Quoi de Pont 9?

Last night was kind of exactly what I expected it to be when I heard, "Let's drink under the bridge!" It started out as a plan to drink in public, because it's allowed here. The facebook message went out thursday to get everyone together friday night, everyone being the rippon girls, Claire, Grace, and us bard girls, "the usual crowd," I guess. Oh, and this guy Lucy met on the bus one day. he was invited too (??). He was actually the one who suggested Pont Neuf in the first place and everyone was kind of like, whoo great idea, Joelo.

The evening was "Apportez Votre Propre Alcool," but I was kinda sketched out by the fact we were gonna be under a bridge and all, so Laura and I split a bottle of hard (but mild) cider. Since we still had our plastic champagne flutes from our picnic by the Eiffel Tower, we brought those to be classy. The bridge was the same one where we had our first "Activite Culturelle," a ride on the Seine tour boats which dock next to a little park where we'd waited for the next tour to start. When we left several hours later, after half of our group had peed in the bushes of said park, I thought about how everything comes 'round full circle, but not always under the same circumstances. Turns out, "under the bridge" actually refers to the park and surrounding "walkway" on a little island off the middle of the bridge. There had to be about 30+ other people already there, but we managed to scoot past them along the narrow walkway and settle along the edge by the willow tree. Among the groups of French people, most were drinking/had clearly been drinking, and two people were playing acoustic guitar into the night. One of the players started strumming what sounded like "Fade Out (Street Spirit)" and I got really excited, but he kept repeating the intro and never got to the lyrics.

Our group kind of kept to itself, the largest group of girls there + Joelo, who turned out to be pretty nice. Granted, I've been assuming the worst of people just to be cautious, so anyone who talks to me without first asking for my number or a "French kiss?" or immediately breaking the personal space rule, is "nice." Regardless, he's here in culinary school but leaving for America soon and actually did seem like a nice guy. We also met his friend, Aaron, who goes to the Cordon Bleu culinary school which is like, the best in the world, or something, and is right around the corner from my host home. He seemed pretty cool, too.

Laura, Claire, Grace and I took a break from the river to pick up more wine/the worst premixed vodka and orange drink you've ever tasted. The wine was pretty bad too, but that's what you get for 5 euro a bottle. When we got back, Amanda had just about finished her first bottle of Rose wine and we encouraged her away from the edge of the river which was a cobbled, 70 degree slope into the Seine ten feet below. Everybody else was pretty drunk, but I wasn't, nor did I want to be, plus I have this hellova cold which meant you could only hear every third syllable at normal volume when I spoke... I sounded like a choking chainsmoker. Anyway, it was around this time some guys came by looking for cigarettes. Joelo offered them his and they accepted, complained about his choice of brand, and offered to sell him pot. He declined, but the interaction encouraged others to come investigate our almost-all-girl party. Joelo turned to us and asked, "Do you know the word 'racaille?'" (trans: riffraff, hoodlum)

I only remember the name of one of the French guys we met because he was so impressed I could pronounce it (wasn't hard, but ok), and he was in white track pants, running sneakers, with a plaid cap offset on his closely-shaven head. I talked to him for a little bit, mostly in French although he kept testing out English every once in a while. He had Aaron translate, "I'm really fucked up right now," but got really scared when he heard Aaron say "fuck" because he didn't understand the context and didn't want me to get the wrong idea about him. In any case, I was standing next to Joelo when he came over again and started asking him about me, the translation of which follows:

-Hey, is she your girlfriend?
-No, no, a friend.
-You should try to make her your girlfriend, eh?
Joelo brushes it off.
-Why not? Look, she's so cute...
He motions toward me with puppydog eyes and looks back at Joelo.
-No, no, just friends.
I'm cracking up/hacking up a lung next to Joelo, he laughs too.
-But look! So cute, and outgoing... Me, I can't, but you have a chance, she's so cute...
More gesturing in my direction.
-You know, she speaks French really well. She understands everything you're saying...
Nino is a deer in the headlights,
-Oh, shit!

A while later, Nino and his friends decided they were gonna go get more booze, but Nino was worried about leaving us there, more in an overprotective way than because there was actual danger, our group nearly outnumbered the remaining French people at this point. "We're going to buy another bottle," he told me, indicating his empty handle of Jack, "but I'm going to have my friend stay here and protect you all, be careful, he will protect you!" But his friend wanted to go with them, though, and Nino pulled him back toward us twice before he finally let him tag along. It was just as well because it was late and some of the girls were worried about making the last metro before 2.

Sarah, Claire, Laura, Adena and I ended the night at a cafe on the other side of the river where we were horrified to look at the menu and go, "So, the cheapest items on the menu are... sugar crepes... and martinis..." The next cheapest thing was hot chocolate, so I paid 6,30 euro for that. We left around 3 and had to navigate the night bus from a new location. Adena and Sarah found their bus right away, Laura and Claire were traveling together, but I had to go south... I couldn't find the stop and was accosted by two people as I tried to find an N13/121/62 stop on the other side of the street. I crossed place St. Michel twice with no luck when a guy came up and threw himself on his knees before me, arms raised, I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I half-smiled and quickly walked away. He followed: (trans)
-Would you like me to accompany you?
-Non, non, merci... Laura!
Laura and Claire were across the street at the stop, still, but they were distracted by Nino's crew who had suddenly reappeared.
-Actually, I'm looking for the bus, but I don't know which...
-Oh, you speak English?
-Yes.
Suddenly he was embarassed and said in an Australian accent,
-Hey, I'm sorry about before, it was just a joke with my friend, I'm sorry.
-No worries...
-My friend says there's a station over at Chatelet, maybe you should go there? But I think you'd have to cross-
-Ya, cross back over the river...
I had negative motivation to go back across the river, alone, in the wrong direction.
The guy turned to his friend, "I think she knows more about this than we do..." Back to me:
-I'm sorry I can't help you, and I'm really sorry about before...
Finally they left and I decided I should follow Bvd St Michel until I found the right stop, and at least I'd be walking in the direction of home... it was 3:15. By traveling vaguely southwest, I managed to make my way from St Michel to Montparnasse where I knew the right buses passed, and that they'd be coming by soon, since they run on the 45s and it was almost that time. I was home by 4:15 or so and went to sleep.

When I got up this morning at 11:30, I showered and went on my computer for a while before getting breakfast because I heard an unfamiliar voice and didn't the guests to see me getting breakfast at 1 in the afternoon. My host mother was in the kitchen and I tried to greet her, but my voice is absolutely gone today. "Ah, you have a life in Paris," (??) she said. I gave her a questioning look and she explained, "You go out late, you get back late, you sleep in...and now you're sick. You know, the weather's nice, but..." I felt really embarassed and guilty and sick.

Ok, we GET it, France only works so they can STRIKE

My life would be hilarious if I wasn't living it right now... I was really looking forward to our "Activite Culturelle" this evening, a vocal performance of Ravel's hhmohmfsj. I forget the name, but it was singing, and I was so excited... The director postponed the concert until ??? because of the strike. There's a huge demonstration planned for tomorrow with all of the teachers in France, even middle school and elementary teachers, NO ONE has class... On top of that, there's a "greve generale" which means half the metros and commuter trains will not be running. But the director canceled the concert because it would have been at the Sorbonne, and he was worried people would try to stay in the building overnight to demonstrate...

In other news, I'm going to Spain with Emily!! We're going to Barcelona next Friday, and I was able to find a flight that was less than $200! Of course, looking back at my itinerary this morning, I realized that my flight doesn't actually fly into Barcelona, it flies into Reus, a town 60 miles and an 1:30 minute bus ride out from Barcelona. If I go out that Thurs night like I've done the past two weeks, I'll get up for class the next morning, grab lunch on the way to the bus stop to get me to the Beauvais airport, check in, fly, take another bus to Barcelona, and have to find my way to the hostel to meet Emily in a stange land where I don't speak the language... PS, the cost of buses is going to make up the difference between my ticket and one that goes to a bigger airport (Reus is the smallest in Spain, apparently. They have shuttles lined up with flights from my carrier because they're the only ones that go there...). BUT I'll be in Spain for the weekend for under $400 which is what it would have cost me just to fly to Prague.

In other news, I don't see my host brother around much. He's almost never hear, and when he is I just see him in passing, long enough to say, "Bonjour," or "Salut, ca va?" and then he's off again or I'm headed out. At dinner today, my host mother mused about why. She said she'd talked to her friend who takes in foreign exchange students and who had 4 sons. "Is he in love?" "No," my host mother told her. "I don't think that's it..." "Then he's jealous." My host mother thinks this is the isssue. Since I'm here, they've had to take care of me like another child, in a sense. This takes attention away from him, so he's jealous, she says. In any case, he apparently told her when they were applying for the host family position, "If it's a girl, I won't live here anymore." They didn't specify a preference to my program and told their son, "Well, we have to wait and see." Poof! Girl arrives, son disappears. He doesn't come home because I'm in the next room.

I still have nowhere to go for Easter weekend, when I'm supposed to have alternative housing arrangements; it's part of my housing contract. So... I may try to go to Milan with another girl from my program cuz I kind of have my heart set on visiting Italy and apparently it's really cheap to get there. Dunno. Still up in the air, like everything. :)

Random news: Ian H friended me on facebook today. I was embarassed to ask myself, did he go to high school with us? Now that I think of it, wasn't he on the football team? I think I always thought that was funny because he was so petit... My last vivid memory of that kid was tricking him into following us into the ladies room during a cub scout pinewood derby... in elementary school. I mean, I do have other memories of him more recently than that, but for whatever reason that's the one that stands out the most. He looks the same now but taller. It's weird sort-of hearing from people you haven't talked to in... years. It just kind of brought me back to the Toffolon and MSP days...

Stringimi forte... E vola vola con me

Thursday was another late night at Mix: I was in bed by 5:10 and awake again at 8:30 for Translation. We saw a couple of the same people we'd met the last time which was fine, but one of them was this guy who had the worst BO and loved to dance with his arms above his head... He was also rather tall which put his pits right at the level of my nose... It was really loud, much louder than the last time we were there, I think, but that meant that when this guy tried to talk to us he screamed directly into our ears... "Us" was just me, Laura, Adena, and Claire this time, but it was just as much fun. This time we met (well, I met) a Moroccan guy studying to be a doctor. He asked for my number but I deflected with, "It's not my phone, it's my friend's...(Hey, I didn't exactly lie)...but maybe I'll see you here again some time?" He made his exit and the rest of us headed back to the dance floor. A few minutes, this guy I had never met came up and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and he asked, "I know you're staying here in Paris with your friend. Can I have the number and I can call you sometime?" "Euh, no." I guess Re'da passed on the info and his friend figured he'd try his luck? Weirded me out. The only other really weird thing was the guy who came and stood behind me on one hip with his arms folded, like how dare we not introduce ourselves or something.

Friday, Laura and I took the train out to Deauville to meet Astrid and her two Korean friends for the Asian Film Festival. For 5 euro, we were able to buy a weekend pass to all the films, for 5 euro more, a brochure with descriptions of all the films in French and English! The first night, Laura and I opted out of going to see a Korean film, Breathless, to stroll on the beach/around town. Since there's a local stable, I actually saw people riding horses through the water like you see in movies... The next morning we woke up early to see Claustrophobia (Ch.) because we thought the others were going, but ended up having to walk to the theater, which was fine because it actually took less time on foot than by car and the film was really good. Unfortunately, we missed the first minute or so and the film started with the most recent scene and went back in time to the main characters connected... in effect we actually missed the "end" of the film. Later we met the others to see "Members of the Funeral" (Kor.) which was a bit dark, followed by another Kor. film, "My Dear Enemy." From the description, "A girl who sets out to find her ex..." I had low expectations, but it was actually really good.

At night, Laura and I agreed to see "Frozen Flowers" (Kor.) on a whim. The description said it was a historical film about a King who asks his good friend, the Korean "SWAT" leader, to sleep with the Queen and help him produce an "heir" since he can't. Turns out, good friend means gay lover... Anyway, it seems like it'll just be really pretty at the beginning, maybe a love story? Until the first action scene when you're like OMG I JUST SAW THAT GUY GET AN ARROW THROUGH THE HEAD, OMG THEY JUST TOOK THAT GUY'S ARM OFF, etc. Then there's the first bedroom scene, between the King and the Chief when you say, "Oh, they're gay." Then there's the first bedroom scene with the Queen and the Chief when you say, "Oh, this is...explicit," then they bust out the 69: "Oh, this is a porno..." Then the love story, then more action and blood, then conspiracy... Astrid was planning to leave halfway through to see a Japanese horror film, but stayed the full two hours because it was so damn suspenseful. We all kind of left going, WTF, why was that so AWESOME? We headed to the beach for some air and stumbled upon the director/main actor of "Breathless," his co-star, her brother, and an assistant/translator. Astrid got up the courage to ask him for an interview, but he didn't speak English or French, so her friends and his friends helped translate. It turned into a conversation between Astrid's Korean friends and the others, Astrid, Laura and I left standing there unable to understand anything that was going on... but it was still cool and before they left he gave his e-mail address to Astrid and gave us all buttons with the film title. The next day, his film won two awards, including "Best Film of the Festival." I need to see this movie.

Sunday, we went together to see "All Around Us," (Japn) a film about a guy who works as a court room sketch artist and his wife who falls into depression when their infant daughter dies. It was a little slow at first, but in the end it was so sweet and optimistic that it made the wait worth while. We split up for lunch but agreed to meet at 2:30 to see "Departures" (Japn). When Laura and I didn't see the others anywhere, we decided they must have already gone in. I sent Astrid a txt to let her know we were inside, she responded a few minutes later that they had gotten there 5 minutes late and weren't allowed entry. It was really too bad, too, because Laura and I really enjoyed the film. There was a lot of humor in the first part and it almost seemed Western in style... It had a faster pace even though it was just as long and I almost cried more than 5 times. Laura and I sat the last film out that the others went to and we left Deauville around 10:30, getting us back to Paris around 12:30. After dropping everybody off, Astrid and I were finally home at 1:30.

I want to be Lisa Loeb when I grow up

Guess what? The strike has been extended to March 18th! Who'd a thought...

On the bright side, my AYA courses have been bumped up to 3 credits a pop... 9 credits, baby! 3 shy of what I need to satisfy the Bard administration...who apparently knew nothing of the strike until yesterday when the mother of one of the girls in my program called them. Ha! I love how on top of things those guys are... I guess that means they don't care that I haven't faxed them proof of full-time-student status yet, not that I could if I wanted to (which I do!!). Hphm.

Monday sucked. And on top of Monday, the IRS had an issue with the account number I provided, which means they won't be autodepositing that check which means I won't have access to it until I get back... not that it was enough to make a huge difference in my quality of life, here, anyway. It was almost funny, though, cuz it was about the fifth piece of bad news in a row that day.

Tuesday, in contrast, was great. It was pouring. No class, but Adena and I met with our "Political Life and French Society" discussion teacher (and a few other students) in a cafe to discuss what we should do should classes start up in the middle of March. He suggested we do the work regardless, 10 page paper due March 31 included, oral presentation preparation included, although we'd have to do all of the research on our own since class is not happening. Awesome! I love researching unfamiliar subjects in foreign languages when I have no library access because the administration hasn't printed my student ID card yet... Heck, Adena doesn't even have the 105 pages double sided reading packet yet. The prof suggested she photocopy mine. He also said they may have to turn the two "review" classes into actual classes, extending my semester here by two mandatory weeks, oh, and they may take away vacation time. He did pay for our coffees, though, which was nice of him. I realize that sounds much less great that I made it appear it would be... the great part came next:

Since we didn't have class until Cinema at 4, we decided to go to a museum... then realized it was Tuesday and nothing we knew was open. Instead, I suggested we go to the Cinematheque at Bercy to see some 5 euro films. Turns out that was closed, too. We did find an organic make-your-own-sandwich shop which was delicious... and by the time we'd finished it had stopped raining and we tried to come up with something else to do. On a whim we decided to tour the Bercy gardens and fell absolutely in love with no exaggeration. I need to go back when it's in full bloom to get pictures... I kept kicking myself for not having my camera. First off, it was green, and there were flowers already (whaaaat? it's the beginning of March!), planted in carefully crafted waves leading up to an ivy-covered hobbit-like dome. Inside the dome was a semicircle bench around a concave tiled pool, into which dripped water a single drop at a time. Sun enters through a hole in the roof and glitters on the wet tiles that shimmer with each drop. The rest of the garden was equally amazing and "whaat?": There's a set of 20+ rectangles and a sign that indicates which of 60 (yeah, 60) species of rose grow in each rectangle. Also, there're these trellis-gates covered in flowering vines that flank a shallow cement pool. And there were curious greenhouses scattered around, one of which contained giant potted orange and palm trees. Adena was ecstatic, "They took southern California, and they put it in a box!... Why can't I get into the box??"

After touring the garden, we crossed this awesome bridge to get to the Bibliotheque Nationale and saw the Globe exhibit, basically two 8 m tall globeswith artistic representations of the Earth and sky as they knew it back in 16??... Upon exiting the library I realized what Adena meant by "sunken garden" -- basically a small forest growing at least 10 stories below street level. From above ground, it kind of reminded me of Jurassic Park, ancient-looking trees growing out of a gray cage of cement and steel... no raptors, thankfully. It took us a good 1/2 hr to successfully navigate the RER C station, but found the right platform on our fourth try. This wouldn't have been so embarrassing if the platforms didn't all run parallel on the same level. Basically, the same people waiting for their train got to see us come up to one platform, go down, come up on the next furthest platform, go down, come up... etc. I was gonna take a nap when I got back, but I walked in the door and my host mother said, "I'm baking a cake, does that interest you?" I think I love cake more than sleep. That's probably not healthy.

Bonding

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my host sister, casually slurping some soup while my host mother finished cooking dinner when my host sister turned to me and said, "Teach me how to swear in English." " What?" I glanced nervously around to her mom ten feet away, oblivious to her daughter's request. My host sister laughed and insisted, "What do you say in English?" "Like what?... um... we say "Shit" a lot... "Damn..."fuck..." um..." My host mother sat down at the table and wanted to be in on the conversation: "What are you talking about?" "Swears in English," her daughter replied. She seemed unphased and they both continued to pose questions, "How do you say "putain? Vas te faire foutre?" When would you say that? What do you say when you do something stupid, like, eh, putain!" This continued through dinner, my host mother was impressed with my understanding of French cursewords, and we headed to the living room to watch "Ghost Dog," a movie starring Forest Whitaker as a modern-day samurai versus the mafia. The movie was ok, kind of weird, but there was pretty strong language, most of which didn't make it into the French subtitles. The best part by far, though, was hearing my host mother sitting cross-legged on a cushioned, 18th century-style chair in her glasses with a blanket across her lap, hands folded thereupon, remark, "Oh, they translate "fuh-cking" as "putain." "

The next night the AYA girls and I went out to Mix Club for their student night, and actually got in before midnight this time (woot!). We got in with no problems except me who got stopped and asked, "Attendez, vous avez quel age?" "21." "...Ok." Once in, we had to check all coats, sweaters and large bags seperately which meant getting in actually cost between 2 and 8 euro. The music was your basic techno, nothing we recognized but everyone else whooped at the beginning of a couple different songs... I guess Mix has a lot of regulars. Thankfully we weren't hassled too much as a group of 7 or so girls, although I did get to practice shooting people down, not for my own sake but for C's one time. I was dancing with someone when I looked over to our group to make sure they were still there and I saw C trying to push this 6' something big guy away, and he kept trying to pull her back into him. He seemed determined but she did not look into it at all, so I stepped away from the guy I was dancing with and told the guy in French, "Hey, leave her alone." He said I should mind my own business and my own dance partner. "Cassez-vous! (Get lost, at least I'm pretty sure that's the closest translation.)" at which point he told me to vas te faire foutre (go fuck yourself), and I responded, "Vous!" and pushed him gently on the sternum. He was pretty mad at this point and got up in my face a little more, "You understand what I'm saying? FRENCH ANGRY AHH" but I didn't break eye contact or back down so he gave up on me and turned to my dance partner (Oh, shit, what did I do, I'm gonna get this guy killed and he doesn't even speak this language...) who probably would have been helpless compared to this collosus of a guy, so I put my arm out and stepped in front of him protectively (clearly, I had a better shot in a fight, right?...) but luckily the guy gave up and stormed away. My dance partner asked in heavily accented English, "Is everything ok?" I winced and made a so-so gesture which he seemed to understand and went back to dancing, but I pretty much felt like a bamf. The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, we met a few pretty nice people, actually, including this one guy who said to A in French, "Eh, you're russe like me," russe meaning a red-head. She responded, "No, I'm Scottish," thinking he'd meant russe as in the feminin form of "Russian." This continued for a few minutes because it was loud and Adena couldn't hear me explaining, "HE'S TALKING ABOUT YOUR HAIR." We left around 3:30, which got me home by 4, just in time to catch 4.5 hours of sleep before our translation class the next morning...

When I got back from class, my host mother and sister were upstairs in the studio with a famous harpsicordist from Ohio, apparently. She taught for over 30 years at the Conservatory at Oberlin, but is not retired and spends half the year in the US and half the year in Paris. My host sister was interviewing her about the metaphor of the Bach piece's structure as a tree. My host mother was trying to take a portrait shot of her, but the woman was very nervous and kept breaking into laughter or making a strained, surprised-smile face. They asked me to talk with her in English to help her relax. She asked where I was from, she said her daughter had gone to Yale and was now teaching yadayadayada... My host mother stopped her, I needed to talk to her, she needed to talk less. Ok, the harpsicordist asked me about my school, what I was studying in France, well, so far not much because of the strike... Stopped again, could I talk about something more happy? Don't talk about the strike or sad things... Eventually my host sister had her do some theater exercises, look away, turn back slowly, slightly surprised, then smile, come back to center, close your eyes, and smile again... fold over your knees and let your arms hang, come back up slowly and think about your corps... I laughed, my host mother and the harpsicordist laughed, my host sister didn't understand why. "Why, what means "corps" in English?" She meant "body," but didn't realize the French word was a false cognate... "Cadavre,"
my host mother and I said in unison. More slightly nervous laughter ensued.

At 6:00 yesterday I was still waiting for one of my friends to say they'd go to the free Bastien Lucas concert with me at 7:30. It was at Theatre du Chatelet, which meant it would take me half an hour by metro to get there, I'd have to leave before 7. At 6:45, I was still waiting for a response, 6:50, 6:55, 7... Did I want to go by myself? Going to the concert meant skipping dinner chez my host family, meant buying dinner and spending cash elsewhere... He's performing again on Tuesday, but the location is a club in the 18th... If I'm going to go to a concert alone, better at this theater than at that club... So I went alone, and it was great. It was in the foyer of the theater, essentially the formal side room on the third floor of the theater where classy people hang out during intermissions... And it was just this guy and a grand steinway piano and his acoustic guitar. I'd read on his site that Radiohead is one of his main influences, but he played much more classical-style stuff at this concert, my favorite introduction he gave before a song was, "And this is Beethoven, for the guitar, yes, he loved to compose for the guitar, he made great breakthroughs with electronic music as well... but I'm going to play the acoustic version..." After that concert I met up with A and C and Lu to see another group perform at a jazz bar. We noticed there was a sign that said "Consommation obligatoire," basically you're required to order at least one drink. Which would have been fine of the cheapest thing on the menu wasn't juice for 6,20 euro. We hid the menus under a sweater until the band started playing. The singer was awful, a swooping, nasal-toned American(?) girl, and the waiter came by, asked for our order, we hesitated, he indicated the sign on the wall and then pointed to the door. We had a brief discussion of whether or not to stick it out... and unanimously grabbed our stuff and peaced. Once outside, we reaffirmed how much we'd all wanted to leave, didn't like the singer, didn't want to pay for a drink, etc. With nothing else to do, we wandered around for a few hours and then headed home to sleep, finally.