Filming, Les Stroud, and Procrastination

(Hit the play button)

So this morning I happened to wake up around 5:30. On any normal day I would roll over, dive beneath my covers, and fall back into my dreams. Today, however, I pulled myself out of bed thinking, "How many times will I get to see a sunrise in Paris?". So I heated up some joe and popped in a few raisins to energize for the uphill trek. I left the warmth of Jacques' apartment and went out into a scene I had never encountered before: a melange of the night club crowd returning home or getting some sustenance, and the morning workers opening up shop. I weaved through different groups and started up rue Lépic towards Montmartre. After a few blocks I decided that it would be selfish for me to keep this experience all to myself...and it'd be more entertaining to make a short film out of it. So I documented my journey in the style of Survivorman on the Discovery Channel. I could have woken up Stephen to bring along and handle the camera, and thus be more like Bear Grylls, but Les Stroud is way cooler. He's more hardcore because he goes out all alone.

So there I was just like Survivorman, clinging to life while surviving in the streets of Paris--such a harsh environment. I reached the summit and took in my prize: a spectacular view on the city as it rises. I certainly wasn't alone in this moment though. There were several other wandering figures pumping music from their car, swaggering down the steps after a long night, searching through the trash left by last night's young crowd for forgotten cigarettes. I soaked it in for a while and then moved into Sacré-Cœur for a taste of mass and then returned home to make the movie and put off writing my photography paper. Ahh the fruit of procrastination.

April in Paris

Listen to this while reading (click here)

It's pretty much true. April in Paris is wonderful. The trees are blooming. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. French people are still wearing their winter coats. For many here there are only two seasons: winter and summer.

Life has been good here and with only one month to go I'm satisfied. I'll be ready to get on the flight back to the US--not running on to the plane, or regretting leaving France, but content to head home. It's been fulfilling.

In other news I returned from Spring break a week or so ago. It's too far back to go into many details, but Nice, Venice, Florence, and Riomaggiore in the Cinque Terre were all good towns. Good food, good sights, just tried to sink in a little bit and relax if possible. I was able to get on the beack a couple times -- it was spring break after all. Once in front of the blue waters on the Cote d'Azur and another time on Lido island in Venice. And again in Montorossa if you count that; it was freezing and cloudy out. Overall it will probably go down as the most unique spring break ever for me.

Once back in Paris Jacques made a goulash for Stephen and I. Since then I've been walking around and trying to get in some secondary, less touristy and more typically parisian, activities. Yesterday I inhaled a felafel from L'As du Felafel. Its a delectable fried chickpea and veggie pita basically. Walked to a few different parks. And just took in the city.

A few weeks ago while riding the bus home on a Thursday around dusk I was in a state of enchantment. I slunk down into my chair and viewed the film passing by the windows. People were everywhere. Neon lights alluminated the streets as the sky turned from orange to violet while the sun sunk beneath the buildings. Its just an incredible experience for me to be in a city like this. I mean come on it's Paris. Every restaurant I passed was filled with animated couples convivializing at candle-lit tables. The side walks ebbed and flowed with crowds of individuals. People walking along listening to music. Couples strolling talking about philosophy and ideas. Men and women kissing the way french people kiss: the man engulfing the woman's face while they both take a pause from anything going on in the environment around them. French people are accustomed to this; Traffic immediately takes a detour and forms a lane around the island. Its totally normal. I arrive back at Place de Clichy, this busy outpost on the northwest side of the city, and cruise down rue Biot to Jacque's apartment on high. I get back and the windows are open letting in the cool breeze. There's a scent of tree flowers and jasmine in the air and maybe even some of Jacques great cooking. When he's in the kitchen there's always a sizzling sound accompanying him. He snaps to the radio - FranceInter - and cooks a fantastic meal as this melange of everything around me comes together culminating into just one fine evening here. Yes, April is Paris is a good time.

Last Arlaten Hero

This past weekend was one of the best so far. If it were a movie there main characters would be Vanessa and Alex. The setting is this: Arles, ancient city built by Romans, sitting on the side of the Rhone river down in Provence in the South of France, and also the Camargue, a marshy, moist river delta filled with all sorts of flora and fauna. I know you can't really smell movies, but imagine this and the film only gets better: cinnamon mixed with spring flowers. Nice. And what else do we need to complete this film set-up? How 'bout a genre. We'll say romantic comedy. Ha! No it was good weekend and all, but a romantic comedy wouldn't really be as interesting as say...a Schwarzenegger action film.

So here we find our two main characters fleeing Paris to hindout in the country. Bullets were whizzing by us as we grabbed on to the departing TGV. Of course the doors were already closed so I grabbed the handle with one hand and clutched Vanessa's arm with the other. We climbed on top of the train, headed towards a door in the roof of the traincar ahead of us. The evil villains were hopping the gaps between the cars behind us, shooting all the while. We dove through the doors just before the train shot into a tunnel, wiping the evildoers from the roof. The TGV was a smooth ride for the 4 remaining hours until we arrived in Arles.

The streets were filled with all sorts of menacing characters. We dodged around the alleys and explored the maze of streets for hours taking in the sights like the Arena - a mini colosseum, and the river. When night fell we stumbled on this spectactular moroccan restaurant - a haven of 'bad guys'. We knocked on the door and a tiny window slid open near the top of the door. The shadow of some henchman checked us out, closed the window, and opened the gate to let us in. We swam through the smokey atmosphere to our small table ordering a plate of couscous royale and a bottle of the local rosé wine. A dark shadow puffed smoked in the corner, his gaze set upon us. The glow of his cigarette pulsed. When the food arrived I was only able to have one bite, getting a taste of all the lamb, chicken, and other meats on one fork, when the shadow shoved over his table and floated over to ours. He put out his cigarette in my glass of wine and knocked over our table. Vanessa stood up and karate-chopped the guy's neck rendering him unconscious, while I attempted to fight off his stooges. We left without paying the bill and tossed a grenade behind us as we coolly strolled through the front door.

The following day began early with a croissant and a motorcycle--no a chopper. We set off down the semi-busy streets towards the countryside, hoping to evade danger. Little did we know we were looking it right in the face. We tore up the fields of fresh grass and flowers on our bikes and tried hunting some of the wild horses, bulls, and pink flamingos. All in all that day we ended up riding over 50 miles. A mini tour de france if you will. But Lance Armstrong didn't have to ride while being chased by a league of death robots. We rode by the water, all the while eluding the lazer beams and cars zipping past us. Lunch that day was slightly less eventful and less violent as well. We ate our Camargian fare meanwhile punching every mosquito in the face. Vanessa took extreme delight in this especially as they apparently like her blood a little bit more than that the average person.

The voyage back to civilization led us down a slightly more busy road. We had another adventurous encounter with the criminals as they guided us in the wrong direction home by moving road signs, leading us towards their hideaway. We cautiously snuck up beside the driveway, avoiding the gaurds. We did a sleeperhold on two gaurds and changed into their clothes. By this time the sun was getting low and our stomachs were growling. We happened to find this van inside their hideout that sold pizza so we got one - a provençale with olives and peppers and goat cheese. We couldn't eat very much of it because we were discovered and had to frisbee it, teenage mutant ninja turles style, at a group of gangsters, bowling them over. We sprinted up the stairs of the building looking for the evil children's theater actor with a plot to blow up the moon. He found him without much trouble at all really and an intense battle ensued. He was really no match for us. Actors in children's theater, on average, and he was no exception, puny. As we held him up against a wall with his feet dangling in the air he told us his life story. He had dreams to open a bed and breakfast in the countryside near Arles. It would've been called Mas l'Oustral. There would have been a quaint terrace where you could eat breakfast in the sunlight. It would have been an above average breakfast in terms of french breakfast, but still lagging behind the eggs, bacon, and maple syrup pancakes of the USA. He promised he would change his ways, shed a tear, and his heart grew 3 sizes. So, being compassionate and forgiving vigilantes, we released him. He ran off and so did we. Back towards the city of Arles we went as the sun rose above the horizon. The air smelled a little fresher in Arles from then on as the flowers bloomed and the fetid stench was replaced once again with the smell cinnamon and lavander. We rode the TGV back to Paris and all was well. -- or was it. Dun Dun Daahhh!

No, but seriously, it was a fun weekend on about the same level as the story I just recounted even if some of the details were a little skewed.

Samoëns Suaverie on Skis

This past weekend I had opportunity and delight to jet off to the French Alps in style. As always in France there was a nationwide transportation strike which affected the train we were to take to the mountains. What could we do? It was the last minute. The eleventh hour. Really more like 11:45. We were up a creek. On thin ice. In an unfortunate situation. But then Bertrand, a staff member and the leader of the trip to the mountains swooped in to the rescue. He ordered up what he called, "A magic Bus". It might not have been magic, but it was luxurious. Honestly like something you'd see on an MTV show of pimp my ride or road rules or something. We met up with the bus around 11 pm on Thursday night, bags and ski clothes in hand. When it rolled around the corner there was silence and you could hear everyone gasp slightly. I'm not sure whether everyone was in awe or hoping that they build bridges high enough for this colossus to slide beneath. 2 floors, 5 flat screens, 12 beds, 2 refridgerators and a chauffeur. We decided to ditch the Alps and drive all over France in our mansion on wheels. No we did go skiing and it was good. But the bus, let me tell you. Awesome. Skiing -- alright. Bus -- Yes.



No, I'm joking the bus was as fantastic as I described, but the skiing was even better. You can't imagine unless you've been there. The photos don't really give this extreme, mountainous destination justice. We arrived through the mountains early in the morning and I was awake. A friend and I walked around the small ski village and ordered a coffee and a croissant while the rest of the group continued to sleep on the bus. When everyone arose we found our bed and breakfast where we would stay and geared up (picture the scene from 'A Christmas Story') for the snow. The weather couldn't have been nicer. Blue skies. Few clouds. Weather warm enough to be comfortable, but cold enough for some snow. It was fabulous. We were carried up to the base of the ski area by the Grand Massif Express, a gondola, and then rode a few more chair lifts to rise up to somewhere near the crest of one of the peaks. 360 degrees of beautiful snow-capped mountains. Everywhere you looked seemed like some painting. It was unbelieveable. The skiing conditions were just as prime. Well groomed slopes that descended seemingly-indefinitely and challenging, but do-able trails. Usually with skiing where we've been in Michigan you choose a steep slope that's short or a longer flatter trail. Here the flatter trails when on forever (about 10 minutes actually) and the steep slopes seemed like they'd never end. It was really amazing and I would strongly recommend to every able body out there to do some skiing in the Alps...now. go.

Every night we returned sore and tired and didn't have much difficulty finding our dreams. We slept well. And after returning I slept even more. My body was aching. My whole face was, and still is, congested. I have a cold. Yesterday I felt miserable. I'm not able to soar down a mountain ripping by the beginners and slow pokes (just kidding Dad). But seriously the fastest I can go now is a jogging pace. Jacques thinks that going up a mountain only to go all the way back down and then repeat is pointless. Well I would say that the goggle sunburn on my face and the weakened condition of my body can only show that I had one of the best weekends ever just going up and down a mountain.

A Day In the Life

just after a dinner party at Jacques.

the day after the dinner party I took out empty wine bottles.

this is my school. There's a small sign just above the codebox that says I.E.S. -- that's all for my school.

this is the viennoiserie/boulangerie across the street. They sell all kinds of breads, sandwiches, and pastries.

my morning metro commute.

a typical breakfast chez Jacques

the boulangerie on our street. We're becoming friends because we go to this one most often.





Jacque's kitchen.
Jacque's exotic dining room.

the view from my room.


the bathroom. (Notice the lack of a shower curtain; also see our dryer in the top left hand corner)

the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning.

Pictures now, then words later when I have more time. I'm going skiing this weekend in the Alps!

Sinking into the Culture

Well, it's about time for somethin' new huh? Life has been treating me well here in Paris; Classes are underway and they're going well. So far they're not entirely challenging, but very interesting. I'm in a modern art class which is fantastic because we've had the opportunity to go to the Musée d'Orsay to see the real works that we study in class. Our teacher shows up at the museum and walks around while explaining the precise details of the pieces of art and their artists. The Musée d'Orsay has an impressive collection of impressionist works among others. We walked by the priceless art of Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Seurat, Gauguin, Renoir, Degas, Pissaro, and so many more.

Since my last post I've been to Belgium (Brussels is not great and Bruges is calm with canals running throughout the city, like veins that give the romance to this small place) and Provins, Rouen, and Dieppe. I've also been busy working on plans for the future: Skiing in the Alps next weekend, London the last weekend in March, Wine tasting somewhere in France the 1st weekend in April, Springbreak in Nice, Venice, Florence, and Cinque Terre after that, Mont St. Michel, Munich, then I'm finished with school. I guess my schedule is packed.

This past weekend, after spending some quality time with Vanessa in Rouen and Dieppe (Dieppe only for an afternoon for some beachtime and lunch), I returned home to Paris for a Dinner party Parisian style at Chez Jacques. The. Food. Was. Amazing. It was a soirée of conversation, good food, wine, and discovering just how many cigarettes french people can go through in an evening. 12 or so. Not so many I guess. Jacques doesn't smoke luckily, but it's no big deal to smoke in his apartment and it doesn't smell bad at all. We sucked Moules (with is french for mussels) out of their shells, in a soup of carrots and coriander, aided our digestion, apparently, with some fresh -- not like cheese can really be fresh at all -- camenbert, Stephen's favorite. It's like brie, but not at all the same according to Jacques and any other french cheese lover. Then we finished the meal off with some cooked apples. mmm. I feel like I should mention a few of the highlights of my wine education thus far here: first off, in order to taste wine here are the steps: 1) pour wine into glass ending the pour with a slight twist 2) swirl the wine around the glass so as to aerate the beverage 3) stick you nose into the glass as if you're attempting to breath it up your nose 4) then. drink a little --don't swallow, but instead swish it around you mouth and definitely taste it on the underside of your tongue 5) then have another glass because I have yet to find a wine that's not good here in France, but of course I haven't been developing my taste for the grape drink since I was 9 years old like Jacques and many others. It's a large part of their culture.

Jacques has commited himself to teaching me how to prepare several french dishes. He is an excellent cook and I can't wait to learn and bring back some choice recipes including chocolate mousse, cassoulet, pot au feu, couscous (yeah not actually french), and just some general cooking styles.

Go America!

Well I had the opportunity to see a slightly different side of Paris last Thursday when walking around Les Halles in Paris. A slightly slummier area. I also recognized a penetration of American chains. Hordes of young parisians grasping venti paper cups of Starbucks coffee, groups of people, each with a medium pizza in hand from Pizza Hut, KFC's bland red sign lighting the street very much like the neon light from Kenny Roger's which blinds Kramer in Seinfeld. Are these lights blinding the French too? I remember reading rumors and seeing pictures of french people -- all skinny, all healthy, most of them living longer than the average American. It won't be long before we conquer France and then the rest of the world. MacDo's is a very popular restaurant here in Paris. They're visible at all the recognizable spots: Champs-Elysées, L'Opéra, Le Louvre, and many other notable destinations. Well don't worry America we'll get 'em. We'll succeed in fattening france and filling it with our restaurants empty of character and charm.

The City of Lights and The City of L'Amour

What a good couple of days I had this past weekend. I rented a bass for a couple from a small artisan shopped called Paris Contrebass and played music on Friday with a couple guys, Samuel and Zack. I discovered a room in Jacques house, which was his son's room before he moved out. In this room are nearly as many musical instruments as in a symphony. Mostly keyboards. There is fortunately a piano. We played the blues and tried out a little jazz and I hope to play some more later on. Friday night we wound up at a club called Le Pop In, which was populated by a finer quality of studyabroaders. Many were from England I believe. We danced to the rock music they played there until 1 or so and took the night bus home.

Saturday started off well and got better. Crêpes were my breakfast that morning. I went with Nutella, a smooth, delightful chocolately spread and a few slices of banana to attempt something healthy. It wasn't really, but it was tastey. After a few french pancakes I sped down the street to find Vanessa at the Gara St. Lazare, one of Paris's many train stations. She had come to Paris for Valentine's day. I waited in St. Lazare, painting my own impression of the dirty, oil-scented station, slightly more clean and clear than the series by Monet. Her train sizzled in with a few sparks jumping off the powerlines above. It's less romantic now than in the soot-filled days of Monet.

We checked into the grandiose (no, not really at all) Hôtel de Paris, directly across the street from Chez Jacques to drop off her things, then we hit the streets. I pointed out a lot of my favorite places around town, like the Café au petit poucet and a couple boulangeries. We strolled through the pleasant Parc Monceau. We passed by the Grand Palais, over the Pont Alexandre III, slid alongside Les Invalides, and stared, with enjoyment, for a few long minutes at the Eiffel Tower in the Champs de Mars.

We watched a young charlatan try to fool unknowing tourists with a little slight of hand and a ring he pretends to find on the ground in front of you. I can't really imagine how it would fool someone or how he would end up getting any money out of it.

From there we took the metro to rue Daguerre to see my school building, but mostly to get a hearty Salade Speck that I was craving. Bacon-like ham, cheese, potatoes, lettuce...mmm, and a café. We found our way over to Shakespeare & Co., that beloved island of the English language within Paris. By now it was getting close to 5:30 and we were still hungry for much more that evening, but we needed to style out first.

Before going to eat, we stepped our way past the lively Moulin Rouge and up the steps to Sacré-Coeur-- possibly one of the more romantic place to many young french kids to work on their french kissing techniques. We looked out over the city, steeped in love, on this St. Valentine's Day, I laid one on her, and we took off to the metro in search of the illustrious, quintessentially Parisian resto, La Coupole.

To say that our dining experience there was anything less than marvelous and unique would be wrong. I've never eaten at such a fine establishment. We walkedin, a little timidly, "On est deux" I said. I was told that it would be about one hour then instead of giving them my name, they gave me one. What a great idea to have a recognizable, a pronounible name of famous artists or composers. Much better than hearing "Staler" all the time. We chatted and waited in the bar of the immense room.

While waiting a server stopped by to joke around with us. "Honeymoon?" he asked in his foreign accent. "When are you going to ask her?" he pressured me. We laughed as he stopped by several other times to talk. Waiters were dressed to the nines in tuxedos or vests porting trays above their shoulders and lighting fire to various plates of food. Not just good food, but good presentation as well.

I ordered the escargots (snails), bar (sea bass), and crème brulée (crème brulée). Vanessa had a well-seared salmon and something like a chocolate muffin filled with fudge for dessert. We had a bottle of white wine and finished off the event with a café. Woah... so good. Delicious. Fun. Flames -- two of the three plates I received were set aflame just far enough in advance of being set down in front of me to not sear my eye brows. Our server, who happened to be the same man who was joking with up before kept up our laughter throughout the meal as he prompted us to get the camera ready, kiss each other, and enjoy the meal. The bill came after our marathon 3 hour meal and we graciously thanked the server for improving our meal and returned to place de clichy.

It will be tough to trump that evening, but we tried the following day on Sunday. We ate a french breakfast at au Petit Poucet, 1/4 of a baguette with butter, croissant, jus d'orange, and un café. And you don't think I get enough protein in my breakfasts at home, Mom. We visited a nearby cemetary in hopes of seeing a few famous graves only to be slightly disappointed to find that most of the cool people are underground somewhere else. So we wandered around in the direction of the Louvre. I couldn't imagine living in such a massive palace as that. Then we cut towards the Salon de Thé, Angelina.

A lustful drink called Le Chocolat Africain is, as Rick Steves adroitly stated, almost think enough to stand a spoon in. And he doesn't lie. The drink is think and rich. Imagine drinking a bowlful of dark chocolate chips that have spend the afternoon basking in the sun. Pour in into your teacup and add fresh, dense whipped cream and then rink another, and that's pretty much it. Its just good enough not to suffocate your palate. We had enough for 2 fair-sized cups each and we split a Mont Blanc as well -- merengue, shipped creme, and what is basically cake frosting. The smooth, refreshingly cleansing water didn't last long.

For the rest of the afternoon we walked around. She left around 5 and I hustled home for some more crêpes with Fraçoise, one of Jacque's neighbors. Good stuff.

This week has been relatively uneventful. I went out with a few guys on Tuesday night and then last night I spent a good amount of time sipping some café and surfing the web. Today I planned several trips for the future. Tomorrow my housemate Stephen and I are busing to Brussels in Belgium. It will be a tour of waffles and a sampling of there more than 500 varieties of beer. Then at the end of March, I'm headed to London for the weekend. I'm working on spring break plans which look like might wind me up in Sardina, a small italian island in the Med, and also another weekend trip to Krakow, in Poland, perhaps. I've heard that's one of the places that's more off the map, but growing in popularity. That's all for now!

The rain in spain really does stay mainly on the plain

Yes it's true, the weather in mountainous Barcelona was a marvelous change from the dreary slosh in Paris.  As Jim at the meat market would say, "The sun's shining, the birds are singing".  While they may speak a little faster in Spain, they take their time with everything else.  Elderly men stroll down the street, hands clasped behind their backs, as they reflect on the quality of their day.  The entire city sleeps in until around 9 or 10 in the morning.  Hardly any shops start setting out their street umbrellas until they're well rested.  And I couldn't imagine they would be able to wake up any earlier with much consistency because a normal dinner (of tapas!) in Barcelona begins around 10pm.  It is a good city.

I scheduled my wake up call from Vanessa early on Friday, around 4:30, and made my way to the Noctillion, Paris' night bus.  I found the stop and two minutes later a bus rolled up.  I traveled 15 minutes to the outskirts of the city with both those beginning their days and finishing their nights.  From there I caught another bus to the Paris-Beauvais airport -- the airport for the cheapo airlines like mine, Ryanair.

Vanessa showed up and after our flight to Barcelona we were glad that all of the buses and taxis and airplanes that morning had moved along with such ease.  We made it safely and easily to Barcelona.  Our first mission was to take to the streets to find our hostel.  We found it, handed over some cash, and made a b-line for the Segrada Familia.  If you can put an imagine in your mind of a sand castle made from mixing water and sand (you know what I'm taking about Mimi) then you can see this building without visiting it.  Although I've gotta say that it is much more impressive when you actually go there.  This cathedral has been in construction for over 100 years I believe.  At one point its construction was overseen by the Barcelona's famous artist, Gaudi.  I feel like this guy was way ahead of his time. Back in the 20s and around then he designed many buildings and a park in Barcelona in the art nouveau style.  I've included some pictures because his work is really great.  I feel like Tim Burton, the director, might have found some inspiration for much of his style from Gaudi.

So we left the cathedral and climbed uphill to Parc Güell for a picnic and some spectacular views of the city.  I put on some pictures because I thought that 1000 words would be better than the few I could come up with.

From there was rested our legs for a while at the hostel.  The Mediterranean Youth Hostel was a great first experience in a hostel.  The staff was friendly and spoke english.  The room where we stayed was in a new section of the hostel where no one had slept before.  It smelled of fresh paint and there was a little paster on the ground still.  There are far more fetid things or creatures with hundreds of legs that could have found their way beneath my feet -- or worse beneath my sheets.

Dinner number one, 9:30pm: a difficult situation mixing up french and spanish words while ordering tapas and wine.  Tapas, if you are unaware, as I was, is a filling meal for several people consisting of many different small plates of appetizers.  This restaurant had a deal that was deliciously simple.  They brought us a bottle of white wine, from the region of course, and 5 cold dishes: something like potato salad, a few slices of ham, anchovies with olives, and a couple salad-like dishes.  Then came the warm dishes.  5 more: chorizo sausage, a meat kabob, these fried cheese/chicken bites, and a couple other things I can't remember.  It was a generous amount of food for the two of us and we left feeling very content.

The following day started off early as we hustled down the street only to miss our train to the countryside.  No problemo though, we waited in the sun and took the train the following hour.  We made it to Montserrat and up the cablecar by noon.  After ascending we were able to see for miles.  The main reason for going up there was to see an abbey in the mountains, but it turned out to be far more.  We started walking up steps that led back into the hills and after a while we were on the top.  We ate lunch 15 feet from a sheer cliff surrounded by wild rosemary and sage herbs.  I picked up and stuffed it in my bag.  I always think its so exciting to see fruits and vegetables and herbs going in their natural environment, not just on a farm or something.  

The hike down was much easier and quicker than going up, but it was stilled enjoyed.  The ride back to Barcelona and the rest of the day was spend relaxing at cafes and in the hostel until it was about time for dinner.

Dinner number 2, 10:15pm: Basically the same as the night before except with Sangria instead of wine and mostly cold dishes.  It was just as delicious though.

The following morning we woke up slowly until I took a shower in the freezing water of our hostel.  There were still a few kinks to be worked out in the electricity of the new addition to the hostel.  The water heater, and many of the lights, were not functioning more often than they were.  We walked around, eating a few pastries and a baguette for breakfast.  We saw casa mila and casa batllo, both Gaudi designs, then headed toward the beach.  Sand and water was on our minds, but we wanted it to be on our feet.  Well it was, but I still had my shoes on unfortunately.  We sat on the side of the beach for about an hour probably with our feet dangling just above (and occasionally below) the water.  We did a beach walk and after a small lunch and a well sought-after ice cream cone, we found the bus station for our return up north.

It was definitely a good weekend.

Also, on a less interesting note, I started classes just yesterday.  I have Modern Art in the morning, then French Cinema and Society in the afternoon.  That is monday and wednesday and then tuesday thursday I have a French language class in the morning and a history of photography class in the afternoon.  An entire university went on strike in Paris recently so I have to find another course to take at an exterior university, as required by IU.  I'm looking at a religious studies class now and it is one of the only classes that fits with my schedule.  We'll see how that goes.

Something else that I'm excited about is the possibility to work at a boulangerie somewhere here in Paris.  It's only a though that I had recently, but I will definitely look into it.

That's about it for now.

Well I realized that I haven't given an update recently on my life here in France.  I'm still alive and enjoying myself.  This weekend began on Sunday night with the Superbowl.  Actually here in France they begin the week and their calendars with Monday and actually that's went the superbowl really started here, Monday night around 12:30.  And Stephen, my housemate and I, watched the entire game until 4:30 am.  It was a good game and we had just met that night so it was nice to hang out.  We caught the night bus as the snow was coming down in Paris.  We got almost 2.5 centimeters!  That is extraordinary for Paris as they very seldom receive any snow at all.  According to Jacques, this is because of the atlantic climate we have here.  Paris, and much of France, remains in the middle of the thermometer year round.  So while the snow lasted kids were scrapping enough off cars or the ground to form snowballs.  It didn't last long and eventually Paris reverted to it's usual raininess and the snow became dirt and water.

It may seem that I've been reticent this week because I have had a french class with homework and readings.  If I'm slightly busy now, I wonder what it'll be like when I have 5 classes.  I feel like this is just a shock of work now relative to my vacation from any necessary deadlines.  The class was good and I had the opportunity to rest at home a little bit in the mornings before heading to class on the 13 line to Gaité.

Other highlights from the week include seeing a man playing accordion on the metro (I want to illustrate this a little bit more.  At one of the metro stops underground a short man with a black cap hopped into our car along with a woman who was shaking a tambourine.  He spouted out several words, which I couldn't understand, but I assumed he said something along the lines of, "For you listening pleasure I'd like to introduce to you Marie! the best dancing tambourine woman in Paris and myself, Jean-Pierre!, world-renowned Accordionist and tight rope walker! Now enjoy the salacious sounds of my Squeezebox!"  And I enjoy them I did.  His fingered zipped over the keys and buttons as he wobbled around, being a little top heavy from the massive music box strapped to his chest.  He grinned and kneaded his accordion with zest and jollity like no other.  I was impressed with the stance he was able to hold as the metro rocked along the rails beneath the city.  I decided to contribute to his cause and flipped him a euro as I left at my station.)

I also met up with some friends at a jazz bar on Tuesday which was good.  There was a house band and different people stood up in front and performed.  Some sang, someone played guitar, everyone was good and listening to french people sing american songs was entertaining.  One of my friends, Sam, was invited to the stage to sing a standard.  He was great and his singing reminded me of Michael Bublé or Harry Connick Jr.  We left after he hit his final notes and walked to a bar with a fantastical name, The Frog and the Princess.  It was nothing like a fantasy at all really.  There were too many people crowded in a space too small and the discotheque lighting was enough to cause epileptic seizures. We had a malty beer and hung out for a while before catching the metro home.

Other quick things that I've done this week: La Guillotine, a bar in the Latin Quarter, attempted to catch a reading at an ancient-looking english bookstore--Shakespeare & Co., ate some sweet food by Jacques--last night we had some amazing omelette with bacon and potatoes.  After I've got a big enough list made up, which can't be too long, I'm going to talk about all of the food I've eaten.  Get jealous.  This weekend -- Barcelona.  Expect to hear about that next.

My Walk to Class

Yesterday in France there was a Grève Nationale -- or a nationwide strike.  Supposedly all transporation, Metros, Airplanes, Trains, and such were taking the day off in order to raise their wages from the government.  So because the Métro was not riding the rails yesterday, neither was I.  So I took off from my quaint apartment -- Chez Jacques -- on rue Biot and headed south.  My path, brought to you by Jacques himself, was chockfull of the finest spectacles of Paris.  Along my route I saw La Madeline, La place de la Concorde, Champs Élysées, La Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Les Invalides, and the Tour Montparnasse, not to mention several churches along the way.

--I just took a break to have a little lunch here at Café Daguerre.  I ordered une Salade Speck: bascially some cheese and potato chunks in a bowl.  I think there was some lettuce in there too.  But it was delicious.  It reminds me of Jacques speaking of Roquefort cheese, one of my favorites here.  Its a blue cheese with some stank.  He didn't say it's very fatty or I try not to each much because of the calories in it, but instead he explained to me that the bacteria in it is very good for your health.--

So yesterday I walked.  Here are some pictures from my walk before class and then after class a group of us walked around and did the tourist thing: l'arc de triomphe and Sacré-Coeur.

I was proud of myself yesterday when a group of 11 of us when to the highly visited Sacré-Coeur.  I spotted the North African men from a distance prowling around like sharks in search of meal.  I donned my Wayfarers and stepped outside the school of tourists we were.  They took the bait and moved in for the kill.  I was feeling safe watching them swarm and circle around my helpless friends when I turned around and was face to face with a man attempting to slip some sort of friendship bracelet around my finger -- tightening the noose on his sale.  He tried to butter me up and ask where I was from.  I replied, "La France".  While still trying to evade his smooth sales method I bit into his coldly with a sharp "Je ne veux pas ça!"-- meaning I don't want that!  He must have believed me and been convinced by the facade my shades provided because he promptly spun around for a different meal.

I joined back up those who were still left in the group after the feeding frenzy and and we took some pictures on our climb to top of the steps.  The view from atop Montmartre is one of the best.  I took a few choice pictures of myself which will hopefully last for my children's children to see and replicate in the future.

We strolled along the streets of Montmartre with scenes straight from the movie Amélie.  

I headed home and took a chance down a rogue alley in hopes of avoiding the sex shops of Pigalle.  I suceeded mostly after emerging from the cobblestones just past the Moulin Rouge.  I rested briefly Chez Jacques before buying my baguette and wine for dinner with a couple friends, Becky and Katie.  It wasn't too difficult to reach their apartment on the opposite end of Paris.  I took the 13 to the 4 and took off down Boulevard Brune for a bit.  We made a quick trip to the grocery store and cooked up a delicious meal of pasta and sauce, an assortment of cheeses, a big baguette, a few pieces of poulet (qui ont bien gouté), and a swig of wine.  Even what would be considered a simple meal in the U.S. is nothing short of spectacular when eating in France; different looking ingredients, excursions to an unfamiliar market, talking and eating with different individuals.

I made my way back to the Métro around midnight just in time to catch one of the final trains. Certainly a good day in Paris.