Ups and Downs

So today I woke up feeling down. Nowhere near college dorm second semester depressed, but I was not at my best. Despite that, or perhaps because being crippled by depression last year actually taught me something, I got up, got dressed and went down to the brocante. Getting out of the apartment and leaving my French hosts still asleep at 10:30, I just tried to breathe in the crisp air and enjoy the sights and sounds of markets.

Markets are the ultimate loneliness killer because everyone treats you like you've been best friends for ages. Of course, they're all trying to sell you stuff, but I challenge you to live in a foreign country for three months and not get a little lonely for all those American things we take for granted. Like being able to strike up a random conversation with anyone at any time and being completely sure of what you're saying, and that you'll be able to understand your new acquaintance.

Today though, not even all of my market friends and a tresse chocolat (braided pain chocolat with a glaze) lifted my spirits more than marginally. I dashed down for a conversation with the friendly metro worker to reload my Navigo Pass. The magic smiles of others weren't even working for me. The end of my market cheer up plan came when I heard the strains of a familiar song being played by a very familiar sound. Closing my eyes and inhaling the fall scent I could almost feel the crowd around me turn into my classmates, alumni, and other cheering fans. The bleachers would be cold if we sat, so we stand and huddle for warmth as we cheer on the home team. There was a marching band just like the one back in high school.

I could feel the tears trying to leak free right there in the middle of the market, and I knew it was time to call it. Back in the apartment, I woke a slightly disgruntled host to let me back in before he promptly fell back asleep. Slipping through my temporary room and trying not to wake my temporary roommate, I took a book onto the balcony and read. The Ya-Ya Sisterhood is a great book, one of my new favorites, but it's not exactly a fairy tale to help conquer dark thoughts.

Finally, after a few hours more of moping and pestering my mother via Skype with my need for reassuring words, I gave in to her sage advice: "take a book, go to Starbucks and get a mocha."

In our world, a mocha heals everything. I never really understood how true that was until after snagging a seat in the crowded cafe, 'grande mocha blanc' in hand, I could finally feel those dark clouds lifting. It probably helped that I made something of a friend with a student desperately searching for a place to finish a paper and letting him sit at my table. And the Christmas cups and music and decorations in the background probably had something to do with it. Or maybe it was being able to leave the foreign world I live in and just for the next hour or two, be transported to a familiar place not so far from the world I've known since I was born.

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books.Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

Today, I made a trip out to the Trocadero. If you've ever seen pictures where people are posed to be holding, squishing, the same size as, etc, with the Eiffel Tower, this is where it's taken. It's a crush of humanity, but still pleasant with the pipe music of the Peruvian band that was playing in the background. And of course there was the eclectic mix of those people who think it's amusing to have their picture taken as if squishing a French monument, mostly British and German tourists.

What I liked best about the Trocadero is the pool of fountains below. Unfortunately on this trip I wasn't able to get spectacular photos of the water, I'll have to go back. That and the metro ride there. It's one of the few lines where you aren't underground, instead you float (read: bump) along above Paris, cross the Seine and see the Statue of Liberty, French style.

Magic Smiles

I was going to write a post today about my new home, the location, the people, etc. Then I had a "Stupid French Day" that I was going to write about, complete from the point where I thought I was going to be murdered, to finally making it home and breaking down in tears because somewhere along this stupid French day, the charm broke off my new favorite necklace that I picked up in Aix at a little craft/brocante/antique place, and now I can't find it anywhere.

Somewhere in the tears and frustration, my mind decided it needed chocolate in order to cope, or we just weren't going to be able to handle all of this any more. I gave in and blindly stumbled out of the apartment as it was getting dark in my quest for instant gratification and mood

enhancement drug of choice.

This wasn't the familiar, family oriented arrondisment where you couldn't walk a block without seeing a Carrefour, Fanprix, Lidl, or any other market chain where they sell everything for prices akin to American grocery stores, but everything looks cheaper because it's in euros. This arrondisment is old, and full of students and older folks, not many families to be seen. It has boulangerie after boucherie after vegetable market, but no such thing as a grocery. I guess they have something against those establishments whose names don't end with the requisite "ie".

Finally, I saw a metro station, and descended into the city to buy the Navigo Pass that would help prevent my having another stupid French day. The employee behind the ticket counter

smiled at me. Just smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back even though my world was falling apart and I still had no chocolate, and I was about to spend more money on this stupid pass. Still, that smile made everything look brighter, and once I had my pass in possession, I climbed what I thought was the entrance I had used to get down into the metro.

A grocery. Someone had put a place where they had chocolate at not exorbitant prices, right outside the metro for me. Never mind that I ended up quite a ways away from where I actually wanted to be, there was a sort of mea culpa from Paris, apologizing for the stupid French day. "Yeah, we didn't actually mean that. It was just sorta a test to see how much you really loved me. Here's some chocolate to make up for it."

Chocolate in hand, I started back what I thought was they way home. I ended up walking in the wrong direction, could have carried on that way for ages too, but the very nice old man who was walking his dog very slowly stopped in front of me to give his canine friend a pat. That's when I looked up at the street sign and saw my mistake. I even knew how to correct it. The old man and his dog smiled at me and I smiled back and altered my course.

A light misty rain began to fall and in the dark if I ignored all the French signs and made the voices a hum, it took me back to some of my favorite childhood memories. Going to the ballet with my parents when I must have only been four or five, skipping along in my new dress and asking if they thought the people around us thought that I could be playing Clara in the Nutcracker. That magical night when I saw my first opera, Rigoletto, with my dad and how the wet pavement outside seemed to take on an entirely different look, it sparkled. As I saw the smiling parents and children skipping along the damp streets, it was no longer misting rain, it was sprinkling happy memories.

First Night before every new year with my best friend and our two families, and the snow never stuck but melted on contact with the concrete downtown. Halloweens with friends when it was really too cold and wet to go trick or treating, but we all went anyway and then sipped hot apple cider with cinnamon and had chili when we got back home. Those nights when we went to meet Daddy for dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant downtown near his office. Going to the ballet, the opera, a musical, with friends and family.

I felt like that child again as I walked through the glittering streets. It was cold enough for everyone to be wrapped in jackets and scarves and hats, but not bitterly so. It erased the stupid French day from my mind, and proved to me once more that everything is better with a magic smile.

November

November.

It marks the beginning of the second full month I've been in France. This experience has been terrifying, horrible, cold, hot, brilliant, stupid, fantastic, amazing, and beautiful. And above all so far completely worth it.

It also marks the beginning of NaNoWriMo which I'm going to participate in. Problem is, I don't have a story, and I don't want to write my own trip to France story because I might actually want to publish it someday. So I'm down a story idea, and we're nine hours and fifteen minutes into November as I write this.

And because when I'm unprepared and unorganized, I'm really unprepared and unorganized, I'm supposed to be attending a costume party on Saturday. Guess what. I don't have a costume. All the shops are closed here today because it's All Saints Day, and yesterday was Monday which means that not all the shops are open. Oh, here's the kicker: not only do I have to find a costume idea by the 5th, it has to start with either M or I.

Moulin Rouge dancer

French Maid

Indian

Irish

Miss America

Marianne

Match

iPod

All of these are suggestions I've received, each one has merit of its own I suppose, but how do I pick and what do I wear? I'm probably stressing out over this more than I should, but that's because I don't want to think about the other thing I really need to be stressing over which is a completely different blog post.

I promise I'll get it together and post pictures and write about my fantastic time in the Alps, and get you up to speed with what's happening now and the hilarious time I've been having with Delana@http://delana-dujour.blogspot.com/>duJour (that's a whole new story that we have to get into). I've decided that November is my month to have a post every day, so get ready for some that are mostly pictures.

Meantime, brainstorm some ideas for me? I need a costume by Saturday and a novel idea by...a week ago.

Ready? GO!

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books.Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

This week's picture comes from a freezing but beautiful tour of the old French town of Briancon in the Alps. We spent a week here and it was just one fabulous day after another, excepting the day it snowed and we couldn't go anywhere because of the ice. It all melted the next day so it turned out fine. I've never been so at peace and calm in one place for so long, the whole experience was absolutely incredible.

And yet another week of two pictures, because I couldn't pass up this one. This is a view from the front yard of the house in the mountains, which features the beautiful ancient town of Briancon with it's fortifications. If you're ever thinking about a trip to the Alps, I can't recommend this little town enough. It's the most beautiful place I've been to date, and unlike some Parisians (please forgive me and let me back into your town!) everyone I met there was very nice and understanding of language difficulties, and the younger folks were more than willing to try out their English to help you along.

I know I sound like a tourists advertisement, and I have a French market to get to, so I'll wrap it up by telling you that the castle like building you see is the Collegiale cathedrale which doesn't look like much from the outside due to fortifications and such, but inside it is all marble and paintings and colors and gold. Well worth the trip.

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books.Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

This week was a tough choice. I've been so many places and gotten so many wonderful days worth of shots, it wasn't easy to pick just one. So I decided to narrow it down to two.

They come from the same location, just facing different directions. I probably should have done my research concerning the locks on the bridge by Notre Dame de Paris, but if I had to guess by the names written on them with little hearts I'd say it's something that's supposed to keep couples together forever.

Just across the bridge on the island by Notre Dame, something about the light and water called to me. Water's been calling to me a lot these days, my pictures have been a bit obsessed with it. Anyway, it's a beautiful little boat house/restaurant with an adorable black lab on the deck somewhere, let's call him Waldo, I'll think of a prize if you can find him.

Lazy excuses

I know it's been nearly a week since you've heard from me, and I'm sure it's torn some worlds apart, but don't worry. I'll be gone for yet another week as we head to the Alps and I'm without internet, but all the while I'll be collecting little stories, pictures and tidbits to give you all as a reward for your patience.

Once November hits, my goal is not only to complete NaNoWriMo, but to post in the blog at least once a day. Oh yes, a post a day plus however many words I need to write a story. Got any ideas for me?

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

Today's photo comes from yesterday's traipse along the Champs Elysees because it was a beautiful day, and hey, why not. I started at the Arch de Triomphe and meandered my way down the rue, pausing to take a postcard writing break in one of the lovely little parks that litter the way as you approach the Jardins de Tuileries. As I crossed the street to the Place de la Concorde at the end of the way, these fountains caught my eye with their gold detailing against the dark metal. Apparently, this was the fountain that can be seen in the movie The Devil Wears Prada, in the scene where Anne Hathaway's character decides she's done with the fashion industry and tosses her phone into the fountain.

How DVDs have ruined Disney

This doesn't have much to do with France in particular. It's just a plea to bring back for some purposes the trusty old VHS.

Perhaps I'm just prejudiced because I grew up in a VHS household, and some of my best and earliest memories are accompanied by the whirring sound of a tape being played, rewound, or fast-forwarded. It's not that I spent my entire childhood planted in front of the TV watching movies, I was practicing for my future.

With Lumiere I rehearsed the kickline from Beauty and the Beast in that eternal classic song, "Be Our Guest". About twelve years later, there I was onstage doing it. Michael Flatley and my little brother had tap-off show downs during Riverdance and Lord of the Dance. I learned my love of Celtic music, singing, and dancing from those same shows. The Tin Soldier convinced me that I wanted to be a ballerina. Without The Snow Queen, I never would have learned to perfect my icy glare when I performed the title role, forcing my father to guess who I was before I would say hello to him when he came home from work.

But back to the original purpose of the story.

Yesterday in lieu of wandering off to visit the wonderful sites of Paris, I was asked to keep watch over the three-year-old daughter of my host family. What's the best way to entertain children? Disney.

She selected that old classic Bambi. I myself have never been a huge fan, the mother dies, humans are horrible to animals, there's fire, and death, and it just doesn't seem like a kids movie. Anyway, she chose it so we popped in the DVD, she also selected the English version so bonus points for her and more difficulty tuning it out for me. The movie rolled along like it should, perhaps with slightly better picture and less fuzzy sound, Bambi's mother got shot and the little girl turned around to explain it to me in French. Just in case I didn't get the gist just from watching, or the fact that it was the English version.

Still bumping along, I'd managed to hold back my tears and I'm still proud of myself. Then came the climax of the movie, young adult Bambi runs away from the hunters and has just heroically saved love interest Faline from a pack of hunting dogs. He runs, jumps a ravine and we hear the bang of a gun as he spasms in midair and then falls unable to stand on the other side of the ravine. At this point, the DVD froze and then took us back to the main menu. Worst place ever to freeze, now this poor little girl thinks Bambi is dead! She won't know the ending! I tried to go fix it, but the little girl just stood up and walked away, humming a song to herself. When I asked if she wanted to see the end, she just gave me a look that told me I was crazy, though that might have been due to my poor attempts at French.

So as far as I can tell, this child thinks that the movie ends with Bambi getting shot by hunters. Bang, he's dead, end of story. While I'm sure it's much more realistic, since when has classic Disney been realistic? I'm disturbed by this outcome and it just proves that we should all go back to VHS. They could never take you back to the menu to make you think it was the beginning, you have to rewind it, and you'd fee the film wasn't run out, and you'd know there was more of the story to be had once your dad got home and fixed it.

And just to prove my point about Disney not being realistic, I give you this.

The Disney photo had to be doctored color-wise to make it fit.

Musee de Cluny

Three days ago, I took a trip to the Musee de Cluny. My goal was to find a cross stitch tapestry that I could do, and it was a trip that had been put off for several days. The day before I'd been sent to the Musee d'Orsay with the grandmother of my host family. It was a lovely museum, but the Impressionists exhibit was closed and therefore, I didn't get to see what I really wanted to. There will be a post coming about that later.

So to the middle ages museum I went. I'm a big fan of all things to do with the middle ages in case you didn't know, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and all that jazz. Also, I promised my youngest brother that I would get him a sword and it seemed like the most likely place to get one.

Musee de Cluny is in an old medieval castle that's been somewhat rehabilitated for use. It's probably the coolest old building I've seen in a while except for Mont St. Michel. As a museum, it doesn't have the grandeur and gilt of the Musee d'Orsay or the Louvre, but the stonework in the courtyard alone is probably more intricate than anything on either of those buildings. What really shocked me the most about all of the art and sculpture in this museum was the sheer amount of detail that everything had. Even the tiniest image on a medallion had a complete face and detailed outfit.

I'm not entirely sure what that is, but it blew me away with the sheer amount of detail. To give you a sense of scale, the entire thing from base to highest turret is only about the size of an average wine glass. Every roof tile, every window is drawn in exquisite detail. It's like a church sculpted on top of a cup. It reminded me a bit of Mont St. Michel, although I'm sure many other churches have such a level of intricacy and pointed spires.

Another thing I noticed about the middle ages based on the things displayed in the museum was this: unicorns are everywhere.

In every tapestry, every large sculpture or group painting, I guarantee if you look hard enough, there's a unicorn. The Musee de Cluny is of course the home of the famous tapestry Lady with a Unicorn which I discovered is actually part of a series of tapestries that depict women with unicorns. There was even an actual "unicorn horn" on display, with a description below explaining that it was actually just the tusk of a narwhal that had been given to some king sometime long ago and called a unicorn horn. Still, it was very impressive.

There were also chambers that housed stained glass windows taken from various churches and castles around Paris. Dark rooms with the windows lined up and backlit, spilling their multi-colored pictures onto the floor. Saints, kings, hunts, animals, more unicorns, all are the various subjects depicted in the vibrant windows. The detail in these windows too is absolutely incredible.

The whole museum in itself only took about an hour and a half to get through, and the gift shop didn't have my tapestry. It did have a sword for my brother, but as much as I love him I'm not willing to spend the 111 euros it would take, plus awkward questions in custums, to bring it home. Sorry bud, maybe next time.

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. how much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.

This past Wednesday I took a trip to the Musee d'Orsay. Afterwards, I walked to the nearby bridge over the Seine to take a few photos. I don't know what I like about this particular picture so much, but something about how the clouds and the river and the towers of Notre Dame are visible in the background catches my attention.

The Myth of "Free" Wifi

When it became certain that I would be heading to Paris, the first thing that I immediately wanted to know was: will there be wifi? I'm something of an internet junkie, but keeping in touch with my family via facebook, skype, and twitter, and of course the writing of this blog, were all important factors. Therefore I felt reassured when I looked on several sites back home and was assured by all that wifi would be everywhere and free with the purchase of a coffee or pastry, something that I would buy anyway.

Ladies and gentlemen, after a day searching the Louvre Carousel, I can now tell you that this it a lie. If truly free wifi exists in Paris, I've yet to find it and in such a place as this, rife with cafes and shops and a popular tourist attraction lacks it, then where on earth are we expected to find it?

I started my mission from the apartment early this morning. Computed packed with the cord and adapter just in case battery power ran low. Complicated metro stops later I was beneath the Louvre in the underground shopping center/miniature Paris with its many restaurants, cafes, boutiques and gift shops. Starbucks was my first choice and the sign in the window advertising free wifi seemed promising so I bought breakfast and a coffee to get me started. The barista handed me a card with a username and password in order to fetch the wifi. Three cards later, my computer and the wifi network were still having none of each other. So instead I sat with the paperback I thought to bring ahead while I finished my muffin and coffee.

A comfy padded bench in the middle of an underground sort of museum looked like a fantastic place to situate myself two hours later after I'd given up on my old standby for good. A plethora of free networks presented themselves to me and none required a password. Overjoyed, I tried connecting to the first only to be taken to a page that declared it would need my credit card number. Not happening. So I flipped to the next one which took me to another page that cheerfully stated in bright bold lettering that I needed to put in a username and password that could be purchased from a nearby restaurant. Great.

Five attempts at connecting and countless more tries at hacking into a network later, I gave up until a familiar glowing yellow sign caught my eye.

McDonalds. It was one o'clock, I'd been traversing the Louvre Carousel searching for wifi for a long time and the muffin of the morning seemed so far away. I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't stoop to eating in McDonalds while I was surrounded by so many fantastic little cafes, but I'm an American at heart and by this time was desperate. So I mounted the escalator and the first thing I saw was the little card standing by the cash register: wifi gratuit. Free wifi.

A chicken wrap is sitting comfortably in my stomach as I sit in one of the incredibly more stylish than the American version seats, connected to free wifi as I write this. And all I had to do was enter my name and email. And for the record, French McDonalds tastes better than the American version.

A Wonderful Day

Today, I had a wonderful day.

That's right, I spent my day at the Louvre.

It started with taking the metro from my host family's apartment. There are two metro stations within close walking distance, one required only one transfer but was much harder to get to with the twisty turny streets of Pairs, so I chose the much more straightforward way from the house, but difficult metro routes. Two transfers later, I was at the Louvre.

I traipsed blindly through the Rochefort wing, looking for the few works I knew would be hidden away somewhere in the immensity that is the old palace. For three hours, I was surrounded by statues, the works of French painters and medieval carvings and illuminations. It was all very beautiful, but the smell of coffee and the lunch hour drew me away from the beauty.

Let me just say that to an American girl who spent the summer becoming addicted to coffee, Starbucks is almost as good as any work of art. That melusine/mermaid logo starts to look like an angel if a system used to a caffeine fix hasn't had any since the plane ride over to Europe more than a week ago. So one white mocha and a sandwich later, I was rejuvenated and ready to hit the galleries again.

Winged Victory is one of my favorite sculptures, perhaps my favorite though its not like I have extensive knowledge on art of any kind. Maybe it's the way they have it positioned, it's the largest piece of art in a sparsely decorated grand room located just at the top of a staircase and directly between two others. It is absolutely magnificent and I was lucky enough to get a clear picture of it as seen above.

A helpful security guard later, I was standing in front of my second favorite statue, the Venus de Milo. For something so famous, it was in a room shockingly crowded with other pieces and not so many tourists. Either that or I just got really lucky that hardly anyone was there because I was able to get another really clear and uncrowded picture.

Leonardo DaVinci might be the most famous Italian artist, but my heart belongs to another. Oh I made the walk by of the Mona Lisa, but I didn't wait in the line to see her up close, I snapped a photo from afar. No, in my opinion the best Italian artist of the Renaissance was Alessandro Boticelli. His settings, his colors, his models and poses, and just everything about his art makes me happy. I absolutely adore La Primavera, though sadly it and most of his works are in Italy. Still, the Louvre does have another of his paintings that I spent time getting acquainted with.

Venus and the Three Graces

After the Mona Lisa, I was tired and ready to see some sunshine. Stopping once more at the Starbucks, I got an iced version of my earlier mocha and headed to the Tuileries. Just a small side note: those grates in the ground? Yeah, they blow air out of them. I wasn't aware of that until I walked over one and my skirt did a Marilyn Monroe much to the appreciation of the construction workers nearby. Thank goodness for leggings.

The Tuileries were absolutely amazing, and though I've only ever been to Paris before in the spring, I've decided that fall is the best time to come out of those two seasons. The changing colors of the leaves, the late blooming roses and other flowers, birds chirping their last songs before winter, incomparable.

So that was my fantastic day. I'm nursing sore feet and a new, though significantly smaller blister than the last one, but it was all worth it.

Saturday Snapshot

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.

France is full of beautiful scenes, even this late in a year. When my father dropped me off last week, we spent an entire day wandering the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens in Paris' 5th arrondisment. It houses a children's playground, and various splendid gardens as well as the beautiful Palace Luxembourg.

Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo

After our trip to the American WWII Cemetery, Danuta, Michel, Dad, and myself stopped by a field full of cows with a view of the distant Mont St. Michel. As we continued our drive post lunch, we could see the mount in the distance as we rolled through the hills of north western Bretagne (Brittany).

When we finally reached our destination, we walked from the car toward the fortress/castle/monastery/cloister/village that is Mont St. Michel. It was impressive enough from the outside alone, but once we crossed the drawbridge and entered the bustling city, it was incredible. As if we'd been transported back in time to the middle ages during a festival, there were banners and colorfully painted signs, narrow paved streets and suits of armor displayed at every other window. I envy the people who still live here and get to experience it on a daily basis because it is truly spectacular.

We climbed the twisting, steep streets, and climbed countless stairs. If there was one complaint about the day, it was that there were too many stairs. I got blisters on my blisters despite being in good, comfortable shoes padded with moleskin. But it was absolutely worth it and entirely beautiful.

I've had incredible luck here with the weather, its been more than a week and every day has been sunny and warm. The day at Mont St. Michel was no exception and so though we perspired as we traversed up the mountain, the sunshine on the water and surrounding greenery was magnificent.

Once we reached the monastery itself though, everything became cool grey stone, it was almost chilly. Winding staircases led us to wide rooms full of historical importance and architectural detail, we passed a giant wooden wheel that was somehow used to lift food to prisoners when the island was used as a prison during the Revolution, and at the very top found the cloister gardens surrounded by some of the prettiest, most intricate stone work I've ever seen.

Once the tour was complete, we made our way down out through the town, tired but satisfied with our journey. It was getting late and we still had a two hour drive before us to get back to Nantes, so Dad and I expected our trip to Saint Malo to be cut. Instead, Michel insisted not only on making our way there, but stopping at various tourist points along the way.

It seems like every single tourist point in France has a set of steps you must climb in order to get the best view or full experience or whatever else. We climbed up the side of a cliff that overlooked the ocean, and at that point I was so tired I was ready to just jump into the water, it looked so cool and inviting after our previous hot walks.

Finally, we made it to Saint Malo. It is a gorgeous seaside town and if you ever have two days to spend in the northwest of France, suggest you spend them visiting Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo, but not both in the same day if you value both your feet and your sanity. After climbing up one last tower to look at the city and the ocean, again, we descended and began looking for somewhere to eat and found a little creperie that was just to our tastes. We shared a bottle of cider which is not like the American version I quickly found out, but was still very good regardless. I had a chocolate banana crepe because after a day of walking, sometimes all you really need is chocolate.

Our drive home through the dark was quiet, I think we all fell asleep from exhaustion, with the exception of our driver and zealous tour guide. All in all, it was a lovely day, I just wish we hadn't had to walk up those last six flights of stairs in the apartment in order to get to bed.

American WWII Cemetery

Hello once more! It's been quite a while since I posted, ever since the somewhat traumatizing event of the escargot. Your patience shall be rewarded with not one, but two posts today. First up is the side trip we took before heading to Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo. Danuta packed a picnic lunch for us and then the four of us hit the car and drove the two or so hours to the Normandy/Brittany boarder.

Dad and I were both fairly disappointed that we weren't going to get to see the Normandy beaches after our previous plan fell through, so Michel decided that as a compromise, we would stop at the American Cemetery near Mont St. Michel before continuing on to our picnic lunch.

It was an absolutely beautiful day with clear blue skies, and there were roses in bloom everywhere. Despite all that these men suffered during the war, I couldn't help but think that there wasn't a more beautiful place to be laid to rest. They might not have ever made it home, but the perfect stillness and silence of the area, the shady trees with their collection of birds, and the blossoming roses gave a peaceful, comforting aura.

There was a beautiful little chapel that bore a small altar as well as illustrations of the war in French and English, and stained glass windows. Someone had left a beautiful bouquet of flowers at the steps of the altar, with a ribbon in the colors of the German flag.

The gravestones seemed to go on for miles, though I'm sure this one was much smaller than the other located near the D-day beaches. We walked through, reading some of the names and wishing we had the time to read them all. It was one of the saddest and most beautiful things I'd

ever seen. As we began the walk back to the car, the clock struck noon and the bells of the chapel rang out, not with the usual chimes but with the song of the American military I believe is what Dad called it. The bells played four songs, sad but somehow with an edge of hopefulness or at least as hopeful as one can get in a minor key.

War isn't something that I particularly like, nor do many people. I just don't understand why people feel the need to fight with each other when things could be solved much more simply and with considerably less loss of life. But something about the cemetery and those bells ringing out across the otherwise silent grounds made me both sad and proud to be an American. Those boys gave everything they had to our country, but why did they have to go to war in the first place? Nothing is ever so necessary that young people are taken from their homes, willingly or not, and never get to see their families and home again.

...and so they made me something else...

I have two lovely days to write about, but I've recently suffered a bit of a shock and therefore must plan to catch you lot up when I get to the hotel in Paris tomorrow.

Let me just start this brief bit off by saying, I'm really not a seafood person. I'm a Midwestern girl through and through, and if I could, I'd subsist on a diet of corn, beef, soybeans, pork, lemonade, and water. So when the family we're staying with had fish for two meals during one day, I put on my suffer in silence face and ate it. Lunch was quite good, dinner was tolerable if considerably more fishy. I hoped I'd gotten it all out of the way.

Yesterday, we went to Mont St. Michel and I have tons of lovely photos to post someday soon. Danuta insisted we stop in a seaside town on our way to Saint Malo for a walking tour, after walking up the ten million steps that is Mont St. Michel. In this little town, she bought about two pounds of oysters. Oysters are perhaps the one seafood that I will never make myself eat. I've even managed fried kalamari during a science-y exhibition thing, but oysters are just a no.

So today we had oysters for lunch, and dinner. I passed them up both times and ate a bit of everything else. They were making fun of me but I thought I was taking it fairly well when Michel asked if I'd tried escargot, I said no but that I supposed I would. A jumble of French and about ten minutes later, there were snails on my plate.

You can get the full story later, but that is my excuse for why I haven't written anything big with pictures and flowery words lately.

And yes, I did eat one. But just the one. As Danuta helpfully said: "Une fois ça suffit. One time is enough"

Day 2: another new time zone. sweet

Greetings once more from the lovely Nantes!

The title of my post comes from the difficulty I've had adjusting to the new time zone. This morning I woke up at 5:45am....the time back home which wasn't exactly concurrent with the 11:45am France time. Ooops.

Once he hauled me out of bed, Dad and I walked into town to mail some things to the cousins in Italy, and a few letters that Danuta asked him to send. I thought I knew French, but when trying to communicate with the worker at the post office, things got quite turned around and she and the other patrons thought we were Italians. Apparently because it was the last language I learned my numbers in, those were the numbers I was using. Whoops once again.

We had two hours to walk around before Danuta wanted us back for lunch, so we walked around the beautiful streets of Nantes, and got a few pastries to soothe our slightly ruffled feathers after the post office difficulty.

Dad got a red fruit crumble, I got a chocolate eclair with chocolate creme inside. We ate the

pastries on the steps of the cathedral with some university students taking their lunch break.

Afterwards, more trekking around and trying to familiarize ourselves with the city and find the epicerie, grocery store, to get the things Danuta had given us a list of to bring back. A very kind security guard at a department store pointed the way: down the stairs. This was a very classy looking establishment, not unlike a Macy's or other nice department store, but it had a legitimate grocery store in the basement, complete with ev

erything from fresh produce (and the little sprinklers keeping them moist) to a ham on display in the butcher section all decked out with the little chef's hat things on it's lopped off limbs.

Lunch was more of Danuta's brilliant cooking, a chicken/apple/rice salad, and tomatoes with vinegarette to start, followed by some kind of fish that I made myself eat (I am a strict non-eater of fish of all kinds in general) it had a hollandaise sauce on it and honestly wasn't half bad. There were also some delicious buttery potatoes, and of

course, baguette with any of three different kinds of cheese (I had Camembert).

After lunch we all had a brief siesta and the Marie took us on a tour of the chateau, which is absolutely gorgeous. While walking around the ramparts I leaned out one of the windows and a boy sitting in the grass by the moat below blew me a kiss. Very storybook like. The tour only strengthened my resolve to get a castle of my own, there's really no beating the thrill of looking out over the city with a moat rushing beneath and splendid gardens all around. Plus, it's a castle. And it made me feel like a princess.

Sadly, I forgot my camera for that bit of the trip, but afterwards we walked along the streets while Marie made another trip to the post office, Dad and I kept safely out of the way this time. After more walking around, we stopped and had some ice cream. Dad got caramel and butter, Marie got cafe, and I stuck with the good old mint chocolate chip, only they called it After Eight and it tasted more like real mint than the American stuff. Yum.

We returned just in time to help prepare for dinner, which I managed to sneak a picture of.

The first course was a salad of grapefruit and prawns with a sauce of mayonnaise and creme fraiche. I'm not a huge prawn fan, but apparently today was a fish day because the prawns were followed by some salmon, and more of the potatoes from lunch time. Then came the salad which I made under Danuta's tutelage. It had a nice vinegarette, apples, cheese, and walnuts that I made a huge mess of cracking before Dad stepped in to show me. Apparently he's quite the pro at it because his family actually cracked walnuts around the dinner table when they were in season. Cheese and bread followed, and then of course dessert which was the same chocolate cake that we had last night.

I skyped with Mom and my brothers today, and of course the cats. We had a lovely chat and as of now the youngest brother and I are at war with awkward pictures we take of each other and then post to Facebook.

Overall, we had a great day and I'm really looking forward to tomorrow! But you all must wait for that because, despite of the 5:52pm time stamp this might have, it's actually almost midnight here and we have to get up early.

Day 1: A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step

Preparations for this trip have been going on for ages, organizing places for me to stay, getting packed, getting presents for friends, and trying to decide if I was flying alone or not.

I am incredibly terrified of flying. It may not be a primal fear that made my cry as a baby like my distaste for elevators, as my mother likes to point out, but it's much more emotionally and occasionally crippling. So after much begging and pleading, we finally decided about four days before I was set to leave that my dad would fly over with me, stay for a week, and then go home. I'm not allowed to worry about what happens when I fly home, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Good thing he came with me too, because as we were going down the little shoot they send you through to give you a taste of the claustrophobia and increase the tension before actually getting on the plane, I tried to make a run for it. Did I mention earlier that the thought of flying is emotionally crippling?

Well Dad and the very kind and understanding stewardess finally got me on the plane, and after a last ditch call for reassurance from Mom, the xanax finally worked and I calmed down enough to not hyperventilate anymore and managed to keep it together for the rest of the ride. As we were disembarking, the woman of the couple who'd been sitting behind us patted my arm and assured me I'd done fine. It was very kind of her as I'd been quite embarrassed about the scene I made before the drugs kicked in to calm my anxiety. She then informed me that she and her husband would be flying all the way to Paris with us. I'm sure she had her fingers crossed that this time they would be nowhere near us.

A four hour layover in JFK, and a couple hours

of getting sick later, We were ready to board the much larger and longer flight that would take us to Paris.

Here's dad looking much happier and better than me in the airport during the layover.

Boarding this one wasn't nearly so bad because, for some reason my fear of planes is like my fear of snakes: the smaller it is, the scarier. Also, I remembered to take my xanax on time before the flight and was sufficiently chill by the time it was ready to go.

We made it to our seats and right across the aisle was the couple from the first flight. The husband and I sat across the aisle from each other and had a silent bonding over our mutual fear of flying as we gripped the arm of our seats and clutched the hand of our travel companion. I'll admit it though, once the plane got in the air, it was very pleasant. They played that movie with Russell Brand, the remake of the old British comedy Arthur, which I didn't watch.

Three hours of Merlin and four Sudokus later, they served dinner which was quite good. They showed the newest episode of 30 Rock and I fell asleep in the first ten minutes of Parks & Rec. Dad and I got lucky, we were in the middle column, but there wasn't a third person in our row so he had more leg room and I was able to lounge across the extra seat. Breakfast was a nice warm croissant with strawberry jam, orange juice, and coffee.

A bumpy but successful landing later, we were in France! We collected our baggage and took the train from Charles De Gaulle into Paris. After some freshening up, and major confusion, we found the lockers and stowed our bags. Our train to Nantes on the west coast of France didn't leave until seven that night and it was about eight in the morning. We struck out from the Montparnasse station, passed the huge black skyscraper that is, I believe, the only skyscraper actually in Paris instead of the suburbs, and found ourselves only a few blocks away from one of our favorite places in Paris.

The Jardin de Luxembourg is beautiful. I'd never seen it anytime except for the spring, so the

early signs of fall were new to me, but it is equally lovely. We walked for a while and saw the chateau in the middle of the gardens and then went to find lunch on Rue Mouffetard where we found a great little bistro/take away that had an olive oil drenched foccacia for dad, and a crepe with ham, cheese, and egg for me. They also had a fantastic chocolate gelato with actual bits of French chocolate in it.but just as lovely. We walked around, gazed at the lovely

After lunch, it was back to the gardens for us, and we both took a brief nap in the fantastically comfortable chairs by the pond. We still had a few hours until the train, but neither of us wanted to miss it so we set off for the station to claim our luggage and wait. A train ride later, we were in Nantes and our French friends Michele and his daughter Marie were waiting to take us back to the family home. Michele and his wife, Polish born Danuta, have six children, but only the youngest is home. Dinner was absolutely delicious, ham and melon, then a chicken and tomato pastry and salad, followed by the cheese, and then finally a fantastic chocolate cake garnished with strawberries.

So that was yesterday, and here we are in France!

Crazy Ideas

For the time being, let's pretend like all pasts posts don't exist and none of you have any idea who I am.

We're introduced at a party and, as usual, talk turns to plans for the future and what we do for jobs/education etc. In May, I couldn't have told you anything specific, just an awkward shoulder shrug and silence and then a desperate jump to a different topic. Well as of July, I could finally give people definite answers: I'm going to France for three months. This, shockingly, was my mother's idea, she's been a Francophile for forever and has passed on to me not only her eyes and questionable attitude about rules but her love for the French and France as well.

Now, most people have been asking me if this is a study abroad thing, something to do with school, and I've been saying no, this has nothing to with school or any other educational organizations. But since I've been here, a grand total of about fifty hours, I have a new answer for that question: Yes. It is a study abroad, a study of myself, of languages, of culture, of life. It may not have any scholastic value, unless I end up a language major which at this rate looks very likely to happen, but the value I will get from this experience is better than anything I could get at school.