The French like Mussels

Escargot, Mussels... am I becoming a seafood princess? Guess what. I like mussels. Now despite the look of them, they are delectable. Don't get me wrong, throughout most of the manging of this Alien look alike, it took a lot of muscle to swallow these mussels. Just like the escargot, you eat them in a specific way. After you finish one shell, you use it as a tool to pry out the next mussel. That probably was the most enjoyable part of the experience. The least enjoyable? No not the taste... the appearance of these sea dwelling monsters. They are dreadful looking. I had thoughts running through my head that they were only playing dead at the moment I ate them, so that they can join together in my stomach and emerge from belly button later and kill me in the process and probably whoever was with me at the time until Sigourney could come out of space and kill the little bugger.
I guess only time will tell.... I've only had one stomach ache today.

The French like Museums

Museum Post Numbero Uno: Orangerie et Monet-Marmottan. Paris has over 100 museums. Even if I went to a museum each day until the day I should leave, there would not be enough time to see them all! Which means... I've got to be selective and make time for them. Paris is, after all, a lucky spot to have enormous amounts of museums since the temperament is usually drowsy and rainy. Last week I went to Le Musée Monet-Marmottan. Today I went to Le Musée d'Orangerie. Tomorrow I am Rouen/Giverny bound. These museums compliment my trip tomorrow because Monet's work was largely produced in this area. His grand horizontal portraits of water lilies are displayed at  L'Orangerie and some of his other pieces painted of his gardens and city are held at Marmottan. Seeing the work of Monet in person feels like your mind is exhaling for the first time. His pieces are incredibly dreary and dramatic. They rob any words that are trying to muster out of your mouth. A brief history of Monet: Like most artists, Monet's paintings acted as a mirror to his feelings. During the good times at Rouen and Giverny, he painted his garden with tenderness with an array of celebratory colors. However, after the turbulence of his son's and wife's death, his paintings carried his misery through his sombre pallet of paint. Either way, the work of Monet can easily provoke its viewer like sappy romance movies. I wouldn't recommend bringing tissues or anything, but the views within the museums will make you take a seat and reflect (much like a water lilied pond?) upon the power of his work.

Pictures taken at Le Musee d'Orangerie. Photos were not permitted inside Le Musee Monet-Marmotten 

The French like Parks

Le Premier Parc: Belleville Oh la la. Each day I need to set a goal for myself to take the Metro to someplace I have not been because even though this sounds impossible to the max, i want to go everywhere in Paris. (a run on sentence is an indication that you've got to spit out whats on your mind because its probably important and too hard to sum up and convey everything you would like to say, do you know what i mean? tee hee) Yesterday, I did just that and chose to go to Belleville Parc while the shy, yet blessed sun was finally making an appearance in the sky. I must rewind a bit and say that the majority of the places I have discovered should largely be credited to my christmas gift last year, Lonely Planet's travel book. The website can tell you this, but there are beautiful photos (I recommend a travel book with photos- just text in a travel book is such a drag to read. Pictures are necessary for beaming at. They get your blood flowing and your voice might skip an octave with all the excitement) of popular destinations, a map, details (with some humor sprinkled throughout the summaries of each attraction), and they are cheaper in America than in Paris. Belleville Parc has always sparked an interest of mine after I saw the movie Triplets at Belleville. The attraction of this park is that it is located 200m above sea level. For those of you who, like me, can't put dimensions into perspective, that's high enough to see the Eiffel Tower, the Pompidou, Notre Dame, chinatown, among many other areas. The park attracts a lot of french munchkins:  adorable babies, toddlers, and kids who probably should be in school. There are flowers, blooming trees, green grass, fresh air.
Positives: it's not touristy or over crowded. Parks like Jardin du Luxembourg and Jardin du Tuileries outshine the many charming and lesser known ones, like Belleville. The view. Public bathrooms. Free wi-fi. Negatives: think again. well after thinking, you may need to bring a bottle of water. the climb to the top is tres difficle, but you know it's worth it.

And enjoy the view ^^^

The French like SPRING

(I considered expressing my joyous self in "SpRiNg" script, but I cringe every time I see that lowercase-uppercase mumbo jumbo as a facebook album title so I've decided against it)
I love the obvious awareness of Spring. I swear Spring in Paris just "happened in the last five minutes" as my friend Zoe put it. Somehow there's leaves on the trees-and they're green too. People aren't wearing heavy jackets and scarves that only expose the eyes of the face. Dogs and children are slobbering and running all over the place. The sounds of luggage on wheels, the slurps of the tongue making contact with Berthillion chocolate/caramel ice cream (wait, that's me I'm hearing), the smells of freshness. I swear I've seen an upwards of 100 gorgeous french men today, which is high compared to my usual 40.... what's wonderful about Spring is that you know when it arrives. I can feel a new vibe here in Paris- things are different. This next chapter of France has tapped me on the shoulder and is ready to have me begin- and I am so ready to. Which, I guess this flood of sunshine means I might have to up my shaving routine from once a month to four times (spare yourself from the math for the number of encounters i've had with my razor since i've arrived). Unless I want to truly be "French" and go wooly mammoth. (Note: springtime means bare legs means seeing if the "hairy French" myth is true. potential blog post to follow)
Anyways, the French like Spring because who doesn't?

outside my window-which is open for marveling at the weather- there is green on those trees! hurray!

The French like Market Carts

Because "faire les courses" is important. Every day of the week, different parts of Paris have a market going on, or marché, on one street. They start sometime before I wake up and end around 2 in the afternoon. It's sort of like the Farmer's Market in Madison every day. Only here, French goods are on display for the hungry eyes. A smart little helper that many French use to their advantage are the little carts they wheel around while walking down the aisles of the markets. They resemble something I had when I was eight- an American Girl doll stroller-only caged. Luckily for the dolls, only things like fresh vegetables, out of the oven breads, cheese, crisp fruits, and homemade clothing occupy the shopping stroller. Unfortunately, my host mom doesn't have one. She goes to the markets that are right on our street and doesn't buy too much as far as I know to need one. They were once very popular, and I can assume the backup on the sidewalks that would have caused. Nowadays, I haven't seen a single store that sells them and only one out of every 6 people have one when I go to the markets in the late morning. I kind of want a wheeled market cart for an excuse to fill it up each week. Mmm I'm just imagining all the foods and smells of the markets... okay it's time to put on my shoes and grab a few euros....

The French like Ben Ricour

his music is catchy. and it makes you want to pack your valise and go dance with him on glaciers (Music Post Trois). This musician is pretty well known throughout Paris. Ben Ricour is making an appearance on May 10th in Paris to preform songs from his third album. His sings with a soft, french voice that emphasizes all the reasons why everyone needs to speak french. It would be like listening to incomprehensible poems all day. And the french word is like a massage for your mouth. Say it with me: "j'ai choisi la jupe orange". I wish that was a lyric for this next song, although I don't know how it would fit in...

here's a link for more of his fab songs

What I Like

Birdman

• This man and his weird obsession with pigeon diets. ^^^
• La Chine Massena- a white girls dream while traveling through Paris' Chinatown.
• Oysho- I think I just found my goldmine.
• Celebrating a twenty-first birthday inside a Parisian apartment and rubbing shoulders with Germans, Italians, Frenchmen, and of course Americans. 
• This lady

The French like Peculiar Bathrooms

and they prefer to share their toilets with the opposite sex. Bathrooms here are never consistent. Sometimes it's male/female, sometimes its male or female, sometimes the sink isn't in the same room as the toilet, and sometimes not even the toilet paper is in the same stall as you (NOTE: remember to grab the TP before you enter the stall and pull down your pants).
     During my first time at a pub, like any girl after one drink, I had to use the bathroom. I never really trust public restrooms, especially ones at clubs or bars or pubs, so I waited for my friends to go before I did to give me the diagnosis of the state of the bathroom. Is that weird? probably. So when two came back from the WC, they sat down and looked a bit perplexed. When they said the bathroom was shared, I didn't have to go that badly anymore. ha. Well by the end of the night, I needed to. Sure enough, in this dark, scuzzy room were two stalls and a urinal. Luckily, no dude had to go number 1 while i was in line. But really? I mean what if a guy meets a girl at a pub. and then he goes to the bathroom at some point in the night and she walks in to use the toilet, or mirror? Doesn't that kind of ruin a couple of things for them?
Other instances of this odd setup have been at rest stops. Our group had to use the same bathroom as our male teacher, male guide, and male bus driver. I mean, maybe I am being a little immature, but I am wrong to think that two separate bathrooms is the way to go? The weirdest instance I had with the bathroom was when I was at the Pompidou and I when I entered the - thank god, women's- bathroom, the girl in front of me grabbed some tissue against the wall before she stepped into her stall. So I, monkey see monkey do, grabbed some tissue as well and went in. Thank god for her, because there wasn't a spot on the wall for some TP to dish out.
And at our homestay apartments? Well, luckily for me, my toilet is in the same room as the sink. No dirty handle to worry about. However, lots of apartments I've been in have the sink in the shower room, separate from the toilet room. I wonder why they do this...

See anything missing? 

The French like Pretending they're Emily Post.

And by they I mean the Crêpe chefs. This past weekend, I had two strange experiences with my crêpe men. Pretty much thursday through saturday and bits of days during the week, I order a crêpe to mange on. They have two categories-savory or sweet and dozens of flavors and toppings. The least expensive-Sucre (sugar) is typically priced at 2 euro-lucky for me that's usually my go-to, to more expensive at 4 euro-Nutella et Banane. Well, typically I go up to the counter for "à emporter" (to go) and make my order-in polite and carefully constructed French. "Bon soir, je voudrais une sucre beurre s'il vous plai--" "no no no......." they begin to chime in (but really interrupt). I'm starting to show a pattern of needing assistance when I order something as easy as a crêpe. They tell me how I should order (which, I suppose is helpful and considerate, but its just the way they go about it) and I need to repeat after them like I walked up to this stand because I wanted to wait even further for my delicious crêpe.

This guy was really nice. This photo shows the outdoor carry-out creperie look. C'est facile pour tout le monde. 

Emily Post: "Je voudrais..."
Me: "Je voudrais"
E.P. "Je voudrais une crêpe sucre beurre"
Me "Jevoudraisunecrêpesucrebeurre"
E.P. "S'il vous plaît"
Me "S'ilvousplaît"

and then my friend Kendra always whispers in my ear "didn't you say that though?"
and I'm always wondering why they have to tell me to say thank you to them again when I did the first time. Wouldn't my first "thank-you" carry over? And then Kendra says "I heard you say thank-you!" I feel like at these moments I always puff up their feathers or something and then they probably add less sucre to my crêpe. C'est dommage. Ha. I guess it's all about enunciating your words and shoving pleases down their throats. After all, Emily Post eats manners for dinner. She wasn't French though was she? Maybe I'm the offended and sensitive one. It's probably because I didn't like the impromptu manner lesson I was given because after it happened twice, I felt a little embarrassed. It's like telling an artist how to mix her paint.

Anyways through this rant I'll end with saying to savor your english speaking country. You know how to talk amongst one another without feeling foolish. But I think foolishness will always be on the itinerary for Study Abroad experiences, yes?

Just adding this photo because he's making
 the best caramel crepe in the city.

What I Like

Weekly Recap

• The Loire Valley and its beautiful landscape of cobblestones, steep roofs, green pastures, funky puff and whomping willow trees, and fairy tale chateaux
• Angelina's- Ghirardelli got nothing on ya, Angie. Finest hot chocolate... in the universe. 
• Seeing old friends
• Recreating a photo I took in the Louvre from when I was eight. 
• Get my "hair did" in France and leaving with a successful cut all conducted in French. #winning. 
• Eating at the original French Cosi sandwich joint. At least we like to pretend it's the Grandfather Cosi.
• Going to the Moulin Rouge on a Saturday night-but just for sneak peaks. 
• Catching some rays at Le Jardin de Luxembourg. 
• Bagels and Brownies- my little French Gotham Bagels joint. All of their bagels are named after American cities. Boston is my favorite for two reasons. It's Boston and it has turkey. heaven sent. 

The French like Scooters

and they are as common as Wisconsin squirrels. So the little kiddies here love to wheel on their scooters. It's hard to miss them in Paris, because these fast paced frenchies are up and down the sidewalk, they're in the metro, they are chained to nearly every fence within a school zone, they're zooming right next to you to catch your breath and mutter to yourself "where did he just come from". At the college and lycée I teach at (middle and high school), parked scooters dominate the fence. At first I wondered why this trend is so popular. I've noticed cheap rental bikes at nearly every neighborhood I go through, so what's with the 90s fad? I got to thinking and I wonder if it is because these children have never had the opportunity to learn how to ride a bicycle. Being in a city, many apartments don't have driveways. And even if they had, I'm sure it's not a safe place to have your six year old learning how to ride. Luckily enough for me, I had a circular driveway to practice and sizeable circular neighborhood for me to master the tricycle during that period of blood, band-aids, and smiles. It's kind of sad for me to think that it might be difficult for kids to learn how to ride a bike. And if they did know how to ride, should they be riding around in the city? Probably not. Madison alone makes my 21 year old self nervous as a timid turtle. My own brother got hit by a car in madison and I actually saw a brave and seemingly unhurt dude get hit by a car on University-but he just picked up his somewhat damaged bike that was laying on the cement, threw it over his shoulder, and walked away. So scooters seem like a safer option because for the most part-they're sidewalk friendly. for the most part.
okay, back to the scooter scouts. Like I said, biking is more popular among the adults- and maybe tourists (however, in order to rent the bikes, you need a French/European credit card). So I have a better chance at swiping a scooter from some child than riding a bike. Makes me sad again-although I really don't get sad anymore- because I want the wind to blow in my hair and this song humming in my head.

The French like Aicha

oh my GOSH i love Aicha (french music post number two). This song was first introduced to me in my high school French class. My fantastic French teacher would show us music videos, play movies, download youtube videos, etc etc-to expose us to a lot of French popular culture. Then in Madison this past semester, my 228 teacher played the Aicha music video for our class. And now, officially in Paris, the song was preformed by three Frenchies and a guitar in the metro. Now I don't actually know if the majority of French people like this song, or have really listen/heard of it. Regardless of who actually listens to this song and watches this corny video, it takes me back to a simpler time of French vocabulary cards, crepes in class, and watching The Grinch in English with French subtitles. oh c'est la vie. c'est aicha.

The French like Playing Dress Up

for things like Dior Fashion Show or simply for la rue. Stalking models, bloggers, writers, fame hungry monsters (me), and other fashion cravers. 

What I Like

(original idea is from everyone's favorite design website)

Weekly Recap of French things that I like:

• Breakfast in America-when not drinking milk for over two weeks is not okay.
• Drinking cheap wine in the Metro
• Frog Fight- Monthly Latte Art Competition held in Paris for baristas who know how to pour steamed milk. genius. 
• Holy Crêpes - this place is only opened through reservations. Fly to France and make one. Because I have four words for you: Salted butter caramel crêpes.
• fonDO- Do eat here and be your own chef. Dont use the same fork to cook your raw meet with the one you eat. bad. 
• Fan Bingbing- saw this famous pop singer/model during Paris Fashion Week. NBD. 
• My favorite ice cream shop that my dad will sure enjoy-and it shares the same island as Johnny Depp's apartment. So, it's probably his fav too. 
• Having my sheets changed for me every two weeks.
• Paris Fashion Week. Because being on the war front with the paparazzi felt like I was behind the scenes of Teen Vogue. Or WWII. 
• Video chatting my roommates on a saturday night. 

The French like Pickpocketers

and they especially like me. Obviously the domain for pickpocketers lies in large cities. It's their playground. They turn swiping a wallet from a victim's backpocket into a magic trick. Well, I fell prey to three hawks who tried to take advantage of this poor American girl. Yesterday in the metro, I was walking from class with two of my friends during a pretty busy time for metro traveling. While making a connection, I was in the midst of a swarm of people. I had my backpack on that I bought at LL Bean which has buckles and zippers galore. I'm going to say shamelessly that I get a lot of compliments on it. My dad even supported my decision to buy it and wear it in a place as chic as Pahreee. Well, back to the dark side of the story: while I was walking, I felt a little bit of a tug. I turned around to see if I had hit something or someone, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then I felt another slight tug behind me. This tug however raised some flags because it felt more like the times in high school between classes when your friends would grab your backpack to whip you back as a joke. Only less aggressive. So I turned around really alarmed- as someone who knows (second hand) about filthy, criminal pickpocketers would, and saw a guy staring at me point blank. We had come to a fork in the metro passage, and while my friends were deciding which route we needed, the dude totally looked guilty, yet not quite defeated. I could feel some serious rage happening. We chose path B, and sure enough, he did too. Well, when we got to the waiting zone for the metro, I could see him out of the corner of my eye. Periphs are how I do. Howeverrrrr, I felt another tug.. okay, so this lowlife has some friends. I widen my peripheral zone and saw a girl behind me with her hand a little too close for comfort by my backpack! I quickly take off my pack and see that the zipper is half opened and my plastic bag with my blessed croissant is peeping out. Luckily, I caught them in time. I gave them a dirty look, said some mother-disapproved things under my breath, and walked away, pulling my friends along with me who saw none of this go down. The girl with the curious hands had acted like a common traveler with her boyfriend (criminal partner #3) and they were looking at the metro map while she in turn used her periphs to try and do some unlawful acts.
     I'm so thankful that I wasn't taken advantage of and had caught them in the act. I wish I would have scared them into never doing this hobby of theirs again-because if I, Miss Oblivious, caught them-they should look into pulling bunnies out of hats or something. Or at least pick up the sax and earn some money on the met. Inside the metro, my hands were shaking. They hadn't gotten on as far as could tell, but I felt really angry for their failed attempt. Thieves are terrible people and I wish some nasty things upon them. I think I like beggars with misspelled signs more than you scoundrels.
      However, I had heard backpacks were targeted in places like the metro. They hang off your back where you can't see them, one zip opened, and boom, you can easily be taken a ride for. Two people in my study abroad group from Madison have already had their wallets taken. One girl had her wallet in her mesh pocket (okay I'm not saying that what happened is in any case a surprise) of her backpack and it was stolen within two blocks. Another guy was held at knife point in four in the morning for his wallet. So yeeaaahhh... pickpocketers here are as prevalent as subways in Madison. Just a few suggestions I have learned from this small incident: Be cautious and hide everything from view. Tuck zippers into the pocket or hide them if you are able to. Leave at home your debit card, passport, anything you would have to call home and cancel. If you're going to wear a backpack, wear a black Eastpak backpack (they're popular in France because they are simple and small) and wear it on one shoulder to have an easy hold of when people step into your bubble. Being a victim or knowing a victim of a pickpocketer is as common as knowing a left handed person. Just watch yourself. Because people are watching you..

My Backpack! Although, not in that color thankfully. 

The French like The Kooples

fashion post number two. This gem can be found all around Paris and the rest of France. I've never heard of it back home, but I can definitely envision draping my body with these très cher garments. They are edgy, yet pretty. Simple, and yet distinguishing. And all the models have that angsty glare to them we all can recognize. And, if you visit their store (although, you'll have to fly to Europe.. sorry for the teasing) you get a huge, free newspaper thingy that displays all their clothing and bios of The Kooples. Which I think is the french accent way of saying couples. Regardless of how you want to say it, the look is pretty universal for classy gents and femmes, but apparently teenagers as well? I noticed a girl I was helping teach English for was wearing a Kooples jacket. She was fourteen. Fourteen and wearing designer clothes? Honestly, once you come to Paris and see the amount of drizzled up children in riches, you won't be surprised either. Later blog post to follow on the French love affair with dressing their children up to the nines. Oh and who are the Kooples? Haven't figured that one out either. I assume they are just some hot french couples lollygagging along the Seine. 

The Kooples