Mother Nature must read my blog. Not one hour after I had posted yesterday's entry about there never being any sunshine in Paris, the most amazing rainbow appeared right outside my apartment window. I think it was her way of telling me not to lose hope; Paris would not be gloomy forever.
Luckily, this city makes full use of outdoor warmers so that Parisians can still enjoy an espresso on a terrace and have the illusion of a warm sun beating down on their shoulders. I'm always impressed at how widespread these heaters are, and bewildered about the lack of them in American cities. I know a lot of Minnesotans who would love to sit on such an artificially heated terrace, especially as winter lingers on into spring. As for Paris, the cloudy/sunny mix lasted until mid-afternoon. At about 4:00pm local time, the clouds finally won...at which time it promptly started to hail.
A lot of residences in Paris are connected by courtyards. You enter the area through one main door, pass through a little hallway into the open space, and from there you find access to a variety of buildings. There are often trees, plants, or flowers in the courtyards. Sometimes you can find a bench to relax on. They're a calm, welcoming retreat from the bustling city outside. I haven't met a courtyard I didn't like, and I'm thoroughly in love with this concept of interior hideaways; a concept that isn't highly publicized or accessible to the outside world. Maybe it's for the best. A city that knows how to keep its secrets is that much more fun to discover.
One undeniable similarity between Easter in the US and Easter in France is the consumption of mass quantities of chocolate. Chocolate eggs, chocolate bunnies, chocolate chickens - they're all here, just like at home. Trying to buy chocolates on Saturday at Maison du Chocolat was not an easy proposition. The line ran out the door as Parisians hurried to buy their Easter goodies. The difference here might lie in the quality of the chocolates consumed. Even this die-hard Hershey's fan was delighted by the taste of the large chocolate bunny she ate on Sunday. Maybe a little too delighted, as I nearly ate the entire thing. But it's ok, I have all day today to recover.
I was reminded of this fact when, among all the royal pomp and circumstance, I found a simple engraving at Chenonceau dedicated to the memory of WWI. Incredibly, the castle's long, river-spanning hallway was used as a temporary hospital where, according to the plaque, 2,254 injured soldiers were treated from 1914-1918. It was a simple reminder that this war touched everyone and was fought in every corner of the country. Evidence of the conflict was truly everywhere. Even this 16th century castle was not left untouched by the gruesome and tragic events of the time.
If you have a sweet tooth, France is the place to be. Sure, you can get sugary goods anywhere in the world, but just look at this picture I took at a salon du thé/chocolatier/ pâtisserie
Despite their name, Supermarchés are often small compared to their American counterparts. Nevertheless, our cookie and candy aisles have nothing on theirs. Despite the vast array of less-than-healthy snacks, we all know that most Frenchmen and Frenchwomen have managed to maintain their famously thin figures. It might have something to do with the size of the sweets that are available to them. Though I have seen rich chocolate tarts, coconut flavored cookies, and sticky caramel candies, I have yet to see anything carrying the label "King-Size."
Now, I consider myself to be your average Leonardo da Vinci fan. I've seen the Mona Lisa, read the da Vinci code, and can easily visualize his famous drawing, The Vitruvian Man. But I had absolutely no knowledge of his final resting place, nor, frankly, had I ever wondered where it was. He's such a large, mythical figure that imagining him in a regular burial plot the same as mere mortals doesn't exactly come naturally. Nevertheless, he was indeed buried, and visitors to the Loire Valley should not miss the opportunity to see his eternal home.
One of the things that struck me the most was the contrast I felt between two of the weekend's visited castles, Chambord and Chenonceau. Visitors to Chambord are immediately impressed by its enormity. There is nothing subtle about this royal creation; its countless spires and expansive interior demand respect. Chenonceau, on the other hand, is much more reserved. As you walk up the tree-lined path, most of the castle is hidden from view. You can see the entryway, but the bulk of the residence stretches
behind the façade as it crosses the river. Its flowing arches and smooth exterior are incredibly enchanting. It makes sense, then, that Chambord was built by François I, while much of the construction of Chenonceau was overseen by Catherine de Médicis. The masculinity of one and the femininity of the other are strikingly visible.
I know what you're thinking: "Why would you crave take-out, suger-infused American coffee when there are so many great cafés to enjoy in Paris?" Well, you're right. There are countless great cafés in Paris and I assure you that I do enjoy them. I enjoy many of the specialties that are unique to France and have hardly craved specialties from home at all. There's not much time left for missing cheeseburgers when there are endless varieties of pastry to be had. Nevertheless, I couldn't deny that on this particular morning, I would have given anything for an American coffee shop. Culinary delights of Paris notwithstanding, sometimes a girl just needs a skinny, no-foam, double-shot, mocha latté, on the fly, and with a side of blueberry muffin.
I have to admit that I was more than a little surprised at this turn of events. In the 18 years of my life that have been spent in school, I have never had to do homework in a foreign language except, of course, for French class. However, these French students (and other non-native English speaking foreigners) are flat-out expected to be able to complete graduate level work in English. I can tell you right now that there is not one single foreign language that my colleagues at AU and myself would be able to all work in together. Our second languages of choice run the gamut. But, as the professor said, "English is the language of international politics."
I usually don't condone defacing statues that represent the cultural heritage of France, or any kind of public property for that matter, but after seeing this bit of graffiti I was willing to make an exception. I mean, it's just plain cute!
This decision stems from my firm belief that there is no need to go outside when horizontal precipitation is present. Umbrellas become useless, it hurts to keep your eyes open, and you have to endure the pity of those riding by in the warm comfort of their cars. Just walking from the bus to my apartment is unpleasant in such conditions. Luckily, saying inside on a rainy day is one of life's simple pleasures. Who doesn't like cozying up with a hot beverage and a good book? Or a movie you've been meaning to see? Or some household chores that have long been neglected? Such days can give us an excuse to tune out the outside world and enjoy some much needed "me" time.
hours of the morning. What's more, they go to work late (by DC standards at least) and stay late. Needless to say, as I made my way across the bridge on the way to the metro at 7:00am, the place felt deserted. Nothing but newspaper deliverers, garbage trucks, and one very sleepy student.
The professors will all be mean and strict, the students unwelcoming and aloof, and the facilities less than substandard. These are just some of the preconceived notions I held, and dire warnings I was given, before my first class at Sciences Po. Needless to say, there were more than a few butterflies in my stomach as I left home this morning and made my way to campus. But much to my relief, these gloomy predictions failed to carry any weight.
Maybe it's the American in me, but every time I see this symbol I think of McDonald's and its internationally recognizable golden arches. In reality, this yellow "M" has nothing to do with food, fast or otherwise. It simply denotes the entrance to one of Paris' numerous metro stations.
I learned the hard way that even separate offices within singular organizations don't always have the same hours. Numerous trips to the Sciences Po campus have been cut short by the discovery of an unexpected closure. First, it was the student ID card office. I foolishly made the rookie mistake of trying to get something done at 1pm. They were at lunch. Then there was the carte de séjour office, which helps students acquire the documentation they need to be in the country legally. They are only open Monday mornings and Thursday afternoons. The biggest disappointment was the language department. I was so excited to sign up for a French class, but when I got there, the office was closed. The worst part was realizing that there were actually people working behind that big door. I could hear them! But the office doesn't take visitors on Monday mornings. I felt like a bumbling idiot.
Liberté was easy to find; people can do anything on the metro. They eat, drink, sing, give lectures, and play accordions. I've even seen four-piece bands pile into a train and begin a between-stops performance. It's an attempt to entertain that mostly draws rolling eyes from travelers who are trying to talk on their cell phones. You can also bring pets onto the trains, and while, in theory, this is supposed to be reserved for small companion animals, the large golden retriever who felt the need to nuzzle my feet on line 9 last night proves that, even on the metro, Parisians take their claim to liberty seriously.
There are two beautiful trees in bloom right outside my bedroom window. I've been watching them grow for nearly two weeks now, and today with the sun shining, the shutters thrown open, and a light breeze wafting in, they look absolutely amazing. As someone who was born and raised in northern climes, any sign of life in early March is exciting - flowering vegetation is a miracle.
have stayed near 50 degrees Fahrenheit, making getting around town on foot perfectly enjoyable and comfortable. I only hope it stays this way, and that an early spring doesn't mean a late-arriving summer, or worse, winter's unexpected return. In the US, Puxatauney Phil saw his shadow, thereby predicting six more weeks of winter. These photos show that, clearly, the logic of Groundhog's Day doesn't translate into French.
