The most valuable knowledge I learned this week is that if you need to go to the bathroom while you’re out enjoying the city of Paris, think again. Today I took joy in understanding the terrible pain that must overcome many individuals like myself, who find themselves in need of a toilet, with nowhere to go. Pardon my American-ness for bringing this up, but I wonder every day what the Parisiens must do when they need to go. The only options I have found are: (very few) public pay toilets (to which I forgot to bring money and had to turn around and sulk), or toilets in restaurants. Which is strictly forbidden (lest you sit down and order something). Paris toilets remind me of the Lion King – it’s that dark and shadowy land that Mufasa tells Simba he must never visit. I shall further investigate this topic of high interest and report back to you all on my findings throughout these next 3 months. This is a mission.

On another note, I was a classic tourist this weekend, basking in the 75+ weather and the free monuments open to the public throughout the city. My friends and I waited in line to climb the Notre Dame for an hour and a half and I had minor heart palpitations remembering how I once waited in line for the Empire State Building for three hours. Never. Again. This trip, however, was definitely worth it. We had a complete view all the way around the top and could see the entire city without a single cloud in the sky. Topping it all off with a stroll on the Seine and a premium gelato.

The program described going through stages of adjustment to your surroundings. The first being the honeymoon phase where EVERYTHING IS SO AWESOME. The next phase involves struggling to identify with the culture and pulling away a bit. I can’t see myself heading in that direction. When I think about where I live, I realize I don’t have ENOUGH time here. While many people I know are flying off to Spain/Italy/Prague/Etc for their weekends, all I can do is think about how I can’t leave Paris because there’s too much to do and not enough time… Meanwhile, I’m glad that everyone wants to come here because that means that I get to see all my favorite people without having to spend money on travel!

L’shana tova to all my Jews – wishing everyone a very sweet new year.

P.S. I ate snails (escargot) tonight for dinner – and I loved it.

After this week, one of the things I can say I am most thankful for in life is my gift of taste. I used to hate my parents because I thought they were TERRIBLE AND EVIL BECAUSE THEY MADE ME EAT MY VEGETABLES. And they used to say that if I didn’t eat what was on my plate for dinner I could make myself my own meal or just not eat at all. And I was hungry, so I ate. Now, as I find myself in Paris, where most all my past cultural experiences can be thrown out the window, I find myself wondering what in the world I would do if I were a picky eater. (No offense to you guys out there, but really, I just feel sorry for you).

Wednesday we had what I would refer to as an “Intensive Cultural Information Session.” Or really, “How to not be stamped as an American.” While some programs find themselves in 4-hour intensive language courses, we, however, already have the language part down. What we don’t know how to speak, though, is the culture in France. Imagine you need to use a tissue, but you can’t find one in your room. You may go to the bathroom and use a little piece of toilet paper as a substitute. But stop right there. Because what the French will think when they find said tissue in the garbage in your room, is, “Dear god, what did she use that toilet paper for if not for in the bathroom?” Their minds will start to spin and think you’re insane. This thought process can be applied to many other instances besides toilet paper.

When it comes to food, the French are more complicated than you could imagine. Hence the reason why I am thankful that I very rarely say no to something that can be eaten. When I first arrived and sat down with Madame to discuss rules and so forth, she took out a piece of paper to write down the foods that I don’t like to eat. That list was small: olives, bleu cheese, parmesan (weird), parsley, dill, lemongrass (but who really eats that, anyways?). I have to say, I was slightly embarrassed that the list was so small. Anyways, let me lay it out for you. The French eat a small breakfast: a hot drink (tea, coffee), milk/orange juice, a yogurt, or a piece of toast (or leftover bread from the night before). They eat a reasonable lunch, maybe a sandwhich or small something from a bakery shop, and then dinner. When it comes to dinner, you don’t take what you don’t eat. And if you don’t eat, you’re insulting them. It pretty much makes sense but when you’re put in the position of having to eat all that you are given or at least having to pretend (not on my sake, though) that you like something when you really don’t, it can be a struggle. French and food are the two F’s that you just don’t mess around with.

Other things we talked about in our culture session ranged from everything to how to hold a knife and fork to how the grading system works. When we started talking about the typical French personality that we would come in contact with, I felt myself resonating a bit with the stereotype. The Parisians are not ones to sugar-coat things. If they have a problem, they’ll tell you, they’ll be angry about it, they might even hate you. For all of about five minutes. Then life goes on. Their honesty is brusque and to the point. Sometimes I can be a bit harsh when it comes to being honest and I will forget to put myself in another’s position. The French just don’t take it personally and they just realize they made a mistake and attempt not to do it again. If more Americans avoided the passive agressive way of life and just addressed a problem when it first appears, I think people would be a lot happier and successful on the whole.

Finished week one of orientation and two days in Normandy. The history was worth the trip and I visited a great WWII museum that has to be one of the best I’ve seen. I’ve been to Holocaust museums both in DC and Jerusalem, and neither one quite got to me like this museum did. I wouldn’t recommend spending  much time in Normandy, though, there’s not a lot to do once the sun goes down. View the blog for photos!

Thanks for reading everyone!

Bisous.

Today was my first full day with my new hostmom – Marie France de Dainville. Try saying that three times fast! But I will just be calling her Madame. The other day I visited my friend from Mercer Island at her homestay in Paris and was quite angry with myself afterwards. Reason being, the apartment looks like a museum, and I thought, “If Reilly’s apartment is la creme de la creme, then what will be awaiting ME tomorrow?” I thought it couldn’t be anything like Reilly’s and for that reason, I almost wished I hadn’t had seen it before my own. The apartment I visited occupies almost an entire floor, the ceilings are 15 feet high, and the walls are all elaborate tapestries or famous paintings of the hostmom’s ancient family history (someone in her family way way wayyy back killed Napoleon in the war. Super casual.) But I enjoyed a nice tour of the place with the hostmom chattering away at us the whole time. I felt like I could almost get lost in the ancient, creaking hallways. I took pictures inside my friend’s room. You can see one of them below in another post I made.

I have recently thought to myself that you can’t judge a French book by it’s cover. I say this because as I walked to my hostmom’s apartment yesterday with my friend, I found the outside to be slightly unappealing, but on the inside, it was stunning. I have posted pictures on my Flikr of my own apartment that I will be living in. Also, the picture below of le Tour is actually from the window from Madame’s painting studio. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to live these next four months. To top it off, I landed myself with someone who likes to cook almost as I like to eat. Last night she made an avocado and shrimp salad appetizer (served in the empty avocado shell) then chicken breast cooked with tomatoes and herbs. And for dessert some fresh peach with mango sorbet. Tonight, the first plate was fresh tomatoes with herbs, a hard boiled egg with some mixture in the middle part, some jambon (ham), and shredded carrots. Then the main dish was a poached salmon that was stuffed with vegetables and a zucchini/carrot salad on the side. The French eat their cheese after dinner so I had some chevre with bread after that THEN I had the real dessert – chocolate mousse. I’m still digesting right now.

Our conversations have been easy and comfortable. Madame resembles quite the same character as my grandma, and for that reason, I already feel very settled and at home. She is a retired artist (a painter), but still works a little, restoring some old paintings that go in museums. I don’t exaggerate when I say her home feels a little like a wing of the Louvre. I can’t wait to hear more of the story of her life as these months continue, and definitely obtain some French recipes that I can then bring back home with me.

Tomorrow – first day of orientation! Weird, school. That thing I forgot about.

A lot of things are happening back at home right now. I’m sad that I’m not there to be of comfort to some of my friends during difficult times. Sending all my best wishes and biggest hugs all the way from Paris to those in need.

A tout.