye. A Moveable Feast, by Earnest Hemingway himself. This posthumous publication, which is binded by a cover of Hemingway standing in front of Shakespeare & Co, is symbolic of not only the shop, but of a lot of my journey! Sadly, I had to put away the Sylvia Beach book, but it was well worth the switch. 

Authentic Shakespeare & Co purchases.

Just when we were getting ready to leave, we noticed a subsection of the shop dedicated to rare books. I picked up a copy of Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea and flipped it over to look at the price. My jaw dropped when I spotted the 350 euro sign on the back corner! It turns out the book was a UK first edition, and the smell and instability helped declare so. I also looked around for my other favorite "lost generation" author, Scott Fitzgerald. I found a large binding of letters written from Fitzgerald to others such as Zelda, his daughter, and some business men. I spent about two minutes just flipping through and reading, since I have always been fascinated with the relationship between Fitzgerald and Zelda. 

Finally, a little growl from my stomach, made me realize I had spent two hours roaming this magical bookshop and it should be time to find some lunch. We grabbed a little corner table outside of Café Panis nearby. The restaurant had a clear view of both the bookstore and the grand Notre Dame, yet it wasn't overflowing with people, so our expectations weren't too high. However, the waiter was extremely accommodating with our broken French and answered all our questions with a smile. Lindsay and I both ordered a salmon dish, served with a  delicious sauce and a side of zucchini gratin.  Actually, it was my first experience with salmon served with the skin still on, so it had an even extra touch of freshness to it. After our first bites, at the same moment, we just looked at one another in awe. It certainly competes for the title of best meal in Paris yet, and I highly recommend it! 

Eating with the Notre Dame in the background.

A delicious lunch at Cafe Panis!

After a long day of exploring, we decided to make it a quiet Saturday night. However, the Hemingway themed day didn't end on our our doorsteps. We decided to watch Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris," which explores the "lost generation" with vibrance and wit. Even though I've watched the movie before, this time it was with a fresh sense of understanding of the famous expat artists as well as the beautiful city I am spending my summer in. 

Truly, it was a literature lover's most magical day in Paris. Now, on this rainy Sunday afternoon, I am excited to curl up with my newest purchase and become acquainted like old friends. 

Quelle langues parlez-vous?

What languages do you speak?

French 

I have now been living in Paris for over a week, so obviously I have been picking up on some essential key phrases. Like I've mentioned before, I can get myself through the subway, order at a restaurant, and introduce myself on the street. But up until this point, my most common phrase has actually been "Français juste un p'tit peu," which quite ungrammatically explains that I only speak a bit of French.

Luckily to my linguistic rescue, my course instructor has offered to set us up with some free French lessons while we are here. Today after class, three of us students met with Anton's bubbly intern, Samara. She has lived all over the world since she was a young girl, but really considers herself from the United States, so she has an experienced understanding of what it is like to learn new languages. It was nice to finally receive a lesson based on our own personal needs. Going through online courses and ordering activity books have been helpful in a basic way, but a lot the lessons cover material I don't necessarily need during my summer stay.

Rather, Samara started us off with conversational greetings, not the greetings you read in workbooks and sound uptight actually using in the streets. The mini-class then became ours to guide. We were able to stop her at any moment and ask for a couple practice rounds. We were also comfortable to stop her at any moment and ask for variations and similar phrases of anything we have learned. We even got some slang terms down! It is especially helpful to receive these lessons from someone who seems to be a similar age, and understands that we may spend some additional time exploring the bars, restaurants, and shopping, so she doesn't waste our time teaching us about colors.

Overall, I am really excited for this authentic linguistic opportunity and and am appreciative of the learner-centered environment.

Interested in seeing if you can decode my French Notes?


Italian

Ultimately, the one aspect that was throwing me off during my French lessons was that we had just finished Italian lessons moments before.

Why Italian? Why in France?

Well, as teachers know, the best way to teach is to lead by example. In order to help us understand the fundamentals of teaching English as a foreign language, our instructor has decided to teach us our own foreign language. Italian is the only common language that is not spoken in our course group. During instruction, Anton does not speak a word of English to us. The directions, the questions, the responses are all in Italian. I remember in high school this approach seemed so frustrating and unsuccessful, however, after an hour, I felt like I really picked up some Italiano!

Some skills I have learned from the Italian lessons:

• The order in which you introduce the phrases should match the order in which they would happen in a conversation. 
• Repetition along with gestures and movements help instill the meaning of the word as well as the pronunciation. 
• Give example situations, even if as the teacher, you have to play multiple roles. 

My Italian Notes are a bit different than my French, because I have to focus on the skills that Anton uses as well as the language immersion. 

A lot of these skills have actually helped me in the past when I taught English to a school full of Swahili speakers, but the reminder is essential as I move closer to my TEFL teaching pracitcum! 

Swahili 

Speaking of Swahili, my previous experience being surrounded by a foreign culture, and therefor language, has really helped me assimilate to this culture. I haven't felt flustered in a crowded room of non-English speakers. I haven't been nervous about approaching somebody for help on the street or to ask a question in a shop. I really haven't been nervous about this major language barrier at all! 

I also think my time in Tanzania was a perfect transition for this trip. In Tanzania, I also lived with two native Swahili speakers who helped me when I got stuck or felt defeated. They very much so practiced the "I do- We do- You do" method in teaching me how to survive in a foreign culture. 

Now, in this new country, I believe I owe a lot of my confidence to my previous learning experiences. 

Spanish

You would never guess by my lack of fluency, but I actually studied Spanish for four years in High School. It eventually dwindled away and my only practice since has been speaking with the chefs at the various restaurants I have worked at for summer jobs. Basically, I just really know what my friend Amado is asking when I hear, "Mi puoi fare un cappuccino, por favor." I fluently nod and hand him his favorite caffeinated beverage. 

However, as I experienced with Swahili, my Spanish tends to magically reappear when I am trying to learn a new language. I'm sure there is some PhD certified explanation for this, but I think I have captured the reason on my own. Basically, my brain is diligently trying to categorize any foreign language in the same sub-folder in some filing cabinet in the back of my head. It is frustrating, yet also a very strange feeling of having some foreign phrase be on the tip of your tongue for the first time in seven years. 

Embarrassingly, I even automatically replied, "Si" the other night to a waiter. We all just shared a strange look and little laugh as a I corrected myself with, "Oui!"

Hopefully some of this hidden fluency can help me out when Lindsay and I head to Barcelona in a couple weeks!

American

Just as a little fun fact, Europeans do not consider our language English. Since our dialect varies from actual English speakers, our language is simply referred to as American. Back in the states, I can only imagine the reactions if, as an English teacher, I stated, "I speak American!"