This will probably be a rant. I really should have written this back two months ago when I left most classes 15 minutes late swearing in f&**ing English as I angrily ran to be swallowed by the 5 p.m. métro rush hour to my next class. I should have written it when I woke up, took the hour-long métro ride and sat in a class room for half an hour to discover that there was a "weird man" walking around the building and "security" wouldn't let our "professor" in. But we were allowed to sit there, sans any kind of information. Or maybe I could have written it when one of my teachers thought it was a good use of time to speak with one student about just their project in front of the whole class for an hour and a half. I should have written it then, it could have been more ranty.
But, since I am writing this now, when I only have to go back to the hellish halls of Paris VII one more time for my final, I have wise and balanced retrospect. Kind of. Seeing another country's higher education system has been educative, but not in the sense that I have actually learned much about any of my class subjects. I have learned that I love the American school system, both college and otherwise, and that I have been incredibly lucky to have had such passionate teachers, interesting and entertaining lesson plans and a culture that actually believes in time as a way to organize life. Maybe it's just because I've been socialized to like these things, but I really do appreciate them.
So...list of things I like about French school:
the lunch (but does this even count, because I basically just like lunch and it's just a coincidence that I have to eat it there)
List of things I don't like:
teaching style a.k.a. lecture and power points of their lecture notes (where's the Prezis?), lack of homework (my host-mom said it's because they're too lazy to assign it and have something else to grade), how everyone madly types notes (what are they writing????), lack of syllabi, don't respect my time! (classes routinely ending and starting at least 20 minutes late), how I discovered I still wasn't registered when I went to turn in my final project, the criticisms given to students' faces in front of everyone else after an oral presentation (didn't understand mine woot!)
But I'm done so whatever. Fall, I look forward to your syllabi, schedules and readings. I'll probably eat these words when I have to do actual work again, but hopefully they'll taste like crêpes or something.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Really belated blog post
Well blog, it's been a while. (when I last wrote this it was March...so now it's been even more of a while)
A lot has happened since we last spoke (even moooooore). So much that I might need to write in you twice. In a row. Lots of things. But I think you can take it. (yeah...March Grace was ambitious, we'll see about that one)
Last (last last last x10+) weekend I went to Amsterdam. I kind of just don't want to talk about it so I will make my Amsterdam review brief, perhaps a haiku. Here it goes:
Stroop waffle french fries
Anne Frank tears and Van Gogh ears
Pannenkoeken Boot
Like most of my travels (and my life in its entirety) this trip was centered around, and will be remembered by, food. Fresh, gooey, caramelly stroop waffels, huge paper cones full of freshly fried taters smothered in spicy mayonnaisey samurai saus, 75 minutes of all-you-can-eat pannenkoeken (dutch pancakes, somewhere in between crêpes and a flap jack)...these are the things I will remember. They have literally become a part of me since I used them to regenerate cells and such.
So Amsterdam was awesome, the Dutch were exceedingly friendly, everyone's English was a pannenkoeken boot better than my French, but the Van Gogh museum is overrated. Really though, it was 15 euros and I like the Van Goghs they have at Musée d'Orsay better, and that place is free. And now on to Istanbul.
Through this experience I have had many moments of standing in front of something, mouth gaping, thinking "OMG THIS IS SO AMMAAAAZINGGGG HOW IS EVERYONE ELSE NOT COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOWWWW GAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" This sentiment basically characterizes my entire trip to Istanbul. It was passed in a five day sleep-deprived haze of awe, my mouth only closing when I stuffed it with Turkish delight. Or licked my ever-present cone of Turkish ice cream. After eating ice cream for three straight days in a row, I decided to make it a personal challenge to eat it every day I was in Istanbul. It's little goals like these that give life meaning when you conquer them. And I did, finishing up with a ridiculously over-priced cone consumed at 4 in the morning in the Ataturk Airport. Also, Turkish ice cream is super thick and toothsome and the ice cream mongers use this long metal paddle to beat it into submission and slap a chunk on a cone. This one guy stuck in his ice cream prong and pulled out the entire bucket-molded hunk of chocolate flavor, to which my friend and travel-buddy Cara said, "That looks like a big turd." And it did. But I wanted to eat it anyway.
I loved Istanbul because it felt so completely and utterly different from Paris, or Amsterdam, or anywhere. Definitely not Erie, Colorado. Everything was so old, like stone-medusa head old. And it just feels like there was a lot of struggle there. I loved staring at mosaics and thinking about the tiny ancient man (probably wasn't a woman let's get real) who spent his days eating ancient Turkish ice cream and putting tiny iridescent tiles on a wall. It was by the ocean, but not beachy, but not-not beachy like Seattle, just this alien beach/not-beach feel I have never felt. One day we took a ferry to this chain of islands and walked around the biggest, called Büyükada. Once again, WEIRD! This island was full of random stray horses, dogs and cats, a pine forest, huge abandoned building, sprawling summer villas, and lots of ice cream (surprise!). It was beautiful, though, with the sunniest day we had the whole trip and the smell of green and pine and Turkish ice cream and horse doodie wafting up from the sea. Ahhhhhh, nothing beats the smell of horse doodie and stray cat urine on a Turkish island, am I right?
A lot has happened since we last spoke (even moooooore). So much that I might need to write in you twice. In a row. Lots of things. But I think you can take it. (yeah...March Grace was ambitious, we'll see about that one)
Last (last last last x10+) weekend I went to Amsterdam. I kind of just don't want to talk about it so I will make my Amsterdam review brief, perhaps a haiku. Here it goes:
Stroop waffle french fries
 |
| canals and charming architecture |
Pannenkoeken Boot
Like most of my travels (and my life in its entirety) this trip was centered around, and will be remembered by, food. Fresh, gooey, caramelly stroop waffels, huge paper cones full of freshly fried taters smothered in spicy mayonnaisey samurai saus, 75 minutes of all-you-can-eat pannenkoeken (dutch pancakes, somewhere in between crêpes and a flap jack)...these are the things I will remember. They have literally become a part of me since I used them to regenerate cells and such.
So Amsterdam was awesome, the Dutch were exceedingly friendly, everyone's English was a pannenkoeken boot better than my French, but the Van Gogh museum is overrated. Really though, it was 15 euros and I like the Van Goghs they have at Musée d'Orsay better, and that place is free. And now on to Istanbul.
 |
| Blue Mosque, starring Cara |
 |
| The blue mosque, beautiful inside and out |
Monday, February 17, 2014
Sun and Solitude: on missing
This week I saw a friend I haven't seen in a while. This special someone is on the gassy side, but that's why I love them. They're also really hot. Hot and gassy, always a winning combination of traits. Yes y'all. I'm talking about the sun.
I awoke Monday (now it's last last Monday...) to a Parisian bed chamber aglow with precious UV rays. I was disoriented, as the four straight weeks of grayness had given me cave-fish-esque light sensitivity, but I just rolled out of my blanket cocoon, took off all my clothes and stood in it naked to try and maximize the vitamin D, and as a favor to the elderly couple who live across the street from me. I watch them all the time so I assume they're doing the same, right?
Monday was also a special day because I started helping out an English teacher at a fancy French school. I decided that I love this, for many reasons, and here they are:
They're impressed that I'm a "native English speaker"
I get free lunch, and cafeteria lunches in France are sooooo good. For example, this was my free lunch: fish with a tarragon cream sauce, green beans, mashed potatoes, salad with tomatoes and bacon, this other radishy, fresh salad, the ever-present bread, coconut yogurt, a grapefruit and a latté. And I even skipped the cheese plate and dessert. FOR FREE, FOR SPEAKING MY NATIVE LANGUAGE TO A BUNCH OF SWEATER WEARING POLITE ELEVEN YEAR OLDS FOR AN HOUR!
They're also reimbursing me for my métro pass. This gig is oh so sweet.
The only downside was the unanimous groan their little French mouths issued when I said my favorite singer was Beyoncé.
This week (read last last week) however, was also the first hard-hitting bout of homesickness. It's kind of an unexpected thing, that is easily conjured up in many situations. Like, on that sunny Monday, right after I had finished my morning bask, I started crying while I was drinking my coffee. The light coming in their little parisian kitchen, glowing off the wood floors, reminded me of my dad's house in the morning, except this time the sun was highlighting a million baguette crumbs instead of dog hairs. And instead of sitting next to my father with his book (probably a biography of some inventor or a book of espresso machine design) I was sitting alone, trying to be inconspicuous as I occupied the extremely private realm of people I didn't really know, but had spent the last four weeks awkwardly and inefficiently tying to get acquainted with. And the sadness continued, as I rode the Metro to this school, and fit in more than ever with my morose parisian stare. As I wandered around Paris full of cafeteria-fish, sitting in the Champ de Mars and looking at the Eiffel tower glitter in surprising sunlight, I wished to be home looking at my brother playing Led Zeppelin and my mom yelling at him to go to his room or turn it down please. As I awkwardly walk into any museum I kind of really really want the fluorescent comfort of a Wal-Mart. This longing for familiarity is so weird.
But through this, I am learning. I think I am experiencing what some (aka the internet when I googled "symptoms of homesickness" as if I couldn't just decide for myself) may call solitude. Which is basically just loneliness, but like constructive loneliness. Like you're alone, but it's okay, because you always have yourself to keep yourself company. It's like the adult version of when you put a baby to sleep and it starts crying and you just shut the door. Sometimes I like my company and sometimes I don't, but I'm learning to self soothe. When I don't I just listen to Beyoncé. Beyoncé is like peanut butter: good almost all the time, really good with chocolate. Or I go for a run. Really, Elle Woods' assessment about exercise and endorphins and being happy and not killing your husband is so true. After a good sweat, I never fill like killing my husband and I also stop thinking about how I miss drip coffee.
Okay now, because I like to make lists and a blog is like a diary that I'm subjecting outsiders to so I get to make it how I want, here are some lists. YAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!!
Things I miss:
My family
My friends
dogs with owners who let you pet them
eating a gluttonous brunch at the C.I. with my wonderful roommate
customer service
huge mugs of coffee with half and half and sugar
Southern California–the beach, the sun, people who smile, saying it's "freezing" whenever it's below 70, TACOS, HORCHATA!!!!
knowing what's happening in a class
knowing what's happening everywhere actually
New things I like:
not knowing what's happening and learning not to care
this goat cheese with a rind like brie om nom nom it's so good
good public transportation
running in Parc de Buttes Chaumont and along the canal
crêpes, of course
the hospitality of my host family
eating Nutella every day
wine that's cheaper than water
new friends
this opportunity
I awoke Monday (now it's last last Monday...) to a Parisian bed chamber aglow with precious UV rays. I was disoriented, as the four straight weeks of grayness had given me cave-fish-esque light sensitivity, but I just rolled out of my blanket cocoon, took off all my clothes and stood in it naked to try and maximize the vitamin D, and as a favor to the elderly couple who live across the street from me. I watch them all the time so I assume they're doing the same, right?
Monday was also a special day because I started helping out an English teacher at a fancy French school. I decided that I love this, for many reasons, and here they are:
They're impressed that I'm a "native English speaker"
I get free lunch, and cafeteria lunches in France are sooooo good. For example, this was my free lunch: fish with a tarragon cream sauce, green beans, mashed potatoes, salad with tomatoes and bacon, this other radishy, fresh salad, the ever-present bread, coconut yogurt, a grapefruit and a latté. And I even skipped the cheese plate and dessert. FOR FREE, FOR SPEAKING MY NATIVE LANGUAGE TO A BUNCH OF SWEATER WEARING POLITE ELEVEN YEAR OLDS FOR AN HOUR!
They're also reimbursing me for my métro pass. This gig is oh so sweet.
The only downside was the unanimous groan their little French mouths issued when I said my favorite singer was Beyoncé.
This week (read last last week) however, was also the first hard-hitting bout of homesickness. It's kind of an unexpected thing, that is easily conjured up in many situations. Like, on that sunny Monday, right after I had finished my morning bask, I started crying while I was drinking my coffee. The light coming in their little parisian kitchen, glowing off the wood floors, reminded me of my dad's house in the morning, except this time the sun was highlighting a million baguette crumbs instead of dog hairs. And instead of sitting next to my father with his book (probably a biography of some inventor or a book of espresso machine design) I was sitting alone, trying to be inconspicuous as I occupied the extremely private realm of people I didn't really know, but had spent the last four weeks awkwardly and inefficiently tying to get acquainted with. And the sadness continued, as I rode the Metro to this school, and fit in more than ever with my morose parisian stare. As I wandered around Paris full of cafeteria-fish, sitting in the Champ de Mars and looking at the Eiffel tower glitter in surprising sunlight, I wished to be home looking at my brother playing Led Zeppelin and my mom yelling at him to go to his room or turn it down please. As I awkwardly walk into any museum I kind of really really want the fluorescent comfort of a Wal-Mart. This longing for familiarity is so weird.
But through this, I am learning. I think I am experiencing what some (aka the internet when I googled "symptoms of homesickness" as if I couldn't just decide for myself) may call solitude. Which is basically just loneliness, but like constructive loneliness. Like you're alone, but it's okay, because you always have yourself to keep yourself company. It's like the adult version of when you put a baby to sleep and it starts crying and you just shut the door. Sometimes I like my company and sometimes I don't, but I'm learning to self soothe. When I don't I just listen to Beyoncé. Beyoncé is like peanut butter: good almost all the time, really good with chocolate. Or I go for a run. Really, Elle Woods' assessment about exercise and endorphins and being happy and not killing your husband is so true. After a good sweat, I never fill like killing my husband and I also stop thinking about how I miss drip coffee.
.JPG) |
| the elusive sun...confirmation that it does still exist |
Things I miss:
My family
My friends
dogs with owners who let you pet them
eating a gluttonous brunch at the C.I. with my wonderful roommate
customer service
huge mugs of coffee with half and half and sugar
Southern California–the beach, the sun, people who smile, saying it's "freezing" whenever it's below 70, TACOS, HORCHATA!!!!
knowing what's happening in a class
knowing what's happening everywhere actually
.JPG) |
| Ain't no Wal-Mart but it sure is pretty |
New things I like:
not knowing what's happening and learning not to care
this goat cheese with a rind like brie om nom nom it's so good
good public transportation
running in Parc de Buttes Chaumont and along the canal
crêpes, of course
the hospitality of my host family
eating Nutella every day
wine that's cheaper than water
new friends
this opportunity
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Rain, rain, clouds, red praline and....rain. And then more clouds.
I find myself slipping into a mediumly depressing depression as I wake up, day after day, to the same pale gray skies. They do not tell time, since it's basically the same level of melancholy light from 9 (very late sunrise) to 5 (and early sunset). This morning I did get to see a beautiful sunrise though, so maybe I should try to get my cheese-bread-and-Nutella-fed butt out of bed earlier.
I am sorry if anyone is "following" this blog. It's probably disappointing since I basically never post anything! And now I'm going to have blog diarrhea from the past 2 weeks of not posting. Yay!
Let the cleanse commence:
My classes at Paris VII started this week, all on the same day, from 9-12 then 2-5 in French. My notes, and everyone here takes mad notes, have a lot of question marks and "I think she's saying..." so that gives you an idea of my comprehension level. I do think I got lucky with my professors though, because they both seem approachable and one even offers supplementary work for non-French speakers, which is not what I expected at all. Other things I didn't expect about French university courses–no syllabi to be seen, students are kind of rude/informal with the professors, everyone wears jeans, people talk at full volume to each other during a lecture (RUDE), there's no books to buy :D, I already have to do an oral presentation GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!H!H!HH!!!!!!!!
Also, I showed up to a class I thought I had on Thursday morning only to discover an empty room. Then, looking back through my notes, scrawled at the top "TD to commence next week." Brain you have failed me, I'm sure for the first of many times during this adventure. Also, french classes have two sections, the cours magistral (CM) and the TD, but my silly brain doesn't remember what that stands for. The CM is all lecture and the TD is like the participatory part, where I will be making a fool of myself next week when I do my exposé. If nothing else, I will provide a wonderful semester-long source of fun for my French peers. Every time I raise my hand, I'm sure giggles will abound as I say things in French like "The sociology, it is, what is, and that is why what they migration they is good, but for some is bad but not really or things like that." Ahhh, Tuesdays, the days when my French eloquence will have a real chance to shine in the classroom.
Besides school, this week I went to two different falafel places (Moaz was better that L'as, don't listen to Rick Steves!), went to the Louvre just to use the free toilet, saw lots of people doing Tai Chi (it's definitely a thing here), ate a kiwi, got tickets to Istanbul (!), went to Montmarte/ Sacré-Coeur (neighborhood of Amelie and a beautiful church) and visited Lyon. Lyon was wonderful. It's a city south of Paris and we took the TGV, this really fast train that provided beautiful blurry views of quaint French countryside, which honestly looked a bit like Niwot. Fields is fields. Lyon is really old, and we visited these cool old Roman ruins, and walked through these passageways built in medieval times between the houses. The buildings were are leaning stucco in subdued warm shades, with creaky doors and lot of wood trim, crammed together. But, the crowning glory of the Lyon trip, actually the two crowning glories were finally feeling sun on my cheeks for the first time in two weeks and eating a Lyonnaise specialty, brioche aux pralines. It was like this huge brioche bun the size of my face, swirled with this caramely, sugary almond praline that was dyed a bizarre garish red color. Om nom nom nom nom! 2 euros to happiness and rose-hued bowel movements. But the sun really was lovely as well. I wonder how I will survive this gray without growing three sizes bigger from Nutella binging. Maybe I need to do Tai Chi.
Yes, so the homesickness has hit. I knew it would inevitably follow the shiny novelty of living in Paris. Ironically, my exposé is on "the marginal man" a term from American sociologist Park given to migrants stuck between two cultures. According to him, this gives one freedom, liberated from an old society but not yet fully inducted into the new. In this case, I am liberated from wonderful American things like peanut butter and smiling at strangers. And snacking and being obnoxious and cup-of-noodles, which are all things I didn't think I would miss but do. And most of all, sunshine. I have been spoiled by living in two perpetually sunny places and now I am doing penance. It just started raining.
I am sorry if anyone is "following" this blog. It's probably disappointing since I basically never post anything! And now I'm going to have blog diarrhea from the past 2 weeks of not posting. Yay!
.JPG) |
| beautiful sacré-coeur |
Let the cleanse commence:
My classes at Paris VII started this week, all on the same day, from 9-12 then 2-5 in French. My notes, and everyone here takes mad notes, have a lot of question marks and "I think she's saying..." so that gives you an idea of my comprehension level. I do think I got lucky with my professors though, because they both seem approachable and one even offers supplementary work for non-French speakers, which is not what I expected at all. Other things I didn't expect about French university courses–no syllabi to be seen, students are kind of rude/informal with the professors, everyone wears jeans, people talk at full volume to each other during a lecture (RUDE), there's no books to buy :D, I already have to do an oral presentation GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!H!H!HH!!!!!!!!
Also, I showed up to a class I thought I had on Thursday morning only to discover an empty room. Then, looking back through my notes, scrawled at the top "TD to commence next week." Brain you have failed me, I'm sure for the first of many times during this adventure. Also, french classes have two sections, the cours magistral (CM) and the TD, but my silly brain doesn't remember what that stands for. The CM is all lecture and the TD is like the participatory part, where I will be making a fool of myself next week when I do my exposé. If nothing else, I will provide a wonderful semester-long source of fun for my French peers. Every time I raise my hand, I'm sure giggles will abound as I say things in French like "The sociology, it is, what is, and that is why what they migration they is good, but for some is bad but not really or things like that." Ahhh, Tuesdays, the days when my French eloquence will have a real chance to shine in the classroom.
Besides school, this week I went to two different falafel places (Moaz was better that L'as, don't listen to Rick Steves!), went to the Louvre just to use the free toilet, saw lots of people doing Tai Chi (it's definitely a thing here), ate a kiwi, got tickets to Istanbul (!), went to Montmarte/ Sacré-Coeur (neighborhood of Amelie and a beautiful church) and visited Lyon. Lyon was wonderful. It's a city south of Paris and we took the TGV, this really fast train that provided beautiful blurry views of quaint French countryside, which honestly looked a bit like Niwot. Fields is fields. Lyon is really old, and we visited these cool old Roman ruins, and walked through these passageways built in medieval times between the houses. The buildings were are leaning stucco in subdued warm shades, with creaky doors and lot of wood trim, crammed together. But, the crowning glory of the Lyon trip, actually the two crowning glories were finally feeling sun on my cheeks for the first time in two weeks and eating a Lyonnaise specialty, brioche aux pralines. It was like this huge brioche bun the size of my face, swirled with this caramely, sugary almond praline that was dyed a bizarre garish red color. Om nom nom nom nom! 2 euros to happiness and rose-hued bowel movements. But the sun really was lovely as well. I wonder how I will survive this gray without growing three sizes bigger from Nutella binging. Maybe I need to do Tai Chi.
.JPG) |
| FALAFEL!!! so many tasty veggies and sauces |
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Le Blog...She eeez born! Also, why French babies are the best.
I have decided to have a blog about my Parisian adventures. Since I am notoriously bad at staying in touch with people, I thought this would be a good way to let lots of people know what I'm doing in a short amount of time. Between eating 35 croissants a day, trying on berets and practicing my French laugh in front of the mirror, I hardly have time to practice my miming skills, let alone send a bunch of different emails ou les choses comme ca. "Les choses comme ca" has become a very useful phrase for me and my lack of French. It means "things like that" and it's very useful when your vocabulary is not good enough to think of more than one example for something. Which has happened to me a lot, since I basically have the vocabulary of a French 4-year old
 |
| French underwear purchased in high school Prophecy underwear??? What else can I learn from them? Will I one day speak French to pieces of French toast with mustaches and berets? What does the future hold?????? |
Speaking of French 4-year olds...they are the cutest children in the world! All the French kids are très adorables. They wear these puffy marshmallow jackets and hats and scarves and mittens and manage to look way more chic than me. They have little rosy cheeks from the Parisian winter chill and cute little French accents. If I ever see one of them holding a mini-baguette, the cuteness might kill me. I love to watch them, not in the way of a pedophiliac, in a touristy way. Rick Steves said nothing about the les petits enfants, but I find French-child-watching a heart-warming and completely free use of my time.
It happened especially this morning. I live in the 19th arrondissement, and there is a beautiful park, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, really closeby. It's gorgeous, with this rock structure in the middle of it that you can climb up surrounded by a little pond. There's lots of ducks and geese, huge piles of dog poop, jogging Parisians, and (most importantly) cutie little French babies for me to spy on.
 |
| view from mountain thingy at Parc |
Today I had my first Sweet Briar encounter, a little meet and greet type deal at a café. I got there really early–it was my first time using the métro–and I had time to wander about. I saw the Eiffel Tower, disappearing off into a gloomy haze of clouds. It seems perpetually cloudy here. I hope this is going to be okay for me. I live in a state with over 300 days of sunshine and go to school in sunny SoCal. But, if I get depressed, I know what to do: stalk some French bébés. Who needs Prozac... ou les choses comme ca? People say the French Paradox is the ability French people have to stay thin while eating so much rich and delicious food. I, however, think the real French Paradox is this: If everyone thinks French people are so arrogant and rude, how can they have children that are cuter than bunnies and chinchilla pups and mini-sized things?
 |
| oh la la, French spice shelf just like any other shelf... but with spices |
Here is the answer: they aren't rude or arrogant at all. Or any more than normal people, everyone's a little rude and arrogant when it comes down to it. My host family is wonderful and when my host brother had a party I got so many many cheek kisses from French teens I couldn't count them.
 |
| I think we all know what this is. But notice the gray skies and bleak fog that will now greet me every day. |
Well I don't know what else to say. Of course there is a lot to say but it is too much. I'll have to spread it out, like butter on a croissant. Yes, croissants could use more butter.
À bientôt !
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