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