Good news! I have already met a fellow study-abroad student! Her name is Aarin, she's from Tacoma, WA, and she's doing the Smith College program. She was sitting next to me on our connecting flight from Copenhagen to Paris...small world! In any case, it made me feel heartened to meet another brave soul, venturing out into the wilds of Paris! Unfortunately my feeling of encouragement was swiftly followed by bashfulness at having dragged my maman along with me. I began to question myself: could I do it alone? How was I going to manage in this foreign city all by my lonesome?
Wherefore such (hopefully misguided) worry? Maybe it was due to the fact that it was 7am West Coast time and I had only had a few hours of uneasy, drug-induced sleep. Or perhaps the reality-aspect of my Parisian adventure was finally hitting me. This was not going to be all romantic autumn walks and delicious baguettes...this was starting a bank account, getting a cellphone, finding those ever-elusive French friends, and...taking classes?! Oh mon dieu! It didn't help that my French was a bit rusty after a summer of little practice.
On the other hand, the city is as beautiful as I remember, the parisians all seem to know that I'm American but speak to me in French anyway, and thus far I have encountered nothing but kindness. I've been drinking in the lovliness of Paris as eagerly as the cafe creme I had this morning (SO good omg!).
So, in conclusion, I'm anxious but excited. At least there are copious amounts of wine to ease my angoisse. Cheers!
Bisous,
Alice
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Preparation (mundane and magnificent...or at least somewhat amusing)
I am currently in the middle of my petit sejour (short stay) in Seattle. It's overcast. Mommy is sitting at the computer, Duffy is napping on the floor (for those of you who have never had the great pleasure of making Duffy's acquaintance, he is a dog, hence his location on the floor), and Daddy is studying Italian at the kitchen counter. The scene is almost absurdly typical.
I've been preparing for Paris for many months: applying to the Middlebury program, filling out copious amounts of paperwork, having an extravagantly complicated correspondence with the mistresses of the foyer (the international dorm in which I'll be living), traveling to San Francisco for my visa and, most recently, buying one of those extremely dorky wallets that hang around your neck! They are the most efficient way of proclaiming: I am an American! I don't trust Europeans! They drink too much wine and spend much time loafing around cafes! Therefore, I shall wear a wallet around my neck!
Needless to say, I will be hiding mine under my shirt. Even though I know I will be found out for what I really am--American--I have been trying, for years, to become a more French version of myself. There are many fabulous reasons for studying in Paris, becoming very French not least among them. So! In an effort to get a headstart on my transformation, I've been reading French or Foe by Polly Platt. Here are some of the lessons I've learned about how to be French. To wit:
1. No smiling! At least not at strangers. Apparently, if I flounce around producing that signal of American politesse, the French will think I'm a) a hypocrite, b) trying to get something from them, c) completely stupid, or d) flirting with them. So I guess I'll be saving my smiles for those Frenchies who I actually am trying to get something from. Could be useful for crossing beaureaucratic red tape and getting free drinks.
2. Flirt. With everybody. Even though I'm not supposed to smile for fear of flirting with anything that walks (or even things that don't, for that matter), I am supposed to flirt. Platt counsels: "if you can't find your luggage at the airport, look for an official who is a member of the opposite sex to help you. Flirt! Don't smile--do it with your eyes. Your baggage will show up in a jiffy" (29). Note to self: watch French movies. Practice The Flirty Eye Thing.
3. Be incredibly polite. I am not to walk up to strangers, as I have done in New York many times, and say, "Yo where the eff is Broadway??!! The eff-ing subway dropped me at Fulton and I'm totally eff-ing lost. OMG is that a Prada bag?! I LOVE!" Instead my exchanges with French strangers are supposed to go as follows: "Bonjour, monsieur, excusez-moi de vous deranger, mais j'ai un probleme. Je suis absolument perdue!" Translation: "Hello, mister, excuse me for disturbing you, but I have a problem. I'm completely lost!" Note to self: Practice being polite while simultaneously working The Flirty Eye Thing.
So I have my work cut out for me. It looks like a miniscule patch of blue has appeared in the sky, so I'm off to read more French or Foe while attempting to soak up the last rays of summer.
A bientôt!
Gros bisous,
Alice
I've been preparing for Paris for many months: applying to the Middlebury program, filling out copious amounts of paperwork, having an extravagantly complicated correspondence with the mistresses of the foyer (the international dorm in which I'll be living), traveling to San Francisco for my visa and, most recently, buying one of those extremely dorky wallets that hang around your neck! They are the most efficient way of proclaiming: I am an American! I don't trust Europeans! They drink too much wine and spend much time loafing around cafes! Therefore, I shall wear a wallet around my neck!
Needless to say, I will be hiding mine under my shirt. Even though I know I will be found out for what I really am--American--I have been trying, for years, to become a more French version of myself. There are many fabulous reasons for studying in Paris, becoming very French not least among them. So! In an effort to get a headstart on my transformation, I've been reading French or Foe by Polly Platt. Here are some of the lessons I've learned about how to be French. To wit:
1. No smiling! At least not at strangers. Apparently, if I flounce around producing that signal of American politesse, the French will think I'm a) a hypocrite, b) trying to get something from them, c) completely stupid, or d) flirting with them. So I guess I'll be saving my smiles for those Frenchies who I actually am trying to get something from. Could be useful for crossing beaureaucratic red tape and getting free drinks.
2. Flirt. With everybody. Even though I'm not supposed to smile for fear of flirting with anything that walks (or even things that don't, for that matter), I am supposed to flirt. Platt counsels: "if you can't find your luggage at the airport, look for an official who is a member of the opposite sex to help you. Flirt! Don't smile--do it with your eyes. Your baggage will show up in a jiffy" (29). Note to self: watch French movies. Practice The Flirty Eye Thing.
3. Be incredibly polite. I am not to walk up to strangers, as I have done in New York many times, and say, "Yo where the eff is Broadway??!! The eff-ing subway dropped me at Fulton and I'm totally eff-ing lost. OMG is that a Prada bag?! I LOVE!" Instead my exchanges with French strangers are supposed to go as follows: "Bonjour, monsieur, excusez-moi de vous deranger, mais j'ai un probleme. Je suis absolument perdue!" Translation: "Hello, mister, excuse me for disturbing you, but I have a problem. I'm completely lost!" Note to self: Practice being polite while simultaneously working The Flirty Eye Thing.
So I have my work cut out for me. It looks like a miniscule patch of blue has appeared in the sky, so I'm off to read more French or Foe while attempting to soak up the last rays of summer.
A bientôt!
Gros bisous,
Alice
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