Where Am I, and How Did I Get Here?

Why is it that coming home is always more difficult than leaving home? It seems so counterintuitive. I mean, shouldn't the place that is familiar to you, where you have a built-in system of friends, family and knowledge provide for an easy arrival? You would think so, but no. Since returning to Minneapolis on Wednesday night, I've felt as though I've entered an alternate universe where everything looks, smells and operates differently. A place where everything and nothing has changed. I feel as though I need to relearn how to live here. It's called reverse culture shock, and its effects will leave you feeling like a stranger in an un-strange land.

Reverse culture shock takes a number of different forms. For starters, you might be in shock over what you're seeing. I cannot get over the size of cars in this country. Six months of seeing almost nothing but 2-door Geo Metro-ish vehicles, and plenty of teeny SmartCars has made the sudden appearance of Suburbans and oversized pickup trucks truly astonishing. They're everywhere, and they're enormous! Come to think of it, everything is big here: refrigerators, homes, roads, stores, and space in general. Prices have been a big shock as well. You mean I don't have to add 50% to that price in order to know how much I'm paying in dollars? That's just the price, and it's that small? Sweet! You might also feel emotionally out of place. Living an amazing, wonderful, life-changing experience and then finding yourself surrounded by people who have no idea what that was like is a very isolating experience. Lastly, you'll probably feel shock at the kinds of human interactions you experience when coming home. For me, this has included the wondrous rediscovery of Minnesota Nice. So, I don't have to get scowled at by the cashier at the grocery store? Or completely ignored by the waiter at the cafe? They'll actually smile and ask how I'm doing and chat a bit about the weather with me? I'm going to need to dust off my happy face and friendly demeanor.

You expect to feel out of place in a foreign country. You're not surprised when everyday sights, sounds and activities are new and surprising. When the same thing happens at home, you're completely thrown for a loop. Why does this feel so strange to me? Why don't I fit in here, and why do I feel like "home" is that place I left on the other side of the globe? From past experience with this bizarre affliction I know that its effects will eventually wear off. Home will become home again, and if I just give it some time, and a little patience, that glorious day when I can walk past a Cadillac Escalade without batting an eyelash is just around the corner.

Lasts and Firsts

What a strange feeling it is to leave one place and end up in another halfway across the world on the same day. The actual trip from Paris to Minneapolis was pretty uneventful, with all of the usual ingredients in attendance: Annoying security checkpoints, getting my return stamp at customs, trying to pass 8 hours in an airplane, and hoping my bags would end up in the same place I did. With no delays, no long waits on the tarmac, and no big catastrophes, it was your run of the mill international flight. The real action happened before I even arrived at the Charles de Gaulle airport and started up again upon landing in Minneapolis. As seasoned travelers know, getting ready to leave and finally arriving can be emotionally-charged, activity-packed events. As a result, when you leave an old place and head to a new one, you can't help but get caught up in the game of lasts and firsts.

Paris was my city of lasts. The last time I rode the metro, the last time I saw the Eiffel Tower, the last time I went to my favorite boulangerie, and the last time I spent with friends were all being calculated in my head. This is a particularly unpleasant side effect of moving. Nobody wants to think about lasts. It's a bit depressing, really. Especially if you've had as good of a time as I did in Paris. You might be excited to see family and friends back home, but you really don't want the adventure to end. The fact that your mind can't help but dwell on that very thought isn't helping any.

Minneapolis is my city of firsts. The first time I caught a glimpse of the beautiful skyline, the first time I saw friends and family, the first time I drove a car again (it's like riding a bike!), and the first time I got a coffee from my favorite local spot. Of course, none of these are truly firsts; I've done them all before. But they are firsts in the sense that it's the first time I've done them in six months, and my mind can't help but calculate them just as I did with the lasts. Firsts are great. They're exciting, fun, and when they involve doing things you love to do they can make you really happy. Firsts also help to ease the painful memories of the lasts.

Of course, Paris isn't going anywhere. When I eventually make the trip back (sooner rather than later, I hope), my lasts in Paris will then become my firsts in Paris, and the process will start all over again. In the meantime, I'm going to keep enjoying all fun and exciting things I get to do here in Minneapolis. Thankfully, there are many more firsts to come.

The Art of Packing

I pack a lot. Since leaving Washington, DC at the end of January, I've packed my suitcase(s) more times than I can remember. The stopover in Minneapolis for two weeks, overnights at friends' houses to say goodbye, the big move to France, and countless weekend trips have all required that I pack a maximum of things into a minimum of space. Now that my last full day in Paris is here, I will finally have to undertake the ultimate big pack that I've been guiltily putting off. With two suitcases, one duffel, one laptop bag and a six-month collection of clothes, shoes, souvenirs, books, and other miscellany, this isn't going to be easy.

Luckily, I'll be aided in my task by the knowledge I've acquired after years of travel. In fact, I'd like to consider myself somewhat of an expert packer. If you need it to fit, I can make it fit. The key is to create compartments within your suitcases (mesh bags work wonders), limit heavy items to the smaller suitcases to there's no risk of going over weight, and keep little items together in ziploc bags. I roll all of my clothes, which also creates more space, and I try to limit my number of shoes...with minimal success. My enormous suitcase, which is roughly the size of a refrigerator, came in at 48.2 pounds when weighed at the Minneapolis airport on the trip out to France. The limit before they charge you extra is 50.

So the process begins again: throw out what I don't need, give away good things that deserve a new home, and organize the rest. I'll get there eventually, and I'll be so happy when it's done. After all, the real fun will begin when I arrive in Minneapolis. The only thing worse than packing is unpacking.

Watch Out for the Flying Cork

France is a major exporter of all thing luxury. Louis Vuitton bags, Chanel perfume, Dior sunglasses, Yves Saint Laurent suits; Paris just wouldn't be Paris without these expensive items on display. But luxe isn't limited to the glitz and glam of the Champs-Elysées or Avenue Montaigne. Drive an hour and half east of Paris and you'll end up in France's Champagne region, famous of course for it's bubbly bottles of alcohol by the same name. Tucked between rolling hills of vines and quiet little villages, big and small operations alike skillfully produce their delicious wares. A weekend visit gave me a peek into the centuries-old and modern-day beloved process.

Champagne's small, independent producers can be found throughout the region, and often let you tour their caves or partake in a tasting. If you're looking to visit the major houses, as we were, you'll want to stick to the city of Reims and the town of Épernay. Here you'll find all the major exporters: Moët and Chandon, Pommery, Veuve Clicquot, Taittinger and many more. Take the cave tour to learn about the the process that turns grapes into champagne....and for the tasting that follows. Taittinger's caves were the most interesting as they include areas dug during the Gallo-Roman era in the 4th century as well as all that remains of the Saint Nicaise Abbey whose Benedictine monks built caves for their own champagne creation. The rest of the Abbey was destroyed during the French Revolution. For an excellent tasting experience, request a private tasting in advance at Moët and Chandon. As you sip your Millésimé 2000 in the quiet garden you'll truly feel like a V.I.P.

Champagne is an easy day trip from Paris and well worth the drive (or train ride) to get there. The price tag for a visit will most certainly be less shocking than the one on a Hermès scarf, and bonus: unlike Louis Vuitton or Dior, whose stores can be found across the globe, the Champagne region is the only place in the world where you can drink a glass of bubbly at the source.
After all, if it's not made in Champagne, it's just sparkling wine.

Island Getaway

To discover one of the south of France's best kept secrets, you'll have to hop on a boat and leave the mainland behind. Beautifully pristine islands dot a number of areas along the coast, such as the Iles de Lérins near Cannes and the Iles d'Hyères near Toulon. These isolated corners of paradise make for great day trips, and provide a calm respite from the crowds. If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend checking them out.

Off the coast of Six-fours-les-plages you'll find the Iles Paul Ricard. Yes, that Paul Ricard, the guy who's name adorns thousands of bottles of French Pastis (an alcohol often served during the "apéritif" in France). He discovered and acquired the islands in 1958, set about preserving and protecting them, and today their natural beauty can be enjoyed by visitors year-round. Looking to do just that, I hopped on a boat, taking my bike with me, and set out exploring the hidden beaches, panoramic views and even a vineyard all on the island. I could tell you how it was, but I think these pictures speak for themselves:

Crowd Control

Remember when I told you that Paris was emptying of its inhabitants and stores were closing in celebration of the August holidays? Well, I found out where they've all gone: south. Taking my own abbreviated version of a French summer vacation in the south of France, I cannot believe how many people are down here with me. I've been on the coast a number of times before since moving to Paris, always to the same little town, and I've never seen crowds like this. I even came down here in early July - a great time for the beach! - and there weren't nearly as many people around as there are now. When it comes to vacationing in France, what a difference a month makes.


I always knew that the French vacationed in August, but I never really witnessed the event or understood what it truly meant. Beaches that used to have room to spare are packed. Traffic jams appear where there used to be no cars at all. There is a line at the boulangerie to get your morning croissant. Quiet cafés have turned into bustling hot spots. In short, the sleepy little beachside town I've come to know simply doesn't exist in August. Right now it's all vacationers all the time.

It's easy to think of the south of France as the capital of glam and glitz; a sort of playground for the rich and fabulous. This is only partially true. The town I'm in, Six-fours-les-plages, is about an hour's drive from St. Tropez, but it couldn't be further from it's flashy neighbor. No Jay-Z and Beyoncé sightings here; just young families, couples and the retirement crowd. Despite it's A-list image, much of the south really is just where normal French people (and Germans, Dutch, Belgians, Swiss and even some Italians) go to get away from it all...a lot of them..in August.

Moving On

Getting ready to leave the foreign city you've lived in for the past six months isn't easy. There are the practical considerations such as packing (how did I accumulate so much stuff?!?!), figuring what to do about your cell phone (sell? keep for next time?) and trying to find enough money to pay for the baggage fees that didn't exist when you came out here (could flying get any worse?). Not to mention all the work you know it will take to set up your new life in your new destination. Luckily, experienced travelers know how to manage these tasks while minimizing the collatoral damage that often accompanies them. But there is also an an emotional side to the transition, which is where it gets tricky. Even the most seasoned of globetrotters can be caught off guard by the feelings that accompany a trans-Atlantic move.

First of all, trying to live in the moment and enjoy everything about your current situation can be difficult to do when your mind is already thinking about the future. Some peole will try to cram in all the things they haven't done yet before leaving, while others have reached the burnout stage and are simply waiting to leave. Both situations can be exhausting. Leaving friends and others we have become used to seeing is another cause for emotional strain. There are tears, promises to keep in touch, and wondering when the next meeting will be. You start to think about your favorite stores, restaurants, parks, activities, foods; all the things you won't be able to enjoy once you leave. But mostly you just end up feeling sort of confused. Part of you is excited to head off to a new adventure, while the other part of you is mourning the loss of your current one. Which feeling are you to believe?

Such is the fate of those who are never happy to stay in one place for too long. We accept it because the alternative is to never travel, but that doesn't make it any easier to live through. What's more, experience doesn't necessarily make us better at handling this in-between period of time. That's the thing about traveling: the baggage you carry is often more than just your suitcase.

What the Future Holds

I owe you an explanation. You've probably noticed that my blog is called Parisian Spring and that my "about me" section described me as a student in Paris finishing up her last semester of grad school and wanting to write about her experiences. You've also probably noticed that it's no longer spring and it's no longer my last semester as a grad student. And you'd be right. So what's the deal? Why am I still writing from Paris? Why keep the blog name, which at one time symbolized the time frame for my trip, but doesn't anymore? Not to worry, I have answers.

As my original departure date, June 30th, crept closer and closer, I decided I wasn't ready to return to the US. New friends, the French lifestyle and a summer with nothing else to do but enjoy them both kept me from jumping on that plane and leaving it all behind. So, I did what any rational person in my situation would do: I changed my ticket. The new return date is August 13th, which, unfortunately, is fast approaching. And this time, there will be no last minute travel adjustments.

What, then, is to become of my blog? For countless reasons, I have decided to keep it going even after I leave The City of Lights. I love writing, I love sharing information with people, I love being part of the travel writing community...I mean, blogging is just plain fun! At first I worried about the title. I worried that it wouldn't make sense to call it Parisian Spring when it was no longer spring and I was no longer in Paris. But then Christine, a fellow blogger, ever so wisely told me that Parisian Spring didn't just represent a moment in time, it also represented a mindset. A mindset that ecapsulates art de vivre, enjoying life, new experiences, travel and curiosity; all the things I hoped, and still hope, to demonstrate through my blog.

When I finally leave this amazing country that has become my second home, I invite you to discover friendly Minneapolis (I will be there for a month) and then exciting Washington, DC (I will hopefully be working there) through the eyes of a local: me! Hopelessly infected with the travel bug, I will have plenty of experiences from other cities and countries to share along the way. I hope to see you there! After all, what could be better than an eternal Parisian Spring?

Closing Time

It's official: August in Paris has arrived. Although it's not so much the actual date that gives it away as it is what's happening in city. Everywhere you look, shops are closing up or reducing their already French-reduced hours. Just the other day I tried to buy my favorite creamy cheese from my favorite local cheese shop only to be turned away on arrival by a shuttered store front. But don't blame the economy; these closings have nothing to do with lack of customers. August is the time that most of the French take their annual, long vacation, and if they own their own business, that business goes on vacation too. Buying a baguette for dinner just got a whole lot harder.

The fact that stores in France will actually close for the summer, sometimes for more than an entire month, can come as a shock to Americans. We live in the land of 24 hour everything. A land where you don't have to think about what day or time or month it is before you head out the door to do your shopping. If the owner of a family-owned business goes on vacation, they might just have their employees keep watch over things. But in France, it doesn't work like that. A vacation is a vacation, and since the employees themselves are entitled to abundant time off, they just shut the place down.

Now, a lot of Parisians won't notice the closing of their favorite salon or mini-mart. After all, they're on vacation too. But for those of us who stay behind, the neighborhood can start to feel like a ghost town in August. Sure, there are tons of tourists in the city, and the businesses that cater to them stay open this time of year. But if you live in an area far from the main attractions, your options for everything start to diminish. I spent a half an hour just walking around trying to find an open boulangerie the other day when usually there's one on every corner. I mean, I'm happy for the owners and employees who get to enjoy the lovely summer weather without going to work everyday. I'm happy they're getting to spend some quality time with their family or friends or even alone if that's what they prefer. And I hope they've escaped the city to greener pastures, maybe the beach or the mountains. In the meantime, I'll be here, gazing longingly at the fromagerie around the corner, counting down the days until I can once again indulge in my favorite creamy cheese.

Take My Camera, Please

Has this ever happened to you while traveling? You find yourself in front of a monument, cathedral, or breathtaking natural sight and you freeze. Not because it's so beautiful, not because the magnificence of it all stops you in your tracks...you freeze simply because you can't possibly take another photo of a monument, cathedral, or breathtaking natural sight. Yes, you've got camera fatigue; when trying to capture every moment on film goes from fun and exciting to tedious and boring. Freeing yourself from this condition is not going to be easy.

Camera fatigue is where I find myself today, which might come a shock to those who know me best. After all, I'm usually the one who can't put the camera down and annoys all her friends by taking pictures of them and everything around them all the time (they'll thank me later). But after nearly six months in a foreign country, after countless weekend trips and casual walks around Paris, I'm kind of worn out. During a recent trip to the Musée Rodin sculpture garden, I couldn't even get excited about taking a picture of The Thinker. That's when I knew I had hit rock bottom.

So, how does one pull oneself out of a travel picture slump? I think it has something to do with how you go about your picture-taking in the first place. Try not to take the classic must-have shots of things that are best seen with the naked eye. I mean, seriously, are you going to look through your travel album 10 years from now and be really happy to see a picture you took of the Mona Lisa? You can see that in any old art book. And the memory of seeing it in person - the five or so minutes you took to really examine the art - is no doubt more magical than the flat look of a tiny little painting in a photo. Stick to the stuff that creates memories rather than hinders them; the stuff that tells a story. For example, I know I will always cherish my photos of the Eiffel Tower that I took on Bastille Day. They weren't just regular shots of a familiar monument. Instead, the changing looks tell a story of that day: what the weather was like, how the sky looked, where I was sitting, and the fireworks that capped the event.

After exiting the Musée Rodin, I noticed that a number of telephone poles, fence railings and street lights were covered in the multi-colored stickers you get when you buy your ticket at the museum. For some reason or another, thousands of visitors have decided to discard their adhesive passes on the surrounding urban landscape. Art creating art, in a way. Here was a moment I could get excited about! I quickly snapped a picture of a nearby stoplight covered in stickers. 10 years from now, this silly photo will make me think of that hot Paris day spent in the Rodin gardens, and I'll be really happy to have it.

Fresh Air

Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to have a lot of money to enjoy Paris. This city is filled with free or inexpensive things to do. What's more, many of these budget activities are the best ways to experience Parisian life and culture. One of my favorite examples is picnicking in the park. Parisians love this activity and you can easily join in the fun, no entry fee required.

My favorite time to picnic in Paris is late afternoon/early evening on a warm summer day. The work day has ended, French families, couples and friends relax in the grass, and with a sun that doesn't set until 10pm or later, you can lounge for hours while taking in the historic beauty that surrounds you. Stake out your spot at one of Paris' seemingly countless parks and gardens: Luxembourg, Tuileries, and Champs du Mars are popular choices just perfect for people watching. Be sure to bring a blanket to sit on, some cheese and bread from the market, and every French person's picnic must-have, a bottle of wine. Follow these easy steps and you've got dinner, drinks, sightseeing, and local-observing covered for less than 10 euros.

Last Friday, an American friend and I set up our own French-style picnic in the Jardin des Tuileries not far from the main entrance to the Louvre. We munched on brie and baguette and washed it down with a refreshing Bordeaux. I couldn't believe our luck. Here we were, enjoying delicious French food and each other's company surrounded by magnificent gardens, marble statues, and the walls of one of the world's most gorgeous museums. There was even the Eiffel Tower off in the distance peeking over the trees. If you happen to find yourself in Paris this summer, don't miss out on this classic French activity. In a place known for it's fine dining, who knew that a simple meal could be so satisfying?

How the Other Half Lives

Spending most of my time in the travel blog universe has allowed me to forget that there are people out there like Stanley Fish of The New York Times who - horror of all horrors! - actually don't enjoy traveling. Check out his frank opinion piece, which sheds some light on why not everyone decides to pack up and ship out on a regular basis.

Bikes Galore

It was an event three weeks in the making. After winding their way through the rugged beauty of Bretagne, down the Massif Central, up and down the Pyrenees, across Provence, and through the Alps, the Tour de France cyclists finally made their way towards the finish line in Paris. Determined not to miss the famous sprints along the Champs-Elysées, we headed out a few hours in advance of the big arrival in order to stake out a good viewing spot. We were not alone: more than three hours before the bikers would make their appearance and not a front row spot in the house. Settling in for a second-row picnic and marathon waiting session, our efforts were not to be in vain. The sight, sound, and feeling of the race as it whizzed by was definitely worth waiting for.

There are a few things you need to know about the final leg of France's world famous cycling event. First, it's a really big deal. Over 240,000 lined the route in Paris. Everywhere you look people are wearing yellow T-shirts and hats carrying the Tour de France logo. Even more are carrying yellow Tour de France messenger bags. People bring ladders so they can see over the crowds. Spectators from all over the world wave the flags of their countries. Music is blaring, announcers with microphones keep the crowd informed, and the race is broadcast on giant TV screens set up along the route so that you can see the race as it winds through the French countryside on its way to the Champs-Elyées. Second, it's highly commercialized. Before you see the cyclists fly past, you are treated to a parade of advertisements. All of the Tour's sponsors find wacky and entertaining ways to market their wares to the spectators. Ads for everything from laundry detergent, to La Vache Qui Rit cheese to, from what I could best make out, a company that sells propane tanks, meandered by. According to the official Tour de France website, this practice is known as the "Publicity Caravan," and has been used since 1930 to fund the event.

Lastly, it's important to know that if you happen to find yourself in Paris on the final day of the Tour, any amount of waiting or crowd-wrangling you might have to do to catch a glimpse of the race will be well worth it. The speed with which the cyclists fly by is much more impressive in person than on TV. You hear the whirring of their bikes, you see the concentration on their faces, and you feel the energy they bring to the event. They're all riding so close to one another, it's a wonder there aren't more accidents! But these guys are experts; even on the bumpy cobblestoned Champs-Elysees they maintained perfect control over their bikes. Seeing the race firsthand will definitely give you a better appreciation for the sport and it's main event. I'm already looking forward to next year's Tour. Seeing as it's the third most-watched sporting event in the world (behind only the Olympics and the World Cup of soccer), I'm sure I'm not alone.

Bon Anniversaire, Vélib!

Happy Birthday wishes go out to Vélib - a Parisian system of inexpensive, bike rental stations - who celebrated turning one year old today by sending a squadron of 365 riders (get it, one year's worth) up the Champs-Elysées along the Tour de France final route (more about that event tomorrow).

As an occasional Vélib user, I'd like to congratulate the Paris authorities for creating an awesome public service that has truly benefited this city and its inhabitants. Everywhere you look, people are zooming along the streets with ease on these functional, no fuss, no muss two-wheelers; sac à main or picnic lunch securely in the front basket. Keep the bike stations coming!

Politics as Unusual

As a hopeless US politics junkie, I struggle with the knowledge that I am missing out on so much good election year political coverage while here in Paris. In-depth analysis of the Democratic primary battle, the daily back-and-forth between Obama and McCain, the Sunday morning commentaries...a lot of it has passed me by. Luckily, the French public (and media) is obsessed with this year's presidential race. With all the talk about the elections in the newspapers, on television, and around the dinner table, I've been able to at least partially get my fix.

The conversations have reached a fever-pitch this week with Obama's world tour and today's quick stopover in Paris. If the French are obsessed with the election, they are utterly, completely, unabashedly in love with Obama. As far as they're concerned, he's already the president. I spend a lot of time telling them not to get too excited. Given what's happened during our last two elections, it ain't over 'til it's over. Disappointment has become an old friend. But I get the distinct feeling that my words go in one ear and out the other. It's unfortunate, then, that they probably won't get a chance to hear him speak or see him in person like their counterparts in Berlin did yesterday (the irony of which was not lost on this reporter for L'Humanité). His stop in Paris calls only for a quick meeting with President Sarkozy.

Sometimes I wonder why the French are so excited at the prospect of Obama in the Maison Blanche. I wonder why they'd be so excited about any US presidential candidate, for that matter. What's in it for them? I can understand being interested in the race for curiosity's sake, but people here are engaged on an emotional level that rivals that of many Americans. I mean, I was excited to follow the French presidential election in 2007, but in the end, I didn't really care who won. It's not like the French President is going to come over to the US and start giving me student loan debt relief or anything. On the bright side, their excitement translates into my access to a good amount of campaign trail news. Even better, in Paris you can enjoy all the American election news you want without having to watch one single televised campaign ad. Ahhhh...political zen.