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.

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.