Okay, I had better catch up on what happened on the last several weeks. The wifi has been down here for over nearly two weeks, and needless to say, Sylvie is fuming because she can’t get any work done and “her girls” (me and Valentina) can neither call nor e-mail home. Unfortunately, she told me, this is how things are. I have been very surprised to learn that “24-hour” is not a very popular concept here in the City of Lights, and neither is “7-days a week.” Neither is customer satisfaction, either, it seems.

ANYWAY...

Saturday! May 30th
Sylvie made us salmon pasta and took us for a walk around the 2me Arrondissement. Once you reach the end of Saint Augustin, you see Opera Avenue, and at the other end is the Louvre. Sylvie pointed to the metro stations along the way, and when we reached the Louvre, we could clearly see the Eiffel tower all lit up at night! It was spectacular! Coincidentally, we saw it right at the top of the hour when it started to sparkle! I guess it sparkles at night every hour for ten minutes. Valentina especially liked it. (She has a thing for sparkles.)

Sunday! May 31st
Our first class meeting! We got up super-early because of the jet-lag and took a little walk down to the Louvre again and walked through the massive gardens. We saw the French children playing at the many playgrounds, and I decided that I wanted French babies. They sound so cute speaking French better than me! (And I've been studying it longer than most of them have been alive! ) When we returned, Sylvie said she would make us lunch (Hamburgers and zucchini casserole) and accompany us to the metro to get our tickets. Turned out she bought our first tickets for us. One to get to the Bastille Opera, and one to return to the Paris Opera. (So many Operas!) We met our class on the steps of the Opera, and exchanged stories about our flights and first impressions of our host families.
The program director, Madame Ayoun arrived and took us on a little walk to show us around the neighborhood. We went down Saint Antoine until we reached the Place de Vosges. This was where we were to have our picnic the next day. She then took us to the nearby school on Rue Charles V to show us where our classes were, and the closest metro at Saint Paul.

After the little tour, I dragged Valentina into the Saint Paul Church, which was so beautiful. I dunno what it is about really old churches, but I get really moved, sometimes to the point of tears.

After our little walk, we came home and we took a nap before dinner. Melted goat cheese in a flaky pastry-crust was for dinner with a side salad. It's great being able to talk to Sylvie face to face like that over dinner. Or at least try to. Like I said before, Valentina is better at conveying things, I understand that is being said on the first go without elaboration and usually translate it back so that we're both on the same page.

We wanted to go out and purchase our "Pass Navigo" (urgh, I just unintentionally typed this sentence in franglish, twice... maybe that's a good thing. I have French on the brain!) but all of the information desks were closed for the night. Instead, we walked back to the Louvre and to the Seine, found a happenin' bridge and decided to check it out. It was the Pont des Arts where people were having picnics at midnight! Blankets spread out on the bridge where people were drinking wine and eating chips and playing music! It looked like a lot of fun! I wanna do that myself sometime! Also, there were party boats passing underneath the bridge. That also looked like fun, but probably expensive.

Monday! June 1st
We were supposed to have class, but because of Pentecost, the classrooms were closed. Instead, we met at the Place de Vosges and had a picnic. I grabbed a sandwich at this fantastic French chain store called Monoprix, or simply just monop’. (Imagine a smaller, cleaner, trendier Wal*Mart, sans the power-chairs or sweatpants.) Valentina grabbed a hotdog from a vendor. French hotdogs are way bigger than American ones, and they are smothered with cheese and grilled onions.

One girl from our group had already (not even two days in yet, if you can believe it) stayed out all night after partying and did not telephone her host-mother. After waking early and finding the bedroom empty, we were told, the poor woman telephoned the police. Needless to say, all of us got a very stern reminder about courtesy towards our host-families. I don’t think I could ever do that to Sylvie. I’d pay out the nose for a cab before I worried my French mum to death. (I love her by the way. Did I already say that?)

We took a little walk around the Place de Vosges to get familiarized with the place. Turns out I’d be spending many a lunch-hour there during fine weather. Place de Vosges is a square park with four fountains at each corner and a statue of one of the King Louis on a horse in the middle. It has a sand box and small playground for the children underneath the shade of the large (by my Arizona standards) trees that surround the park. Just outside of the park are some expensive homes and artists’ studios.

(Do you remember “aris, Je T’aime?” Well, you can see Place de Vosges at the end of the film about the two gay fellows in the Marais. The American runs right past it chasing after his fellow.)

After lunch, Ayoun took us on what was later called the Death March. It was pretty toasty outside, even by my standards, and we walked around for about three hours looking at “Hotel Paticuliers,” which are buildings that were once owned by aristocrats. We also explored the “Quatier Juif” and read many plaques about events that occurred during World War II, most involving torture and death at the hands of Nazis. The walk was unpleasant, not because of what we were looking at, but because of the break-neck pace in the direct sunlight without a pause to sit. ”Look at this! What does it say? Hurry up and come look at this other thing! What is it? What does it say?”

We concluded our class activity with a visit to a small memorial to all of the French Jews who died during the occupation, as well as the other French who died defending them. It was a very peaceful place, and I was able to regain my strength after that quiet visit.

The rest of the class called us crazy, but after contemplating our metro maps, Valentina and I decided to hit the Louvre. I cannot even begin to explain how immense it is, nor can I describe the grandeur or volume of works it contains. All I could understand after stepping into the first hallway is that there was no way I could cover all of this in one day. There were rooms dedicated to works featuring the Passion and the Virgin Mother and Child, which we explored first. We meandered down immense hallways of paintings and accidentally came upon the Mona Lisa. I was grinning like an idiot because I kept thinking about the “DaVinci Code.” We got our photos quickly because guards were moving people along. I guess they’ve had problems with Mona-hogs in the past and they wanted to be sure that everybody had their turn.

We only had enough time (and energy) to check out the Grecian statues. Once again, we accidentally came across the Venus de Milo. We got our photos before getting swarmed by Japanese tourists. At that point, museum workers were ushering people out of that wing, and Valentina and I decided to go home. MAN, did our feet hurt! We stopped half-way between the museum and home at a cafe to order a chocolate mousse and a carafe of water. We didn’t want to spoil the magical dinner Sylvie had prepared for us. I have no idea what she made, but it was like a cheesy, vegetable-y, egg-y, delicious casserole thing. We went to bed early.

Tuesday! June 2nd
The first day of class was a mess. First, Valentina’s pass Navigo suddenly didn’t work and we had to wait until somebody could verify its validity and let her through. Then I took us on the wrong metro. Then we wandered in the wrong direction of the school completely! Long story short, we were 25 minutes late and got chewed out by Ayoun.

After class, there was a bit of a directional mix-up. One of the teachers confused a metro stop with a street name, causing tardiness and frustration for some. Lucky for us, Valentina double-checked the location of the Carnavalet Museum and we were able to find it.

Before the meeting, we walked to the Bastille to grab lunch at a cafe. V ordered a hamburger and I wanted to try one of those cheese-smothered hotdogs. The male waiter was very friendly and spoke to us in French, even after we had some difficulty explaining how well we wanted the burger cooked. The girl who brought V her first cup of espresso kept speaking English no matter what we said in French. I warned V about the strength of espresso, (“There is a reason they serve it in tiny cups!” and she gamely drank half of it before giving up and I drank the rest. Half a shot was enough to get me buzzed all the way back. It could explain why I was able to easily dash back and forth across the Marais.

We ran into a classmate, Ava, on the way back. She showed us her cheap new cell phone, and we resolved to get one as well. She was on her way to grab a quick lunch at the Monop’ and we decided to join her because we needed odds and ends as well.

Almost predictably, we lost each other after we split up to get our individual groceries. Valentina and I didn’t want to be late and face the wrath of Ayoun, so we skedaddled, thinking our friend left ahead of us. When we got there, she had not arrived. I dropped off my bag and decided to look for Ava. I ran all the way back to the Monop’ and found her downstairs. She had gone to the wrong location already, hadn’t seen the museum, so she came back to look for me. We made it just in time, but many other students were missing due to the bad directions.

Surprisingly, Ayoun arrived about five minutes late. I joked, “You missed the metro!” which is what she always says when we arrive late. In Ayoun-ese, it basically means we’ve left without you and now you’re missing out. She got upset and said, “Hey. I was working.”

The Carnavalet museum used to belong to a wealthy architect who designed some pretty remarkable buildings. Many rooms were restored to look like they did several hundred years ago. I split up from the group and went on by myself, mostly because I like to linger at the art longer than most. As I went through a room featuring many impressive, though faded tapestries, a rather jovial museum worker started poking fun at me. I think he asked me what I thought of the art, but I wasn’t sure because he spoke very quickly. He started taking the tapestry off the wall and I panicked and started stuttering. I had no idea what he was doing, but I was pretty sure that the hundreds of “ne touchez pas” signs applied to everybody. “Voila! A souvenir of Paris to take home with you!” I shook my head and we had this conversation in French.
“You don’t speak French?”
“No. Not very well. Sorry, but I do not understand.”
“Where are you from?”
“The United States. Arizona.”
He went on to tell me what he thought of the United Sates which was, as far as I could tell, all positive. He even showed me his rattlesnake belt buckle which he got from “Tehk’zas.” I accidentally used the informal when I asked him if he liked souvenirs.
“...yes,” he said with a smile, albeit a bit suspiciously.
I fished out one of my souvenir Arizona key-chains from my purse. It was really lame. It looked like our license plates and said “I’M BAD” on it. He freaked out in a good way. “For me? I am so happy, I could cry! I have nothing to give you!”
He asked for my photo, which I let him take. He asked for my MSN, which I also gave him. But then, he took me completely off guard by asking if he could kiss me. I was about to say, no, when he indicated on the cheek like a traditional European greeting.
I remembered what my father had advised me about complete cultural immersion.
I said okay.
I had been taught that you only make kissing sounds near the cheek, but don’t always actually make contact. I didn’t make contact, but he did. I was only slightly freaked out by this very forward, affectionate fellow, but mostly I was relieved that I remembered that kisses go right/left.
After that, I paid out the nose for a glorified walkie-talkie, went home, and had tasty Carrot Casserole for dinner.

Wednesday! June 3rd
After class we had another picnic at the Place de Vosges. I brought along my Monop’ sandwich and chicken-flavored chips. The activity for the day was a trip to Victor Hugo’s house, conveniently overlooking our park. I enjoyed exploring his recreated living rooms, amused by the fireplace with a huge VH on it. Kinda reminded me of that little megalomaniac Napoleon who kept putting N on everything from buildings to bridges. The thing I liked best about that particular museum was a sort of ink-well station, with four wells and four stands for quills. Apparently this was shared between several famous writers of the time when they’d get together and scribble. One name on the inkwell wasn’t familiar, and I want to say it was Martin or something. Anyway, the other three were Victor Hugo, George Sand, and my favorite Alexandre Dumas. Up until then, I had no idea that they were buddies who wrote together.
Anyway, after this trip, we went home and I slept very soundly. I decided not to go out that night, and had some delicious lemon-pasta for dinner.

Thursday! June 4th
(Nothing interesting happens in class, I promise. I will never regret not writing about this aspect of the trip. Not to say that the classes are bad! I just don’t feel comfortable in them. Ever.)

After class I went solo to a bakery and bought a tiny chocolate pie. I decided to head over to our meeting place early, and realizing that I still had almost an hour and a half, decided to explore l’Ile De La Cite.

I stopped on the bridge by the Seine, enjoying the pleasant sunshine and breeze when I observed a family of ducks get harmlessly hit by a tourist boat. It was probably the funniest thing I have ever seen, as the fellow at the wheel was well aware of what he had done, and peered over the edge to check on them. They almost got out of the boat’s path before they got caught on the waves. I saw four ducklings go under on one side of the front of the boat, and pop right back up on the other side and swim for shore.

I accidentally found a Post Office on the way to the Notre Dame and decided to mail my postcards. I sat on a short stone wall and finished writing them. After licking a few stamps I bought at the Louvre, I went inside to see if any additional postage was needed. Only I had forgotten absolutely all of the French regarding sending mail I had ever learned.

I handed the lady the postcards and she asked me something about AirMail. Words completely failed me, and she didn’t know any English. I finally managed as I pointed to the cards, “America. USA. Not fast.” She nodded in understanding and with a smile, she sent them off.

I had walked a long ways, so I decided to head back and possibly try to find a bathroom. I found my group surrounding one of those public toilets that clans itself after every use. I guess I wasn’t the only one who needed to go. It was kind of weird, because the floor was wet but the place was immaculate. Even the smell was tolerable. I was puzzled by the bowl, which had no hole for waste to get flushed in to. It was just a solid, toilet-shaped bowl. I did my thing and after finding no flush button, I hopped outside, shut the door, and pressed the cleaning button. After about 30 seconds, it was ready for the next person to use. We couldn’t figure out how it worked.

While we waited for the professor to show, I watched a class of French children playing in the park. They all wore matching blue apron/jacket thingies and went down the slide together, played a version of Ring-Around-The-Rosie which involved a bit of hopping. There was even one child with special needs who wanted to play, and they let him stand in the middle of their ring. He seemed rather pleased to be a part of the group.

When Ayoun showed up, we went inside this museum featuring the modern and historical architecture of Paris. It was pretty interesting, considering that modern architecture isn’t really my thing. The models of future skyscrapers were pretty neat, but that was about all that I got out of the museum.

Then we went on a walk of l’Ile de la Cite. She showed us Berthillons, and this place had some amazing ice cream! I got a scoop of peach and it is probably the best ice cream I have ever tasted. (Better damn well be, at 2,10E per scoop!) Then she took us to Notre Dame, which bummed me out only because we couldn’t go inside. My very first impression was that it was small. I had this mental picture of a sky-scraper, but that was probably due to the misguiding Disney movie. I could only look at it for a minute before Ayoun rushed us on again to the lovely Flower Market and then immediately to the Palace of justice, where she let us go.

Valentina and I explored the flower market, which had just about every type of flower or tree you could imagine. I saw a section devoted entirely to cacti, which made me a bit homesick. They had baby prickly-pear and tiny blue agave! Valentina liked the orchids a lot, and I probably would have bought one for Sylvie, since France’s Mother’s Day was the following Sunday, but they were too expensive. They wanted twenty euros for a tiny one.
When I got home, I had about three bowls of delicious chili con carne. (I LOVE SYLVIE!)

Friday! June 5th
After class I went home to mess around on my computer and eat lunch until the next activity, which didn’t start until 3pm. Valentina and I left a bit early as we usually do, and on the way she got a call from her fellow back home. I felt a little bit sick. I wished the fellow in my life took such efforts to call or e-mail once in awhile. I only spoke to mom using MSN, and dad kept in touch with daily e-mails nagging me for updates. (I will thank you later, father.)

We waited for some time for the entire group to gather along side the Notre Dame. Long lines of people steadily streamed into the famous cathedral and I hoped that we’d get a chance to look inside. To my surprise, the bells started ringing. It was the loveliest sound I have ever heard and it moved me right to the core. First I got goose bumps, then came a couple of tears. I managed to catch a quick clip of it so I can remember it always.

Technically, we did go inside... and by inside I mean inside the stairwell of about 422 stairs. OMG. That was pretty intense, because the tiny stairwell was made for smaller people and the stone steps were smooth and sloped from use. Also, you could not stop to rest because people were coming up behind you and there was absolutely no room for passing. Guides with walkie-talkies had to regulate the up and down flow of people. I’ll tell you what, though. The view was worth it.
I could see all of Paris from the top of the Notre Dame. Sylvie told me later that there have been problems with the immense number of people committing suicide from the top, which explained why we were enclosed in a cage up top. (I was reminded of the film “Amelie.” Her mother was killed by a woman committing suicide from Notre Dame. She landed right on top of her!) I enjoyed all of the different gargoyles; especially one that looked like it was taking a bite out of a little dog.
We ducked though a short doorway into the bell tower, which one girl from our group called “le maison de Quasimodo.” There on display was the oldest and largest bell of Notre Dame, named Emmanuel. I read that it took four men on see-saw-things to get the whole thing to move. It was pretty huge. I bet I could have stood up straight inside of it. Since it was too old to ring anymore, they played a recording of what it sounded like when it tolled, which was a very deep yet gentle sound. The recording gave me goose bumps.
Once we came back down, Ayoun instructed us to meet back in the same place the next morning for a tour of the crypt. Valentina and I headed back to Berthillons for another scoop of ice cream. When we got there, it seemed like ambulances were just finishing scraping somebody off of the cobblestones. I was hardly surprised. In Paris, stop lights are more like polite suggestions that you may or may not choose to follow. I can’t tell you how many times Valentina has grabbed my arm to stop me from getting flattened as I step off of a curb.
Anyway, I got a scoop of melon-flavored ice cream this time and I suggested that the two of us should follow the Seine back home. I started to regret that after several minutes. I had become so wrapped up in the beauty of the city that I forgot how spent those stairs at Notre Dame had made me. Ugh, my butt and back hurt so bad after that. But we did see many an awesome book-vendor and an awesome fountain with sphinxes spitting out water.
I was out like a light until dinner.

Saturday! June 6th
We got up nice and early and met up in front of the Notre Dame again, only today it was raining for the first time. I was able to see water pouring out of the gargoyle’s mouths, and that was pretty cool.
I was feeling pretty bummed for the first time on this day. I was missing my dad and imagining how much he would have loved to visit Notre Dame in the rain with me, and I was angry because a certain friend of mine hadn’t contacted me at all since I had arrived.
That mood quickly changed as soon as Ayoun showed up and told me to go inside the cathedral. The extremely long line moved very quickly, and I was moved to tears again as I walked inside. I cannot even find words to properly describe its beauty and calm, despite the noise coming from the other tourists. I shot the hairy-eyeball at a gaggle of girls from my group who were laughing at some joke in the most irreverent way. (I have been told before that I can produce one of the most serious hairy-eyeballs. It must be true, because everything was whispers after that.)

I just gaped at the never-ending ceiling and amazing stained-glass window. I felt intrusive because a mass was being carried out amidst the swarm of tourists flashing pictures.

And then I heard the incredible organ start playing... I felt an amazing swelling feeling inside my chest, and then came the waterworks again.

I donated a few euros so I could light a candle and take a couple back home. I thought of everybody in Arizona, especially my grandpa, who underwent some serious heart surgery right before I left for France. I also thought of Desiree, my good friend from work, who would have loved Notre Dame and appreciated it as I did.

On the way out, I bought an icon from the gift shop for my dad. In the end, I came out of the cathedral with an uplifted feeling and a resolution to attend mass once during my stay.

Some of the late-comers did not go inside the cathedral and I couldn’t fathom how they could not even be interested in it. They were just as content sitting outside in the rain with their espresso. My jaw went slack as they shrugged, “It’s just another church.”
Next on our plate was the crypt, which did not contain any dead people as I had hoped. Instead, it was the excavated ruins of the first settlements on the Ile de la Cite.
I wanted to hop over the stupid railing and touch the perfectly smooth stone floor so bad! How did they get their floors that smooth? How did their house-heating system work? Where did these stairs lead up to? I couldn’t make heads or tails of French archaeological terminology. I had to revert to the English guide to understand what each ruin was intended for. I was able to see the first wharf built by the Romans after having just read about it at the architecture museum.

We watched an overly dramatic film about the coliseum ruins in French, and then we took off for Saint Chapelle. I had no idea what this church was, or what to expect. We had to go through two security checks, because I suppose the church was located inside the walls of the Palace of Justice. There was also some embarrassment on the other students’ part as we were asked to show our student IDs. I had mine, but some others just blinked in confusion as if this was the first time they’d heard about it. “...uh, you want my CatCard?”
“No, we need your international student ID.”
I don’t know how anybody could not have known about it. It was only mentioned a dozen times at each meeting and several times in e-mail.

Anyway, Saint Chapelle was much smaller than Norte Dame, but I learned that it was built with the intention of being the place where religious relics were kept. The first floor was beautiful, with dark blue and gold painted walls and ceilings. There were icon-like paintings of the twelve disciples on the walls, surrounded by colored glass and stones. Nothing could have prepared me for what was upstairs, though. There were golden walls, cherubs, angels, draping fabric, fleur-de-lis, and fifteen intricate stained glassed windows that depicted stories from the Old Testament to the new one, not including the rose-shaped stained glass window above the enormous door. Apparently, the king would come to church here where the relics were kept until the Revolutionary War, when many of the relics were destroyed. Since then, they were moved to the Treasury at Notre Dame.

In the gift shop, I saw a lovely silver pin of the fleur-de-lis. For some reason, it caught my attention and it wasn’t until later that I remembered that a friend had asked for a pin as a souvenir. I have been looking for one ever since, and no dice.
After Saint Chapelle, we went to the Concierge, which used to be the old prison during the Revolution. There was some restoration still going on when we took the tour, and much of the main room was closed. However, we were still able to visit the reconstructed prison cells. It was kind of creepy seeing all of these dummies propped up in these dimly lit cells. They didn’t look too happy sharing the tiny cell with straw on the floor and the same bathroom-bucket. That was probably because in those days, people didn’t stay in the cells very long before their possessions became government property and they were executed. Aristocrats with a bit more money could pay for their own cell, where they got a bed, a desk, and their own bucket.

We saw the rather uncomfortable looking shackles, locks and keys. We also visited the rather depressing looking chapel, where I imagine prisoners spent their last moments. Also, hanging on the wall in an easily overlooked corner was a slab of metal which I thought was a piece of a prison door. Turned out it was a guillotine blade.
That thing was tiny. I always thought they were huge, heavy and at least the length of my arm, but this was only about slightly wider than my head. I would hope that if I got the chop, it would do the job the first time. This little blade looked about as effective at severing the head as a butter knife.

Finally, at the prison we saw a reconstruction of Marie Antoinette’s cell. It looked pretty comfy. At least she had room to walk around, a bed with a mattress, a desk and a wash basin. The only down side is that she had no privacy as two guards stood watch in her room at all times behind a screen.

After the visit, I had hoped to do lunch with Valentina and our new friend Maya, but Maya’s parents were in town and understandably she went to go spend time with them. After having visited four places in one day, I went home and crashed for the rest of the afternoon.

Sunday! June 7th
Today was a full day off from classes or trips. After sleeping in until about 11:30am, we decided to go check out Champs Elysees and visit the Eiffel Tower. It was still raining pretty hard as we explored the many expensive, high-end designer stores.

We visited the Disney Store and talked about visiting Euro Disney after the classes were finished. Turns out students get a special discount, making it significantly cheaper than the Disneyland in California, even with the exchange rate. Perhaps the economy had something to do with it.

We visited Sephora, which was a complete mad-house. I have never seen so much perfume and beauty products in one place in my life. It was like a ware-house crammed with people and techno music. I saw one make-up artist who was wearing two-inch long false eyelashes and rhinestones on her eyelids and lips. She was pretty intense.

After several more shopping centers and “arcades,” we decided to grab dinner closer to our American dinner-time of 6:00pm at McDonald’s. It was Sylvie’s night off from making us dinner. We thought we were being ridiculous at the time, but nothing beat an ice-cold Coca-Cola and a fully-cooked hamburger. I took a photo of Valentina’s Royale with Cheese.
The Arc du Triumph was pretty cool although surrounded by aggressive immigrants selling cheap souvenirs. I liked how one could see clearly down the wide roads almost clear down to the other side of the city. At one end I could clearly make out the Louvre, and at the other I could see la Defense. Many war-memorials were put up here as well.

After the Arc du Triumph, we took the metro to the Eiffel Tower. Again, we were harassed by pushy souvenir-salesmen. There were many soldiers at the base of the tower with machine guns, and we saw them arrest one salesman. We assumed this was because he tried to pick somebody’s pocket. We took a few moments to sit on a bench and watch the tourists. We watched a couple feed the little sparrows, and laughed as the world’s ugliest pigeon swooped down and scared them all off.
Overall, it was a pretty relaxing day that we took at our own pace.

My updates on week two and three will be up soon once I get more access to wifi. (I was dumb and forgot a memory stick.)