Paris
Showing posts with label Paris. Show all posts
Reason #388,204 to go shopping
This is why skinny jeans and boots are so popular in Paris. Even an umbrella can't save the bottoms of my wide-legged jeans from the incessant puddles in the uneven streets of this city on a drizzly day. I guess I need to invest in a new pair (or two) of skinny jeans. Thank you, Paris for yet another excuse to go shopping in your tantalizing, eye-popping, over-abundant magasins.
First Interview
So, I've been sending my CV off for various job postings that I've found mostly on the lifesaving Fusac website and magazine. I'd say that I've applied to about five different places, and I've received three calls back, which isn't as bad as I expected. Despite the fact that the information about my basic French skills is clearly stated in English on my CV, the first two people who called me only spoke French and told me that I would need to have a good grasp of French for the job. I've been really upfront about my skills (or what I perceived as being upfront), but apparently that's of no consequence to some folks. Thankfully, I've been getting great advice from seasoned transplants who've gone through the ropes of job-searching and interviewing with French companies, and it's really been invaluable. Now, I know a little more about what's expected of me, what "basic French" means to prospective employers and how to handle myself a bit more on the phone. (Thanks Sam and Emily!)
There aren't many jobs around here that don't involve at least a good grasp of French, so my choices have been pretty limited. Even if a job posting says that the work will be done completely in English, it usually involves working with other francophones and having the ability to casually converse with others (which is the type of job I'm hoping to land). So, I was a little relieved and surprised when I received a call back from someone speaking perfect American English, requesting a phone interview with me. When I called back, I realized that the American voice was just a proxy to the real interviewer and I had the daunting task of speaking French for the first half of the phone interview. After a rough start, I was finally and thankfully asked to switch to English to be better understood (yikes!). Despite my acknowledged basic French skills, my prospective employer seemed to like me and asked me to come in to see her for a face-to-face interview.
My interview was scheduled for this afternoon, and knowing that I'd be interviewing in the 1ère arrondissement I was a little intimidated. Even though I spend my days in and around Paris, buying baguettes and drinking wine, I'm no vraie Parisenne and am always very conscious about my position as an outsider. The 1ère is the physical epicenter of Paris, the heart, the point from which the entire city radiates from. And, it's home to the Louvre, Palais Royal, the Ritz and Les Halles. It may not be the most popular or populated district in Paris, but to me it's where Paris begins. I had no idea what to expect, how to prepare and I was especially distraught with how to dress.
After raiding my shabby closet, I finally threw together a modest ensemble, slipped on a pair of the second-tallest heels I own, grabbed my passport and hit the cobblestone. I quickly realized why my heels had been tucked in a shoe box at the back of the closet since I brought them here in April. And now I know that only vraie Parisian women should wear heels higher than two inches when walking around the city.
I made it to my rendezvous with time to spare, but was quickly let into a first floor converted office. The woman who was to conduct the interview was apparently busier than she'd expected to be and kept me waiting a long time before seeing me. When we finally got to talking, I felt a little more comfortable about the job description and understood the basic daily operations of the business. Then, just when I thought the interview had come to an end, she asks me to do some on-the-spot writing samples for her. Writing? Ok, cool. I can do this - I write all the time, and I've written countless business letters on a multitude of topics, so I've got this. But, oh no. She wants me to write a mock business letter and then translate it into French. Even after I laughed, asked if she was serious and gave her a you-obviously-don't-understand-what-not-knowing-French-means look, she said she wanted to see a French translation. Fine. But, knowing that translating practically word for word is a big no-no, I did it anyway (seriously, I had no other option) and had my told-you-so face ready when she finished reading the first sentence, responing with pas de tout and what I swear was the phrase c'est nul under her breath.
But, apparently that wasn't enough to persuade her to end the interview because she then asked me for one more writing piece. This time, she wanted me to write her a letter, to tell her why I should be hired and what I can bring to the position (in English, thank goodness). In an attempt to redeem myself, I wrote a pretty decent cover-letter-type letter to her, which she read right in front of me. (Awkward.) I was worried that maybe I didn't mention enough specifics or provide enough information, but then she responded by saying that she was rather impressed that I was able to compose such a letter in a few moments. And then I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a little redemption. 'Guess those standardized writing tests in high school really paid off.
Two hours and three letters later, I walked out of the office still not knowing if I'd be offered the job, but feeling rather satisfied with my first French interview. I'm not putting much pressure on myself to find a job quickly, and I still have a few options, like continuing language classes full-time and doing volunteer work until I have the skill set I need to work in a French environment. But, I'm taking every opportunity seriously even if as nothing more than a learning experience. It feels really strange to have nearly 10 years of working experience yet feel like an entry-level candidate. There's a big part of me that's dying to get back to work and willing to take whatever I can get. But, I've still got a little pride to knock out of the way before I can feel comfortable starting at the bottom again. Right now, it seems my options are to take what I can get now and hope to advance my French skills while on the job, or dedicate my time to mastering the language until I'm comfortable to apply for a more agreeable bilingual job (which could take at least 6 months of full-time studies). I'm hoping the answer comes to me soon, but in the mean time I'll be preparing for more writing exams and 2-hour interviews.
There aren't many jobs around here that don't involve at least a good grasp of French, so my choices have been pretty limited. Even if a job posting says that the work will be done completely in English, it usually involves working with other francophones and having the ability to casually converse with others (which is the type of job I'm hoping to land). So, I was a little relieved and surprised when I received a call back from someone speaking perfect American English, requesting a phone interview with me. When I called back, I realized that the American voice was just a proxy to the real interviewer and I had the daunting task of speaking French for the first half of the phone interview. After a rough start, I was finally and thankfully asked to switch to English to be better understood (yikes!). Despite my acknowledged basic French skills, my prospective employer seemed to like me and asked me to come in to see her for a face-to-face interview.
My interview was scheduled for this afternoon, and knowing that I'd be interviewing in the 1ère arrondissement I was a little intimidated. Even though I spend my days in and around Paris, buying baguettes and drinking wine, I'm no vraie Parisenne and am always very conscious about my position as an outsider. The 1ère is the physical epicenter of Paris, the heart, the point from which the entire city radiates from. And, it's home to the Louvre, Palais Royal, the Ritz and Les Halles. It may not be the most popular or populated district in Paris, but to me it's where Paris begins. I had no idea what to expect, how to prepare and I was especially distraught with how to dress.
After raiding my shabby closet, I finally threw together a modest ensemble, slipped on a pair of the second-tallest heels I own, grabbed my passport and hit the cobblestone. I quickly realized why my heels had been tucked in a shoe box at the back of the closet since I brought them here in April. And now I know that only vraie Parisian women should wear heels higher than two inches when walking around the city.
I made it to my rendezvous with time to spare, but was quickly let into a first floor converted office. The woman who was to conduct the interview was apparently busier than she'd expected to be and kept me waiting a long time before seeing me. When we finally got to talking, I felt a little more comfortable about the job description and understood the basic daily operations of the business. Then, just when I thought the interview had come to an end, she asks me to do some on-the-spot writing samples for her. Writing? Ok, cool. I can do this - I write all the time, and I've written countless business letters on a multitude of topics, so I've got this. But, oh no. She wants me to write a mock business letter and then translate it into French. Even after I laughed, asked if she was serious and gave her a you-obviously-don't-understand-what-not-knowing-French-means look, she said she wanted to see a French translation. Fine. But, knowing that translating practically word for word is a big no-no, I did it anyway (seriously, I had no other option) and had my told-you-so face ready when she finished reading the first sentence, responing with pas de tout and what I swear was the phrase c'est nul under her breath.
But, apparently that wasn't enough to persuade her to end the interview because she then asked me for one more writing piece. This time, she wanted me to write her a letter, to tell her why I should be hired and what I can bring to the position (in English, thank goodness). In an attempt to redeem myself, I wrote a pretty decent cover-letter-type letter to her, which she read right in front of me. (Awkward.) I was worried that maybe I didn't mention enough specifics or provide enough information, but then she responded by saying that she was rather impressed that I was able to compose such a letter in a few moments. And then I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a little redemption. 'Guess those standardized writing tests in high school really paid off.
Two hours and three letters later, I walked out of the office still not knowing if I'd be offered the job, but feeling rather satisfied with my first French interview. I'm not putting much pressure on myself to find a job quickly, and I still have a few options, like continuing language classes full-time and doing volunteer work until I have the skill set I need to work in a French environment. But, I'm taking every opportunity seriously even if as nothing more than a learning experience. It feels really strange to have nearly 10 years of working experience yet feel like an entry-level candidate. There's a big part of me that's dying to get back to work and willing to take whatever I can get. But, I've still got a little pride to knock out of the way before I can feel comfortable starting at the bottom again. Right now, it seems my options are to take what I can get now and hope to advance my French skills while on the job, or dedicate my time to mastering the language until I'm comfortable to apply for a more agreeable bilingual job (which could take at least 6 months of full-time studies). I'm hoping the answer comes to me soon, but in the mean time I'll be preparing for more writing exams and 2-hour interviews.
Changing seasons
The days in Paris are changing. Darkness comes sooner and the sun less often these days, and everything from my eating and cooking habits to my wardrobe is slowly changing in preparation for the cooler Autumn weather. This has been my first summer in Paris, and although I've heard it hasn't been a particularly usual one, I found even the few days of heat were enough to make this Texas girl welcome these current changes with open arms.
It's really strange not to have a set schedule or routine everyday, but I somehow feel like I have things to do that fill up my day. Really, besides grocery shopping, cleaning and cooking (omg, I've really become a desperate housewife - someone save me!) my days are pretty much up to me to spend as I choose. Last week, I applied to a handful of jobs for English-speaking positions, but it's just a start. I also sent off an application for volunteer work, but shouldn't expect to hear anything until mid-September. It's still not the best time to be on the hunt for a job in Paris; people are just now returning to work from vacances as Summer comes to an end.
Thanks to my blog, I've been really glad to have made a few friends that have a little time on their hands, too. It's so great to know and talk to people who've gone through and are still going through all the same things I'm going through. Plus, it's always more fun to bounce around Paris on a rainy day indulging in Mexican food, free ice cream and witnessing the occasional apartment fire with others.
Chicken burrito at El Sol y La Luna (too bad it wasn't related to the restaurant on S. Congress of the same name...migas, por favor)It's really strange not to have a set schedule or routine everyday, but I somehow feel like I have things to do that fill up my day. Really, besides grocery shopping, cleaning and cooking (omg, I've really become a desperate housewife - someone save me!) my days are pretty much up to me to spend as I choose. Last week, I applied to a handful of jobs for English-speaking positions, but it's just a start. I also sent off an application for volunteer work, but shouldn't expect to hear anything until mid-September. It's still not the best time to be on the hunt for a job in Paris; people are just now returning to work from vacances as Summer comes to an end.
Thanks to my blog, I've been really glad to have made a few friends that have a little time on their hands, too. It's so great to know and talk to people who've gone through and are still going through all the same things I'm going through. Plus, it's always more fun to bounce around Paris on a rainy day indulging in Mexican food, free ice cream and witnessing the occasional apartment fire with others.
Emily seems to be enjoying the spectacle, but rest assured she's really just in awe at seeing her first apartment fire in Paris. We were all kinda weirded out.
Gelato in the rain with Sam & Emily. Thanks to Monsieur Lebovitz, we scored free gelato at this new gelateria.
The nougat flavor (I think called toroncino or something) was TO DIE FOR.
I'm really looking forward to what changes Fall and Winter will bring me. I'm excited about working here for the first time, meeting more great people and seeing some familiar faces in my neck of the woods. A dear friend of mine who I'd lost touch with over the years is planning to make her way over in the new year and I'm hoping by then my life will be sorted out a bit more, or at least aiming in some sort of direction. I know I've got to be patient and determined during my job search, so I've been taking it seriously without putting too much pressure on myself. I am, however, considering taking the advice of others who've been in my shoes and am keeping myself open to the idea of teaching English either as an assistant, private tutor or babysitter. There really are more opportunities for that type of work with my native-English skills, and working a part-time schedule will allow me to continue French classes, even give me time to volunteer. But as eager as I am to work, for now I'm not complaining about my free time that I know I'll miss when the reality of a true work day finally slaps me in the face.
I'm really looking forward to what changes Fall and Winter will bring me. I'm excited about working here for the first time, meeting more great people and seeing some familiar faces in my neck of the woods. A dear friend of mine who I'd lost touch with over the years is planning to make her way over in the new year and I'm hoping by then my life will be sorted out a bit more, or at least aiming in some sort of direction. I know I've got to be patient and determined during my job search, so I've been taking it seriously without putting too much pressure on myself. I am, however, considering taking the advice of others who've been in my shoes and am keeping myself open to the idea of teaching English either as an assistant, private tutor or babysitter. There really are more opportunities for that type of work with my native-English skills, and working a part-time schedule will allow me to continue French classes, even give me time to volunteer. But as eager as I am to work, for now I'm not complaining about my free time that I know I'll miss when the reality of a true work day finally slaps me in the face.
Paying the price
There are almost an infinite number of places to eat in Paris. It's definitely my kind of city. I love trying new restaurants, new cuisines, new dishes, and even the same oldies but goodies (funny how that phrase now reminds me of the SATC movie I finally got to see this past week). But, sometimes, I get a craving for something that I can't find here. I know all transplants like me are familiar with the longing for peanut butter and Hershey Kisses and a chili-dog - sometimes it's the only thing that can satisfy a nostalgic pang, even if it's something we'd never regularly crave back in the States.
For me, when I'm missing home, like I was today, I crave Tex-Mex. In my book, there is absolutely nothing better than a "Combo plate" with rice and beans. It really is a cuisine I've never grown tired of. Unfortunately, it's not common fare here, and when I do stumble upon a self-proclaimed Tex-Mex joint, I usually find it to be serving more interior Mexican or Baja-Californian food than what I grew up calling Tex-Mex. Still, after paying 20 euros for a couple of tacos and a margarita, it usually does the trick and my craving is cured for the moment.
Thinking that I'd be able to reproduce my own nostalgic meals for a fraction of the price eating out, Gui and I stopped in at one of the local American shops in town a couple of weekends ago to scope out the place. Sure enough, they had what I was hoping to find (even if it wasn't in a familiar brand)! Presuming I'd found the answer to my occasional craving, I enthusiastically scooped up a can of refried beans, checked out the price and let out a sigh of disbelief. Nearly 4-euros for a freakin' can of beans - processed and all?! Knowing that I'd probably not find a bag of pinto beans anytime soon to do my own, I kept the can, carefully chose a few other over-priced items that I knew I wouldn't regret taking for later cravings, and we left the store before the 5-euro box of Jiffy mix or the 8-euro bottle of no-name pancake syrup could entice me any further.
Since then, I've decided I'll treat myself to an overpriced can of beans only for dire situations in the future, but it made me happy today that I was able to somewhat satisfy my obnoxious appetite for nachos. I still can't find decent tortilla chips here, so I opted to make a semi-7-layer dip using the beans, the jalapenos (from that same trip), some mimolette cheese (which tasted so much better than the weird "cheddar" they were selling at Monoprix), crème frâiche and fresh tomatoes and avocados. Gui couldn't get enough of the dip (that's my true Texa-frenchie) and I'd say that the 4-euros were well-spent. I haven't tried the "Original Texas beans" that I also bought at Thanksgiving, but I'm saving them for my next craving - maybe when it's for barbecue.
On a side-note, Gui and I are off to La Rochelle Thursday morning for a wedding. It's going to be a long drive, but I'm looking forward to this mini-vacation which I'm sure will include tons of eating (we're told there will be regional fare served, which means seafood - yeah, my fave!), and lots of trying to speak French. Luckily for me, there will also be beaucoup of champagne flowing.
For me, when I'm missing home, like I was today, I crave Tex-Mex. In my book, there is absolutely nothing better than a "Combo plate" with rice and beans. It really is a cuisine I've never grown tired of. Unfortunately, it's not common fare here, and when I do stumble upon a self-proclaimed Tex-Mex joint, I usually find it to be serving more interior Mexican or Baja-Californian food than what I grew up calling Tex-Mex. Still, after paying 20 euros for a couple of tacos and a margarita, it usually does the trick and my craving is cured for the moment.
Thinking that I'd be able to reproduce my own nostalgic meals for a fraction of the price eating out, Gui and I stopped in at one of the local American shops in town a couple of weekends ago to scope out the place. Sure enough, they had what I was hoping to find (even if it wasn't in a familiar brand)! Presuming I'd found the answer to my occasional craving, I enthusiastically scooped up a can of refried beans, checked out the price and let out a sigh of disbelief. Nearly 4-euros for a freakin' can of beans - processed and all?! Knowing that I'd probably not find a bag of pinto beans anytime soon to do my own, I kept the can, carefully chose a few other over-priced items that I knew I wouldn't regret taking for later cravings, and we left the store before the 5-euro box of Jiffy mix or the 8-euro bottle of no-name pancake syrup could entice me any further.
Since then, I've decided I'll treat myself to an overpriced can of beans only for dire situations in the future, but it made me happy today that I was able to somewhat satisfy my obnoxious appetite for nachos. I still can't find decent tortilla chips here, so I opted to make a semi-7-layer dip using the beans, the jalapenos (from that same trip), some mimolette cheese (which tasted so much better than the weird "cheddar" they were selling at Monoprix), crème frâiche and fresh tomatoes and avocados. Gui couldn't get enough of the dip (that's my true Texa-frenchie) and I'd say that the 4-euros were well-spent. I haven't tried the "Original Texas beans" that I also bought at Thanksgiving, but I'm saving them for my next craving - maybe when it's for barbecue.
On a side-note, Gui and I are off to La Rochelle Thursday morning for a wedding. It's going to be a long drive, but I'm looking forward to this mini-vacation which I'm sure will include tons of eating (we're told there will be regional fare served, which means seafood - yeah, my fave!), and lots of trying to speak French. Luckily for me, there will also be beaucoup of champagne flowing.
Unsuspecting friendly faces
I've been going to the same couple of grocery stores since we moved into our apartment. There are two of the same chain stores within a two minute walk from our place - one that's open every single day until 8pm - and another much larger store about a 10 minutes walk away. So, when I need something in a hurry or something I forgot to grab at the marché, I hop in the elevator and make my way down the street to the neighborhood grocer. Before I discovered the wonders of marché shopping, I was going to the grocery store nearly everyday, sometimes more than once a day. Actually, my abilities to grocery shop could be added to my CV under Hobbies and Interests if they were considered on par with, say, wind surfing. (And why shouldn't they be?)
Shopping at the same small retailers over and over again, one will begin to run into the same people over time. There are usually only one or two cashiers at any given time (even though there are four checkout lanes at one store), and I've only seen about four different cashiers during my separate trips. What I've come to expect from my cashier is simple: a monotonous bonjour, a rare glance in my direction, and an occasional complaint about another customer from some of the more social cashiers. The odd socializer tends to be in a noticeably happier mood than the others, and offers a genuine smile from time to time. I appreciate that, but I don't usually change my routine when checking out, regardless of the cashier - I say bonjour, try to make eye contact, shine a closed-mouth smile and bid farewell with a merci, bonne journée, au revoir!
It's odd because I feel like I know these people, like we're almost acquaintances, but not quite friendly. Once, while walking through the metro station at Pont de Sèvres, I saw one of my regular cashiers walk past me. We glanced at each other and I think we both realized we knew the other and from where, but weren't quite sure what to do, so we simultaneously flashed a "hey, I think I know you" smile and went on our merry ways. Today, I had to pick up a few things I needed for dinner, including a bottle of cassis which is always "locked" behind a glass case. I rarely buy things behind the glass case (although I'm thinking of changing my habits after I noticed a pretty bottle of tawny porto at a crazy good price), so I forgot that there's a little bell you have to ring to get some assistance. I went up to a cashier who regularly checks me out. She's not a socializer; she doesn't even give me a glance most times, and whenever I realize I don't have enough cash to pay with she grunts and huffs when I ask if I can pay by card. So, I asked her if I could get some assistance with the bottles in the case, and she reminded me to ring the bell first. That was the most I'd ever spoken to her. I went through her line when I was ready to check out and as other American transplants will know, you bag your own groceries here and sometimes the guy in front of you is really, really slow with bagging his stuff, but the clerks just go ahead and ring up your items which get mixed up with his and then you have to wait until the guy's done to start bagging your stuff, and the cycle continues. Well, I was waiting, my cashier was blankly staring at her screen, while the guy in front of me bagged his shiz, and as I was leaning to check the total I owed, she busted out with a loud "FIVE SEVENTY-TWO" - in English. At first, I didn't realize she was trying to make a joke, so I just kind of smirked and dug for my change. Then, I told her in French that I must have a really strong accent, and that's when the tides turned and she started doing what she's never done before - being friendly. We chatted about my accent while finishing up the transaction, and for the first time, I walked away from that grocery store with a smile. It's amazing what a little friendliness can do for your day - and I'm hoping it continues.
Shopping at the same small retailers over and over again, one will begin to run into the same people over time. There are usually only one or two cashiers at any given time (even though there are four checkout lanes at one store), and I've only seen about four different cashiers during my separate trips. What I've come to expect from my cashier is simple: a monotonous bonjour, a rare glance in my direction, and an occasional complaint about another customer from some of the more social cashiers. The odd socializer tends to be in a noticeably happier mood than the others, and offers a genuine smile from time to time. I appreciate that, but I don't usually change my routine when checking out, regardless of the cashier - I say bonjour, try to make eye contact, shine a closed-mouth smile and bid farewell with a merci, bonne journée, au revoir!
It's odd because I feel like I know these people, like we're almost acquaintances, but not quite friendly. Once, while walking through the metro station at Pont de Sèvres, I saw one of my regular cashiers walk past me. We glanced at each other and I think we both realized we knew the other and from where, but weren't quite sure what to do, so we simultaneously flashed a "hey, I think I know you" smile and went on our merry ways. Today, I had to pick up a few things I needed for dinner, including a bottle of cassis which is always "locked" behind a glass case. I rarely buy things behind the glass case (although I'm thinking of changing my habits after I noticed a pretty bottle of tawny porto at a crazy good price), so I forgot that there's a little bell you have to ring to get some assistance. I went up to a cashier who regularly checks me out. She's not a socializer; she doesn't even give me a glance most times, and whenever I realize I don't have enough cash to pay with she grunts and huffs when I ask if I can pay by card. So, I asked her if I could get some assistance with the bottles in the case, and she reminded me to ring the bell first. That was the most I'd ever spoken to her. I went through her line when I was ready to check out and as other American transplants will know, you bag your own groceries here and sometimes the guy in front of you is really, really slow with bagging his stuff, but the clerks just go ahead and ring up your items which get mixed up with his and then you have to wait until the guy's done to start bagging your stuff, and the cycle continues. Well, I was waiting, my cashier was blankly staring at her screen, while the guy in front of me bagged his shiz, and as I was leaning to check the total I owed, she busted out with a loud "FIVE SEVENTY-TWO" - in English. At first, I didn't realize she was trying to make a joke, so I just kind of smirked and dug for my change. Then, I told her in French that I must have a really strong accent, and that's when the tides turned and she started doing what she's never done before - being friendly. We chatted about my accent while finishing up the transaction, and for the first time, I walked away from that grocery store with a smile. It's amazing what a little friendliness can do for your day - and I'm hoping it continues.
French TV dinner
Our weekends are usually reserved for trips to the marché, occasional visits with family and evenings spent with friends, which is pretty much what we did this weekend. A friend of Gui's who lives south of Paris, stopped by on Friday evening for a no-nonsense pizza and beer dinner with us. Gui and I rarely go out in Paris at night - I think it's some kind of Parisian thing that keeps locals at home with friends, drinking, smoking and conversing in the comfort of a cozy Parisian apartment. But, we decided to be adventurous on this night, and after quickly skimming the internet for bars with cheap beer in Paris (I think the usually outrageous cost of drinks here contributes to the house-party phenomenon), we landed at a bar called The Wall in the 5eme, near the Pantheon and just off the beaten path of the lively Rue Mouffetard. There were several other bars in this little niche, but we wanted to test out our internet find to see if it really was a good place for cheap beer. It was. I had a couple of demi-pints for 3 euros a piece and Gui and his friend had a couple of 5-euro pints. We were really surprised to find beer - good beer even - at less than 7 euros a pint in a very busy night spot in Paris. Even their cocktails were reasonably priced between 5 and 6 euros. And, although we ran into a few strange folks (welcome to Paris by night), for the most part it was a mid/late-twenties crowd. On our metro ride home, we kept ourselves from falling asleep with entertainment like this:
Yeah, some creative guy is taking advantage of drunk late-nighters with a Mexican-inspired puppet show (it was Speedy Gonzalez). It was pretty hilarious actually.
I finally got to see the Luxembourg Garden on Saturday, which was really lovely. I also admired and took some pictures of the Pantheon, which I've sadly never visited. We set up a mini-picnic (well, hardly a picnic, just sauccisson) on a small patch of grass in the jardin and whiled the day away with some reading, music, crossword puzzles and obligatory people watching.
We got invited to dinner afterwards by our friend, Baptiste who wanted some company to watch some football games with. Football and food? So French. What's also so French is Baptisite. He still lives at home with his mom (but to be fair, he's also four years younger than Gui), and when he invited us to dinner, what he meant was that we would all hang out in the salon while his mom prepared the most amazing TV dinner ever. Who watches the game while eating a four-course meal? The French, that's who. And I'm not complaining.
Yeah, some creative guy is taking advantage of drunk late-nighters with a Mexican-inspired puppet show (it was Speedy Gonzalez). It was pretty hilarious actually.
I finally got to see the Luxembourg Garden on Saturday, which was really lovely. I also admired and took some pictures of the Pantheon, which I've sadly never visited. We set up a mini-picnic (well, hardly a picnic, just sauccisson) on a small patch of grass in the jardin and whiled the day away with some reading, music, crossword puzzles and obligatory people watching.
We got invited to dinner afterwards by our friend, Baptiste who wanted some company to watch some football games with. Football and food? So French. What's also so French is Baptisite. He still lives at home with his mom (but to be fair, he's also four years younger than Gui), and when he invited us to dinner, what he meant was that we would all hang out in the salon while his mom prepared the most amazing TV dinner ever. Who watches the game while eating a four-course meal? The French, that's who. And I'm not complaining.
Keeping cool
Geez, it's been a hot week! Yesterday, I went to a few Korean shops to buy some spices I've been searching for (with no luck), and had to help a dear old lady find her away around an arrondissement I'm not familiar with. Her face was beaded with sweat and she had to pull me into the shade while I searched my pocket map for the street she was looking for. We chatted a bit (she praised my French skills - yeehaw!) and I pointed her in the direction of her destination (I got the feeling she was reluctant to go wherever she was heading, but man, who wouldn't be reluctant to walk in 9,000-degree weather?). I realized, after talking with her, how much I enjoy practicing my French. Sure, it sucks when I don't have the right words to say, but it feels good to hear my progression and practice the phrases and words I've become familiar with.
So, I didn't stay out very long because, frankly, I was melting in the streets, and the stench of B.O. in the stuffy metro was making me gag. I came home, peeled off my sweaty clothes, threw on what's become my summer house-dress (an old, light, jersey dress) and hung out in front of the fan for the rest of the day. It was too hot to cook, so Gui and I had some tasty cold sandwiches for dinner.
Today was another scorcher and it took so much energy to motivate myself to get some pictures taken that I need for my carte de sejour appointment tomorrow. I also wanted to check into getting a haircut while I was out, but I couldn't stand the heat any longer than necessary and I headed straight back to the shade of our apartment and the coolness of our fans after snapping a sweaty, smile-less pic. It didn't get any cooler and there was no way I was turning on the oven tonight, so we spent a lovely evening in Le Marais enjoying a delicious fallafel and cold Corona in an air-conditioned resto. We wrapped up the evening with cold gelato at the Pozzetto counter where I enjoyed a refreshing watermelon sorbet cone (that I'll be going back for soon) and Gui scarfed down their famous hazelnut chocolate gianduia.
Tomorrow, Gui is taking a half-day to come with me to the prefecture for my carte de sejour appointment. With luck, I'll be receiving my récépissé that (ideally) allows me to work until I receive my actual carte de sejour. I'm not holding my breath that anything will go smoothly because, let's face it, that's my new reality and I'm fine with taking the bad with the good...for now. I'm just hoping they have working air-conditioning in their office because then if everything goes wrong, at least I'll have gotten a satisfying respite from this unrelenting heat...
So, I didn't stay out very long because, frankly, I was melting in the streets, and the stench of B.O. in the stuffy metro was making me gag. I came home, peeled off my sweaty clothes, threw on what's become my summer house-dress (an old, light, jersey dress) and hung out in front of the fan for the rest of the day. It was too hot to cook, so Gui and I had some tasty cold sandwiches for dinner.
Today was another scorcher and it took so much energy to motivate myself to get some pictures taken that I need for my carte de sejour appointment tomorrow. I also wanted to check into getting a haircut while I was out, but I couldn't stand the heat any longer than necessary and I headed straight back to the shade of our apartment and the coolness of our fans after snapping a sweaty, smile-less pic. It didn't get any cooler and there was no way I was turning on the oven tonight, so we spent a lovely evening in Le Marais enjoying a delicious fallafel and cold Corona in an air-conditioned resto. We wrapped up the evening with cold gelato at the Pozzetto counter where I enjoyed a refreshing watermelon sorbet cone (that I'll be going back for soon) and Gui scarfed down their famous hazelnut chocolate gianduia.
Tomorrow, Gui is taking a half-day to come with me to the prefecture for my carte de sejour appointment. With luck, I'll be receiving my récépissé that (ideally) allows me to work until I receive my actual carte de sejour. I'm not holding my breath that anything will go smoothly because, let's face it, that's my new reality and I'm fine with taking the bad with the good...for now. I'm just hoping they have working air-conditioning in their office because then if everything goes wrong, at least I'll have gotten a satisfying respite from this unrelenting heat...
Pique-nique, ultimate frisbee, disco dancing & Le Tour de France
Friday marked the last day of my first French class in Paris. It was a little bittersweet because many of the people I'd come to know in the class had been there with me since the first day, and some were heading back to their respective countries, realistically never to be seen or heard from again. Our teacher organized a picnic after a short tour of the neighborhood around our school. We had decided ahead of time that we'd get the food for the picnic after class, which seriously annoyed the poor young guy at the check-out counter when twelve different people were trying to organize payment for 92Euros of groceries in at least four different languages. Thank goodness I had the foresight to do my shopping separately and paid on my own.
When we got to Paris Plages (the summer beach area in Paris), there weren't any tables left, so we set up shop on a park bench and watched as teenagers with idiots for parents jumped into the toxic river just for kicks. We all loaded up on tabbouleh, chips, salad, hummus, olives, cheese, bread and saucisson. I didn't make it home until after 6pm, which means that our picnic lasted at least four hours. Before everyone left, the Spanish students (there were four and they outnumbered all the other nationalities) made plans to meet up on Saturday night and invited everyone to come for some dancing. The plan, as far as I heard it was to meet at a metro stop at 8pm, then head over to the Fleche d'Or for a live band or DJ. I was stoked because really, we don't go "out" much as far as going to bars or clubs, and from what I hear, lots of Parisians prefer to host parties than get lost in a touristy club where drinks cost as much as a few bottles of wine at the supermarket. Generally, that's the same train of thought I tend to follow, but mostly because I prefer the comfort of being in a controlled environment where I don't have to worry about sometimes creepy strangers trying to grab my butt.
We ended our Friday with dinner with an old friend from Austin who may or may not be moving back to Paris, and with Ber and Ben who joined us for drinks and the usual witty banter and mindless chatter. On Saturday afternoon, Gui and I met up with friends at Cité International University where I killed myself by participating in a game of Ultimate Frisbee. I wish I had taken pictures because really, folks, seeing me running around catching and launching a frisbee with a bunch of French dudes is a hysterical moment that won't occur often (if ever again). It turned out to be so much fun, though and despite my out-of-shapeness and the immense pain still radiating through my hips, butt and arms, I'm looking forward to the next game (where maybe I'll score more than the awesome three points I scored last time). I just wish I hadn't opted out of phys-ed in high school to do that co-op thing.
We rested a little after the exhausting game, and then headed out to the Fleche d'Or around 8:40. I was under the impression my old classmates would be hanging out in the bar all night, or at least for most of the night after meeting up at 8pm. Apparently, I was mistaken, and because I failed to be responsible and take the contact number, we hung out at the bar for a little over an hour and decided to give up on tracking them down. I was pissed - at myself for not bringing the number and at the group for not being where they'd told me they'd be. It was a shame, too because the bands we heard were quite good and the place reminded us of an Austin-style venue, with a big outdoor terrace and bar. I'll definitely go back.
We came back home because, frankly, I was upset that the plans fell through and I couldn't be bothered to go to this other party we'd been invited to because I was in such a pissy mood. I decided, now that I had the number, to call and let the group know that I came and missed them and would keep in touch through email, etc. Well, when I called, they said there was a big change of plans because someone showed up an hour late, and they ended up going to another bar and the original plan was to meet at Fleche d'Or at 10pm...wtf? The only possible explanation for my misunderstanding the plan is that they mentioned that part to me in Spanish and I completely disregarded it. Possible and probable. They had pretty much just started their night and were going to grab a bite and then a few drinks before going out for the music. I told them I wasn't sure about going all the way back out there, and truly in my mind I was annoyed and frustrated. But, Gui, being the inhumanly human that he is, convinced me to get over it and go meet up with them like I'd planned to all along. I think he probably regretted his effort to convince me to go back out because the rest of the night pretty much sucked.
We met them for pizza then headed towards the bar, but only five of us ever really made it in. The rest of the group (about five others) were waiting for someone else to show up, and then they decided to pick up some beer to drink before going into the bar, which pissed off the bouncer dude enough to deny them entry. At this point, it was starting to rain, so we stayed in the club for a bit and enjoyed some music from the DJ before Gui and I decided we had enough of the drama and bounced (that's Gui's word, and I'm stealing it for this post). I'm glad I got to see some of them for the last time and I'm really happy to have discovered a rather decent bar/club in Paris, but I still feel like I wasted a little bit of my life going back to meet them a second time. Ah well.
I spent all day Sunday recovering from the murderous pains that erupted throughout my body each time I walked, stood, sat, coughed or breathed. How am I this out of shape?? I walk at least a couple of kilometers a day and I've been known to occasionally break a sweat, so why do I feel like ripping my muscles out of my body after a measly couple of hours of frisbee?? Maybe I'll stretch first next time. Besides loading up on a delicious beans and toast lunch, making a quiche and being an extra couch cushion, I also made it out of the house and down the street to watch the Tour de France ride into Paris. Unfortunately, my memory card ran out of memory just as the riders were making their way in front of me, so I only caught a few seconds of the front of the group. I did manage to catch the yellow jersey, though and a few pics of them riding across the bridge. It was pretty neato even if Gui thought we were joining the beaufs (French rednecks) in watching Le Tour. I never said I wasn't a redneck...
When we got to Paris Plages (the summer beach area in Paris), there weren't any tables left, so we set up shop on a park bench and watched as teenagers with idiots for parents jumped into the toxic river just for kicks. We all loaded up on tabbouleh, chips, salad, hummus, olives, cheese, bread and saucisson. I didn't make it home until after 6pm, which means that our picnic lasted at least four hours. Before everyone left, the Spanish students (there were four and they outnumbered all the other nationalities) made plans to meet up on Saturday night and invited everyone to come for some dancing. The plan, as far as I heard it was to meet at a metro stop at 8pm, then head over to the Fleche d'Or for a live band or DJ. I was stoked because really, we don't go "out" much as far as going to bars or clubs, and from what I hear, lots of Parisians prefer to host parties than get lost in a touristy club where drinks cost as much as a few bottles of wine at the supermarket. Generally, that's the same train of thought I tend to follow, but mostly because I prefer the comfort of being in a controlled environment where I don't have to worry about sometimes creepy strangers trying to grab my butt.
We ended our Friday with dinner with an old friend from Austin who may or may not be moving back to Paris, and with Ber and Ben who joined us for drinks and the usual witty banter and mindless chatter. On Saturday afternoon, Gui and I met up with friends at Cité International University where I killed myself by participating in a game of Ultimate Frisbee. I wish I had taken pictures because really, folks, seeing me running around catching and launching a frisbee with a bunch of French dudes is a hysterical moment that won't occur often (if ever again). It turned out to be so much fun, though and despite my out-of-shapeness and the immense pain still radiating through my hips, butt and arms, I'm looking forward to the next game (where maybe I'll score more than the awesome three points I scored last time). I just wish I hadn't opted out of phys-ed in high school to do that co-op thing.
We rested a little after the exhausting game, and then headed out to the Fleche d'Or around 8:40. I was under the impression my old classmates would be hanging out in the bar all night, or at least for most of the night after meeting up at 8pm. Apparently, I was mistaken, and because I failed to be responsible and take the contact number, we hung out at the bar for a little over an hour and decided to give up on tracking them down. I was pissed - at myself for not bringing the number and at the group for not being where they'd told me they'd be. It was a shame, too because the bands we heard were quite good and the place reminded us of an Austin-style venue, with a big outdoor terrace and bar. I'll definitely go back.
We came back home because, frankly, I was upset that the plans fell through and I couldn't be bothered to go to this other party we'd been invited to because I was in such a pissy mood. I decided, now that I had the number, to call and let the group know that I came and missed them and would keep in touch through email, etc. Well, when I called, they said there was a big change of plans because someone showed up an hour late, and they ended up going to another bar and the original plan was to meet at Fleche d'Or at 10pm...wtf? The only possible explanation for my misunderstanding the plan is that they mentioned that part to me in Spanish and I completely disregarded it. Possible and probable. They had pretty much just started their night and were going to grab a bite and then a few drinks before going out for the music. I told them I wasn't sure about going all the way back out there, and truly in my mind I was annoyed and frustrated. But, Gui, being the inhumanly human that he is, convinced me to get over it and go meet up with them like I'd planned to all along. I think he probably regretted his effort to convince me to go back out because the rest of the night pretty much sucked.
We met them for pizza then headed towards the bar, but only five of us ever really made it in. The rest of the group (about five others) were waiting for someone else to show up, and then they decided to pick up some beer to drink before going into the bar, which pissed off the bouncer dude enough to deny them entry. At this point, it was starting to rain, so we stayed in the club for a bit and enjoyed some music from the DJ before Gui and I decided we had enough of the drama and bounced (that's Gui's word, and I'm stealing it for this post). I'm glad I got to see some of them for the last time and I'm really happy to have discovered a rather decent bar/club in Paris, but I still feel like I wasted a little bit of my life going back to meet them a second time. Ah well.
I spent all day Sunday recovering from the murderous pains that erupted throughout my body each time I walked, stood, sat, coughed or breathed. How am I this out of shape?? I walk at least a couple of kilometers a day and I've been known to occasionally break a sweat, so why do I feel like ripping my muscles out of my body after a measly couple of hours of frisbee?? Maybe I'll stretch first next time. Besides loading up on a delicious beans and toast lunch, making a quiche and being an extra couch cushion, I also made it out of the house and down the street to watch the Tour de France ride into Paris. Unfortunately, my memory card ran out of memory just as the riders were making their way in front of me, so I only caught a few seconds of the front of the group. I did manage to catch the yellow jersey, though and a few pics of them riding across the bridge. It was pretty neato even if Gui thought we were joining the beaufs (French rednecks) in watching Le Tour. I never said I wasn't a redneck...
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