If you just sat down to read this, you might want to pull up the link on your iPad and take it with you to the John – this is about to be a long post.

From the moment I stepped on my plane to Munich, I could tell I would like Germany. The plane was the same as the city – very clean and modern looking. If I could sum up the Germans in one word, it would be “beautiful.” It [almost] made me wish I had chosen to study there if just for the attractive men. Sorry, Paris, but the men in Munich weren’t all half my size or smoke two packs of cigarettes a day.

I arrived in Munich late Thursday night and luckily, because of my uncle’s couch surfer he hosted last spring, I had a connection to a free place to stay that night. When we woke up Friday morning he had prepared a traditional Bavarian breakfast for me: pretzel, sausage, sweet mustard sauce, and yes, a beer. It was delicious. After feeling sufficiently buzzed just around 11am, we made our way to Oktoberfest (Weisn) and walked straight into a tent called Hacker. While it took us five minutes to get inside the tent, it took us 30 to find some place to sit. But once we did find a place, we didn’t get up. We spent Friday afternoon making new friends, singing German songs (Prost = cheers), and drinking lots and lots of beer.

Friday was more of the same, minus the 6am wake up, waiting in long long loooong lines all day for tents, beer gardens, and toilets, and the pouring down rain. It was fantastic. I started out at a table of about 30 Santa Clara people but once I went outside to meet up with some others, we could never get back inside the tent. It was an unfortunate change from the day before, but we still managed to get inside the beer garden and get stamps on our hands so we could go in and out as we wanted. I snuck out for a bit to see my friend from the Netherlands whom I haven’t seen in about four years, and I thought of all the places to meet, Oktberfest has to be the most insane. When I got separated from my friends towards the end of the day, I made the most of it and bought a bratwurst and walked around the shops even though I was drenched and cold. Once I got home I almost wished I could go back just to steal a beer stein like my friends did…

Oktoberfest is like the Olympics. The insides of the tents remind me of the great hall in Hogwarts. Except everyone is drinking beer. It has a great atmosphere, one of the best I have felt, and everyone (except the security guards and some of the waiters), was super friendly and from all around the world. I would love to re-visit Germany under a different context and I wished I had more time there.

When falling asleep Friday night in Munich, I couldn’t help but feel a little homesick for Paris. Being in Munich was fantastic, but it’s still one of the first times I have been in a situation where I can’t understand a language. Yes, everyone speaks English, but it made me lust to be back in an environment where I feel confident and comfortable knowing the language. I thought a lot about how for the first time I was homesick for my NEW home, not my old one.

Before I left, I was thinking about how I came to be so happy in Paris. I love to be a tourist in my own city. At home in Seattle, no matter what time of year, you can find me visiting the zoo, aquarium, Space Needle, Science Center, or many other major tourist attractions. However, I also love discovering the small things. This summer, I came across a little teashop on Capitol Hill that became my urban hang out spot. I brought back my friends three or four different times within two weeks, since I had only discovered it at the end of the summer. I also stumbled upon a tiny vintage market in the same afternoon as a random music festival that was happening at the park. When you really know a city, you know the things that no one else knows. I can tell people so many fun things to do at home in Seattle that they could easily find online. However, it’s the sentimental places that no one can find just by Googling them on the internet.

I lust for that in Paris. I want to know it like no one else. And I realize that this is an unreasonable thought at this moment after being here for three weeks and only staying for three more months, but one day, I know I will.

Every day when I walk home, I feel comforted when I turn the corner just before the apartment and see the Eiffel Tower. I hear a lot of criticism for this great structure, just like I always hear about the recent changing color of the Space Needle. What makes these two landmarks so awesome? They’re just giant buildings of metal. But sans existence, their city’s skylines would be incredibly mundane (at least in my opinion). Both cities have this thing that sets them apart, and that fact makes me feel at home. Perhaps Santa Clara or San Francisco will never truly feel like a home for me – there’s a lack of connection between those places and the place I grew up. I am coming to find myself more and more at ease in this big city.

Madame told me after dinner last Tuesday that I am the best French-speaking student she has had yet. I’m only number six for her, but I feel proud that she said that. Learning this language is hard. I embarrass myself every day I’m sure. The funniest story I like to tell people is about my first time with Roxane and Claire when I kept reading the word “Bonheur” around town and asked what it meant. The response: “a pee-ness.” In my mind, that turned out like “a penis.” I kept saying “No, no, I’m sure that can’t be right…” but time and again Roxane’s dad told me over the dinner table that’s what it meant! Then, on one of my last days there, I saw a coffee table book called “Le Bonheur something something” and said, “Okay! Now this cannot be a book about a pee-ness,” and their friend said “No! It’s HAPpiness.” Those damn French, can never say their “H’s” right.

This week is going to be more low-key, but I am looking forward to seeing my “fruncle,” galavanting around Paris, day trip to Giverny, and la nuit blanche.

Finally allowed to post pictures on the blog tomorrow. So check back for those!

Prost to all! That’s about the only German word I obtained from this weekend. When I tried to replicate some of the words I heard, it just came out sounding like I was blowing my nose and gargling at the same time. Not the most flattering language, German, but definitely funny to imitate!

Bisous

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.