End of Summer Cold Front

It is official: I have gotten sick. Although sooner than expected, my dreaded immune system has caught up with me, and is attacking me full force with every ailment under the sun. I will spare you the specific details. The homesick part of me wants to believe it is because I am going through Mexican food and sushi withdrawal seeing as in Chicago these are my two major food groups, (oops) and while in Paris I have yet to have a bite of either. I suppose, however, I must not overlook the fact that I am running on five hours of sleep or less every night after long days full of exploring the city. There is simply too much to see to waste my time sleeping! Alas, I pulled myself together, held in the nausea, pumped myself full of strong coffee and went to my very last first day of class.

            Overlooking how terrible I felt, class got me really excited for this semester. The professor reminded me of some of my favorite professors at Columbia. He seemed to thoroughly believe in the course he put together for us and eager to get the ball rolling. On top of it, he is German and seemed pleased when I told him I took three years of the language in high school, and was able to correspond with him in his first language. The school here is so small, which is a big change from Columbia. All of the classes are in one building, and all of the people running the school seem to be really involved with the students. I am confident this semester will be one to remember.

            Having been here for a week now, I am still struggling to navigate, shop and correspond gracefully. Every time I go to the grocery store I seem to be doing something wrong. I will forget to weigh my fruit before taking the bag to the register, order in pounds, or share a cart with a friend and anger the woman at the register when we split up our food. When asked by a friend today what words I have used the most while being here, the three that instantly came to mind were: sorry, oops, and awkward. Here’s hoping this changes sooner rather than later. Fortunately, I have found it is easy to win French people over even after a catastrophic mishap with a simple compliment on attire or makeup or a hair flip/smile combo. Thankfully, flirting is an international language that is understood by everyone.

Seing as this post is not as scenic as the previous three, these are instead some photos of the dorm I am staying in. Those of you who know my apartment in Chicago, will understand how much adjustment is needed. I am in the St. Germain Arrondissement, just across from Le Bon Marché.

Love Lockdown

College orientation in America is often full of dreadful icebreakers, awkwardly forced small talk, and packed with information that should be common knowledge at ages 18-22. Orientation in France, however has taken me on all of the excursions I have been the most excited about. On Thursday, the group of us went to see Notre Dame on a walking tour. Now I know I always say how cheesy guided tours are, but this three-hour tour of popular Parisian sights showed me spots in Paris I wouldn’t have even know to look for. Notre Dame was breathtakingly beautiful. Learning about how it was built and all the math and science that was necessary for the cathedral to turn out so magnificent was mind blowing. The knowledge that was used during building was so advanced and precise in every detail from acoustics to the meaning behind the stained glass, to the actual height and bones of the structure. The only disappointing part of the tour was not seeing Quasimodo or Esmeralda. Go figure, they’re on vacation when I’m here.

            The tour took us all over, showing us street performers, French ice cream, prominent buildings, famous hotels, restaurants and street vendors. My favorite place in Paris so far is the bridge holding thousands of locks latched on to the fences on either side of the street. Aside from how beautiful they all look, the meaning and stories behind them are what makes this sight so much more moving. When you are Paris with your lover, you carve your names into a lock and find a place to lock it shut on the fence. This way, no matter what, you will always be in love in Paris and when you return, you can visit your lock. Trust me, Nicholas Sparks has nothing on this bridge.

            After the walking tour, we took a boat ride on the river Seine where we were able to relax and enjoy the scenic view on the famous river. On our way home, we took the Metro where we unknowingly walked right into a concert held by a few street performers that captivated an audience of roughly one hundred people. Although we were exhausted, we could not pass up such a lively event. The performers were singing American music recognizable to all of us. We joined in the dancing and by the time we encouraged others to join, we had created a sort of flash mob. In the world we live in now where it seems people and society are taking a bad turn and not practicing acceptance and tolerance of one another, it was truly amazing to look around and see such a huge, diverse group of strangers dancing with another not caring about race, age, ethnicity, or being late to wherever they had been rushing off to on a Thursday evening. In that moment, everyone only wanted to be alive and carefree. My moment ended abruptly when the singer decided he thought I looked like I could carry a tune and asked me to sing with him to Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn”. Obviously hesitant, I thought for a moment and decided if not now, then when? I would not be having the trip I set out to have if I turn down opportunities to get out of my own head and do something crazy. I walked over and sang the duet and thought how very proud of myself I was for not thinking and just doing, and also how very happy I was knowing I wouldn’t see the audience ever again.

            The next day was a tour I could not wait for. We had a private tour of Versailles followed by lunch in the gardens and a self guided tour of the public rooms and hall of mirrors. We had to take two trains to get to the palace, and we were scheduled to leave at 8:30 AM. When we got there, it was so much more magnificent than I had ever imagined. I have never seen such a huge estate before. The gate was covered in gold leaf and the entire building seemed to sparkle. Every square inch was adorned by moldings, paintings or sculptures making every room as lavish and extravagant as possible. On the private tour, we were able to view the private apartments including bedrooms, boudoirs, bathrooms, libraries, and dinging rooms. My favorite private quarter was the opera house. I expected it to be a small stage with seating for a group of a couple hundred people, but it turned out to be a full-blown opera house with ground seating, balconies and a mezzanine level. I decided Marie Antoinette and I would have definitely gotten along. The gardens were perfectly manicured and housed incredible statues and fountains. We ran into several characters visiting the gardens, and being young Americans and all, we could not pass up the opportunity to use them as photo bombs in our pictures (included in photos attached). It was a great day and I must say the palace exceeded my already high expectations.

            After learning that Friday night is the big night to go out in Paris, we decided to ignore how exhausted we were, pull ourselves together and hit a few bars. We went out with students from St. John’s, making our group about fifty or so people. We all got on the metro, and found our way to some fun bars. Thankfully, these venues turned out to be much more my scene than our night out at the club on Wednesday. The first bar we went to was a pub with a huge bar and a small dance floor. A few beers in, it quickly became my favorite place in the world. Being out in Paris so far made me realize that compared to the eligible men in America (or at least Chicago) it seems here, men were taught to be more assertive and make the first move. I happily obliged to an English gentleman and was pleased with my decision when I found myself laughing all night, and being one of the cute pairs holding hands and kissing late at night on the streets in Paris. For whatever reason, public displays of affection are not obnoxious at all in Paris. In fact, it seems like it fits.

            The night ended after the second bar that gave the feeling of being in a dungeon. To get in, you had to walk down spiral stairs and through a hallway with narrow walls and a low ceiling made of stone. The doors were wooden and had bars over the windows. It made me feel like I was in the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, minus the whole men in eyeliner thing. We left around 3:30 and after goodbyes, got home around 4AM. The next day we took it easy and went shopping and grabbed lunch during the day. In the evening, we tried to go out in this area of town we heard was fun and full of people our age. What we didn’t know was, this was only the case for people our age with ambitions to be prostitutes, pimps, or drug dealers. We left quickly, and late dinner and drinks at 2 AM. This option turned out to be much more appealing than being undressed with guy’s eyes, cat called, and groped in a sketchy part of town.

  On Sunday we bought tickets to an all day music festival I heard about from the Englishman on Friday. It was called Rock en Seine (basically Paris’s Lollapalooza) and it featured bands such as: Passion Pit, Foster the People, Little Dragon, Kimbra, Green Day, Black Keys, Beach House, and many more. Sunday was the last day of the three-day event. The festival was a blast, and it was fun meeting all sorts of people and seeing American bands playing internationally. By the time we left, we could barely walk, partially due to the fact that our legs were exhausted, and partially because of alcohol. Our lungs were completely full of smoke and dirt that was kicked up and hovering in the air. Not a good look. Nevertheless, it was the perfect ending to our summer vacation, as classes began the next morning at 9AM. I went to bed more tired than I ever thought possible and excited for my fall semester to begin.

            

The American Girls Say Bonjoir! Bonjoir! Oh My God.

Day two of my Parisian adventure began at 9:00 am with breakfast in the dorm. Breakfast here consists of a hunk of baguette, a bowl of coffee, and warm milk and cereal. Not exactly what I would normally choose, but I think the fact that the coffee comes in a big bowl makes up for everything else. After breakfast we had orientation where we learned about where we are staying. At St. John’s (the dormitory) there are students staying from St. John’s University, Parsons and Marist. Across the courtyard from our rooms are priests (which means I definitely have to adapt to closing the blinds when I’m changing) and there is a church next door. As I have known from birth, a Catholic community comes with a lot of rules. For example: no overnight guests, no drinking in the dorms, no coming home intoxicated, signing in and out guests, and quiet hours. When we left orientation, we decided there is no way we are all going to leave this program without getting into trouble. We have two communal fridges in the student lounge-one for cheese, and one for food without cheese. Aside from the fact that this sounds like the kind of kitchen set-up my family needs, it is actually practical considering the cheese here is really smelly.

            After orientation we took the Metro to our school, Mod’ Spe. Riding the train made me miss Chicago. And then it didn’t. Seeing how efficient the Metro is here makes me wonder what the hell Chicago and every other city with train systems in America are doing wrong. The trains here come every four minutes and are always on time. The cars are clean and spacious allowing more than enough room to hold all passengers. Furthermore, when no one is in a seat it folds up allowing for more people to get on. After being amazed by the train itself, I was thoroughly impressed with the stop it dropped us at. After walking up street level we were greeted by open cafés, street vendors, and people leisurely walking around the city enjoying the weather. I absolutely love the area Mod’ Spe is in. The school itself is small, but delightful. The ceilings all have moldings and the large windows overlook courtyards with gardens. My professors seem perfect. They are all industry professionals working for top fashion labels out of Paris working with textiles, merchandising, and much more. I will be taking six classes this semester including: Product Development, Visual Merchandising, Fashion History, Fashion Trends, French Language, and French Culture. I must say, I am truly excited for classes to start on Monday!

            After the tour of the school, we had lunch and I ate my first French crepe. It was just as delicious as I had hoped. We then walked a ways to an hour and a half, double decker bus tour around Paris. Having time to kill, we looked inside a magnificent cathedral across the street. Going into these cathedrals can make anyone a believer. The amount of skill and detail that goes into the paintings, murals and sculptures astounds me. True to form, after the cathedral visit, the bottle of water I had downed was starting to settle in, so a friend and I were on a hunt for a bathroom. Not knowing we wound end up holding up the entire bus tour, we searched an entire square block for a place to go. It was a fruitless journey (making me miss the convenience of fast food establishments on every block) that only ended in the bus driver and all passengers not really liking us. On the bus tour we had a top level, breezy view of the city where we learned all sorts of facts about when and how the city was built, the architecture, and the fact that there are three Chanel boutiques and three Dior boutiques in walking distance of one another. Returning home, we stopped at the grocery store which is an absolute Mecca for bakery, fresh fruit, olives and anything else you can ever crave. On our college budget, we all got cheese and bread to make a poor man’s sandwich before we went out for the night.

            We set out for a nightclub called “Le Queen” around 12:30 am. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The last train in Paris runs at 1 am, so we missed our transfer and had to walk over a mile to the club in stilettos. If you’re thinking about how much this hurts, try adding in the cobblestone streets and then we’ll talk. On our way, we decided to greet everyone in passing (in my mind I was just like Belle) saying “Bonsoir!” This ended up working out in our favor considering we picked up seven guys on the way simply by saying good evening. I must say, I am very frond of the jenesequa about the French men. The fact that they seem to really like American girls also shows they have good decision making skills. The club was straight out of a dirty humor movie. It was like someone took everything I correlate with the term “Euro trash” and put it into one place. With a 20 Euro cover and drinks costing 15 Euros each, I was definitely expecting to have a note worthy night. Good thing it did not disappoint.
The club is two stories with flashing strobe lights everywhere, smoke machines, sticky floors, and glow sticks. It was packed with people dancing to American music and trying to sing along. On my way downstairs I discovered two strippers dancing on platforms in the middle of the dance floor. Big beefcake men with tribal tattoos gyrating around with nothing but a white towel over their manhood. Obviously, being myself I immediately was only hoping those are not the hand towels used to dry your hands in the bathroom, or to wipe off the bar. Sex on the beach in hand, I braved the bathroom with a friend. When we walked in, I noticed men using urinals. Horrified that we had obviously walked in the wrong bathroom, I failed to notice the girls washing their hands. Guess what kids? It was a unisex bathroom. In how many languages can you say date rape? I guess the plus side is you’ll know right away whether or not you’ll want to go home with a guy. The rest of the night went as you can probably imagine: spilled drinks, platform dancing, broken glass, hookups, and stumbling home just before 4 AM. If this much fun comes out of every night out, I may not miss American nightlife one bit.

           

No Use Crying Over Lost Luggage

It is commonly believed that when a young lady travels the world and lives in different countries, she becomes cultured, wise and well rounded. Here’s hoping this is the case with me.

            My name is Coco and I am spending my first semester of my senior year of college abroad in Paris, France studying fashion business. I am coming to the city for the first time not knowing a soul, speaking no French, and having little clue of what I’ve actually gotten myself into. One hundred pounds of my clothing and accessories have been crammed into two suitcases bigger than I am, and I boarded the long flight with a Zanex and a glass of wine in hand. When arriving at Charles De Gaulle airport nine hours later, I discovered one of my suitcases was missing in action, and I would later find out that this would leave me with no makeup or pants for the next day. After breaking the language gap with the luggage claim service, I realized I was an hour and a half late to meet my driver… who had left. After almost having a Veruca Salt level meltdown trying to contact the car service, I was finally able to get a hold of my driver, who, as you can imagine was not as happy to speak to me as I was him. He came in about ten minutes later, rather peeved, but alas, after being slightly reprimanded, I won him over and received a complimentary tour of the city. I saw the Eiffel Tower, the Arc De Triomph, the river Seine, the Champs-Élysées, and the most amazing architecture, little cafés, bookstores and shops I have ever seen. After about an hour of sightseeing, my driver dropped me at my door in St. Germain. The large green door resembled the entrance to Emerald City, and suddenly I was very thankful I packed my red pumps. I stepped in and tried to prepare myself for my first time living in a real dormitory.

            As previously stated, I knew no one going into this fashion program, so I was a bit nervous about getting to my floor and meeting everyone. I immediately felt relieved, however when I got on the floor and heard them all in a room talking about watching Mean Girls. Thankfully these days, finding commonality among my generation is as simple as sharing the same bad taste in entertainment. My room was small. Very small. It was about half the size of my bedroom in my apartment in Chicago. Seeing as my roommate goes to a different school and would be arriving later that week, I took the top bunk, unloaded my suitcase, took a deep breath and found the communal bathroom. There is one stall, one shower and one creepy shower/stall combo for ten girls. Ever read Lord of The Flies? Something about this makes me think of that book.

            All of the people in my group (nine girls and one guy) are such pleasant surprises. Believe it or not, fashion students are not always the most enjoyable people to be around. Fortunately, everyone here is delightful. I got to know them and then headed out with a few for grocery and (the now necessary) makeup shopping and dinner. For my first French dinner I had a salmon burger. Not very French, but seriously, who really likes snails? Not this girl. I need to progress slowly.

            During the little time I spent that night exploring our area of St. Germain, I must say I am completely looking forward to my next four months of adventures. The city is so much more beautiful than anything I every imagined.