J'adore Paris

My Italian has been irreversibly corrupted.

These past day two days, I have been oui-ing when I should have been si-ing, and I have "merci-ed" at least three Italians already on accident, and I even forgot the word for "one" yesterday at the market. It was bad. It was the result of eight days in France.

A small part of me, one that has become a large part, has always regretted dropping French in the eleventh grade. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I was too busy being a member of the Cult Of Crew (ie, the rowing team), being in the operetta, and epically failing Chemistry to continue with language. However, the next year I left crew, ditched the operetta, the vowed to never take Chemistry again. So needless to say, there would have been plenty of time to take French, and I realized this as soon as it was too late to change my mind.

The opportunity arose for me to return to French in the months before I went to UB (English majours at the school need two years of foreign language), but my adviser (who I quickly learned was a idiot, but not before it was too late) told me Latin would be more "useful". If useful means composing sentences like "rex urbem vincet" and reading the rubble at the Roman forum. And the most terrible irony of all? My favourite writer is French.

So I knew, even before I was accepted into my study abroad program, that I would head to France on spring break. Maybe it was a way to atone for dropping French.

"If you love French so much, why didn't you go to France then?" you ask.

Well, basically, everyone else I knew who had gone abroad had gone to France, and I wanted something different. Different pictures, different stories. And after having been to France and back, I can say that I don't regret studying in Italy. France and Italy are both beautiful, but in different ways. I can't help but compare Florence and Paris to people. Florence is everyone's friend, but Paris is more reserved, and if you approach her the wrong way... watch yourself.

Strangely enough, I escaped all the of snobbish French attitude I had expected to find. I would like to think this was due to my amazingly well preserved French skills, but I probably just got lucky.

I went to two cities on my trip. Paris, and lovely French/German city of Strasbourg. I set off for Paris with, with my favourite travel companion.


Oh yes, this was a solo trip. Considering less than six months ago I could barely even spend an hour alone, I wasn't quite sure how this would work out for me. But it was beyond amazing. If you ever get the chance, not only travel to, but try to experience a place by yourself. You'll notice things you never knew were there.

Once I arrived at France, I spent a night in a crappy hostel with unpleasant American roommates before heading to Marie-Jeanne's. Marie-Jeanne (and her two tiny dogs and roommate) was my couch surfing host. For those of you who have never heard of couch surfing, it's a global grassroots movement where people agree to let travelers crash on their couches free of charge. It lets people go to places they normally wouldn't be able to afford to go, and offers them an insight into the culture that they wouldn't have gained at a hotel or hostel. In a nuthsell, couch surfing was an awesome experience. Marie-Jeanne let me stay three more nights than I had intended to, and us and her roommate were able to discuss feminism and international politics over our morning caffeine fix. Plus, her two tiny dogs almost filled the medium sized dog shape missing from my heart (Maggie is afraid of Skype, and Skype doesn't have a petting application yet anyway).

The couch.

Once I was situated at Marie-Jeanne's, I was set to take France by storm. Which I did. the beauty of traveling alone is that I got to do what I wanted, exactly when I wanted to do it. I saw an inordinate among of things, including every single garden the city had to offer within range of the metro system.


This seems to speak for itself, really.


Sacre Coeur, the church on the hill. I actually went here after Notre Dame, and after the touristy madness that was Notre Dame, I had braced myself for the worst. I went into the church during mass. Nuns were singing, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings, and it was absolutely enchanting.


Fountain near the Tulleries.


My transportation mode of choice.


The Arc de Triomph, built by Napoleon (happy now George? :P) to celebrate his military prowness. Except he stole the entire idea from the ancient Romans, but Napoleon does what he wants.


Notre Dame. pretty on the outside, a touristy hell on the inside.


At least I was able to eat lunch with a view of the cathedral.


I spent WAY too much time near the tower, but it's so pretty! I like pretty things. Like the caramel leather over the knee boots I bought in Primtemps earlier that day. Europe is the worst/best place ever for a shoe person.



As I was walking along the Seine, I saw a real live action dress up day in progress! But ours are better.



A few days in, I met up with with friends from LDM to go to Versailles and we found a Buffalo Grill. Absolute destiny.


Halls of Mirrors, in Versailles.



After spending about four days in Paris, I took the train to Strasbourg to see Megan, a friend from high school. It broke my heart to leave Paris (it rained the day I left, I took that as an omen) but Strasbourg did not disappoint. The city sounds German, because it is. It's in the Alsace region of France, which had been passed back and forth between France and Germany for a few centuries at least. Half the buildings were built by the Germans, half by France. They even have their own special French/German dialect: Strasbourgeoise.

I stayed with Megan and her host parents while I was there, and her host parents were the most awesome people ever. Breakfast was left for us on a cart outside our door each morning, and dinner was delicious (considering the food prices were so outrageously high in Pairs that I pretty much hadn't eaten for four days, this was a godsend). She even did my laundry for me, which by this point was turning into a rather desperate situation. Here are some pictures for you.




The church only has one spire. I had fun inventing stories for why that was.


The clock inside the church.

The only dark spot of my adventure was the part where I ended up missing my flight back to Italy because the line I needed to take on the metro was closed. This led to a whole bunch of fun shennaigins. I had to backtrack on the metro to take the line that dropped me next closest to the airport bus (next closest was a half mile away, mind you) where I got to walk with my luggage and new over the knee boots said distance to the bus in the dark at 6am. I got the airport just as my flight was leaving, paid an astronomical sum to change my ticket to the next flight going anywhere in Italy. I ended up in Rome, where I took the four hour train ride back to Florence.

Oh yes, it was fun.

France was amazing, but I still think in the end I made the right choice in deciding to stay in Italy. This may be entirely due to the fact food is cheap and the weather is warmer here, but I can say with absolute certainty that I will be back to France, especially Paris. When I am rich and famous and aged, I will pay eighty euro to eat in that five star restaurant on the second level of the Eiffel Tower.

And even if I'm sixty, I'll still be taking the stairs.


As usual, here are the additional pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=165169&id=561287236
http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=165232&id=561287236