Self Reflection and A Lesson Learned

I am finding it hard to believe that I have been in Paris for a month now. Already a quarter of my time here has come and gone and I am left wondering where it has vanished to. I suppose the phrase “time flies when you’re having fun” is a cliché for a reason. In this month I have adapted to the city and gotten my bearings on cultural differences, basic French words, directions and have now built a hard exterior to random acts of French rudeness. As my homesickness begins to dissipate now that my brain is beginning to connect my dorm as my home base and my actual home as where I’ll be celebrating Christmas, it also becomes more ever present when realizing how much longer I actually have to go before I see family. Fortunately, I will see my first familiar face on October 15^th when a dear friend from Chicago comes to visit. I simply cannot wait!

            Looking back on this past month and all of the people I have kept in regular contact with gives me the happiest feeling that I have so many caring and supportive people in my life. On the other hand, people who I never thought I would go without talking to have simply disappeared from the picture and I have realized now that this experience is becoming so much more than four months studying in Paris, but instead the opportunity to see who I am and how strong I can be even when vulnerable. I am the girl who cried in the airport before security while saying goodbye to her mom. I cried leaving my sister and my aunt at the gate, even through their humorous serenade of “So Long, Farewell” and I continued through takeoff. Since then I have managed to retain lost luggage in a country who’s language I do not speak, plan, pack and travel to Amsterdam for a weekend, discover and live in a country I had never been to, plan two more trips to different countries, and learn to live outside of my comfort zone completely and I must say, I am proud of what I have accomplished in only one short month.

            Anyone who really knows me knows that I am not always the bravest person. I fear almost everything that is silly, and nothing that is real. The entire time I was planning my trip to Paris, the overwhelming feeling of panic overtook any kind of excitement that was trying to bubble out, even though I tried desperately to mask it. What can I say? Deep down, I’ve always been an anxiety prone mess. With this opportunity to jump without a safety net and hope to God I land on something soft (preferably in a vat of Nutella) I am learning that just as A.A. Milne taught me, I am braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I think. You don’t need a comfort blanket, a familiar buddy to go out with every night, pro/con lists to make decisions to get by. All anyone needs to be happy and accomplish something is an ounce of bravery, a dash of stupidity and a half-cup of self-confidence. Oh, and of course the right pair of shoes.
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Living the High Life in Amsterdam

For me, Amsterdam has always been a city of mystery. I had heard about the Red Light District in hushed, reverent tones with its illuminated allies full of “ladies of the night”, the legal buying and selling of marijuana, the beer factories, and the partying until the sun comes up the next day. On the other hand, I had also heard about the beautiful landscape, the canal system surrounded by greenery and tulips, and the architecture that looks like a postcard. What I couldn’t grasp is how these two very different aspects could come together to create one very schizophrenic city. How could such a historic, lush city have such a seedy underbelly? There was obviously only one way to find out- I would go. Not only would I plan a trip to Amsterdam, but true to form I would book tickets to leave the very next day, and pack at the very last minute.

            The next day we set out for our seven hour Megabus ride that would take us from Paris, through Brussels, and into Amsterdam. It is still amazing to me that a bus that goes through three countries cost me only about 15 American dollars! It was a beautiful ride that ended up taking nearly 9 long hours due to traffic. When we finally arrived, we were eager to get to our hostel, drop off our luggage and meet up with our friends from our dorm in Paris. We took a shuttle in from ten minutes out of the city where the bus dropped us. Pulling into downtown was so much more exciting than I had expected. It was love at first sight when I saw Amsterdam. The city was bustling with people, everything was lit up for Friday night and the buildings were something out of a storybook. Everyone was friendly and happy to help us with directions to our hostel. When we arrived at the door, we were immediately greeted by a huge flight of the most deathly steep stairs I have ever seen. We managed to make it up with what pitiful strength and balance we could muster up and checked in. Little did we know the stairs from hell would be the best part of this hostel experience. With my luck, we got the room in the attic. As if this weren’t scary sounding enough, we had three flights of narrow spiral stairs to climb before reaching our room. Opening the door was like opening a portal to my worst nightmare. I thought dorm living was bad, but by the end of this stay, I was desperate for my bunk bed. We had four roommates from Italy who were already stoned out of their minds upon our arrival. Only one of them could speak enough English to hold a conversation, two could pick up a few words here and there, and the last I think was a mime, because I can’t recall him uttering a sentence in Italian or English the entire time we were there. My bed was a small twin sized cot with one top sheet and some raunchy red blanket to go overtop. I would take my chances with snuggling up with the red blanket, but I decided it was the best decision to use the top sheet as a fitted sheet in order to spare myself from seeing what lied beneath. The bathroom was probably a murder scene at some point, as the smell of rotting life seeped from the door every time it opened. The sink was in the bedroom and we were less than satisfied with our 12”X 10” mirror that was at my waist. We locked up our luggage and ran out of there to meet our friends in order to keep me from flinging myself out the window. After all, my chances of survival would have probably been better than staying there too long.

            We met up with some of the boys and went to gather the rest at a bar called The Bulldog. The Bulldog has several establishments all next to each other- there is a bar, coffee house and souvenir shop. Why so many different locations right next door to one another? Here’s the skinny on buying and selling in Amsterdam. As you probably know (and if you don’t you really need to buy a book, get wifi, or come out of that rock you call home) it is legal to buy and sell marijuana in Amsterdam. The rules are pretty much the same as buying and selling tobacco in America- you must be 18 to purchase, it is government regulated and taxed, you can grow it, and much like tobacco used to be in most American cities, you can smoke in most establishments and on the streets. The weird rule, however is that no single establishment can sell both alcohol and marijuana. Hence, the extra store front for the “coffee shop”, which is actually the name in Amsterdam for places you can purchase marijuana and smoke in a more laid-back environment than the bar (which you can also smoke in). The funny, backwards part about Amsterdam is that you cannot smoke cigarattes inside, only marijuana. The Bulldog claims to be the first coffee house in all of Amsterdam having had opened in 1974. We later discovered it is one of many coffee houses to be established that year and to also claim to be the original. But enough history and rules, lets get back to the fun.

            We made our first marijuana purchase at the Bulldog coffee house- a space cake and candy kush. The coffee house was as laid back as can be with dim lights and Rasta music. I felt as if I could look over and see Bob Marley at any second. I ate the cake and we headed to the bulldog bar. A few beers and hits later and we were officially living the Amsterdam lifestyle. We walked the streets for a bit after the bar and headed to the Red light District to see the most famous aspect of the nightlife. The Red Light District is much more expansive than I expected. I had been under the impression that it was comprised of one alley, with the girls in high windows. In actuality, it encompasses numerous alleys with dozens of girls at street level. It felt incredibly weird walking down the alleys seeing girls that were mostly my age in lingerie with all sorts of plastic surgery attempt to lure in men old enough to be their dads that were slimier than a snail. They were in small rooms right next to one another, posted up in the glass door under their red light. They looked like trashy Barbie dolls in their plastic casing. Maybe it’s just because I’m a girl, but I expected this to be a funny sight, but it only made me feel incredibly sad for them. What could have possibly gone wrong in roughly 20-25 years of life that has made such pretty girls turn into nothing more than a cheap, hour long ride of some disgusting person’s life? Overlooking what could potentially kill my buzz/high combo, we carried on to get food and then called it a night.

            That night was one of the worst night’s sleep on record. When we returned to the hostel, our roommates had left their stash and money all over the table. Strange. When we turned on the light to get our things, we woke up the roommates who immediately started panicing in Italian. They got up, counted their money, gathered their stash, and searched for their things. Freaked out by their freak out, I barely slept thinking they would think we stole something. The next morning I got up and braved the shower situation. I turned on only the hot water that got only as hot as luke warm. After lathering my hair, the water shut off completely. Fearfully, I turned on just the cold handle and the icey cold water came shooting out. Needless to say, it was a half assed shower. Out of character, I didn’t shower again until I got back to Paris. I figured this option would be the lesser of the two evils. When we were finishing getting ready, our roommates woke up and began talking about us in Italian. Even though we had met them yesterday, they began asking us our names and where we were from. After much confusion, we figured out they didn’t remember us from the day before. They were so stoned they had forgotten about us completely. This explained the freak out when we got home last night. After we went through introductions for the second time, they offered us a hit and joined us for breakfast with our friends.

            The highlight of our day was our trip to the Heineken factory. For 17 euro we got a tour of the factory as well as two beers. Seemed perfect enough. We learned all about the history of the company and the brewing process. The tour was incredibly interactive with games, photo stations, video stations where you can record a video and send it to friends and family, a 4D short ride where you “got bottled” into a Heineken, and a beer tasting. It was like Willy Wonka’s factory for adults. After the beer tasting where we learned the proper way to drink a beer, the purpose of the foam and the ingredients that go into a Heineken, I won a second beer simply by remembering our tour guide’s name. The factory tour finished in a makeshift bar where we received our two beers. Luckily, the two women in line in front of me didn’t want one of theirs and offered me and my friend each an extra drink token. This brought my free beer tally up to five. I think the cost of admission was well worth it. That night was our friend’s birthday, so naturally we did up right Amsterdam style and made it a birthday to remember.

            The next day all of the boys left, bringing the people count down from about 12, to 4. Now that the group was smaller and only comprised of girls, it was easier for us to plan the day and see more of the city. Our first excursion of the day was visiting Anne Frank’s house (sorry, no pictures allowed). We waited in line for almost an hour. Cost of admission was 9 euro and was worth every penny. Being in her house was one of the most intense, emotional experiences of my life. A lot of the house was kept in tact and preserved behind glass: the original wallpaper in Anne’s room and the pictures she glued to the walls, the stove they cooked in, the sink, the stairs, etc. The tour was of the entire house, not just attic which was what I was expecting, so it took an hour or so to make it through. Being in the house, it felt as if the energy of the family and time was still present. The mood was somber and everyone was silent the entire duration of the tour. Each room had items from the Frank family, or from the business displayed behind glass, or a video of an interview of friends playing. The tour concluded with her checkered diary on display, along side later diary pages from journals and notebooks and an interview with her father playing on loop. The whole experience was incredibly moving and so much more powerful than I ever expected.

            After the Anne Frank tour, we walked around looking for our canal tour. We meandered into small shops and a cheese factory that offered free samples of every kind of dreamy cheese you can imagine. After this, we found our boat tour and spent the next hour and a half exploring some of the 88 beautiful canals in Amsterdam. The boat tour is a must, as it is the only way to really see the canals up close and see a different way locals get around. To wrap up our trip, that night we went out with our three male roommates to a bar called Teasers, and then to a famous coffeehouse called the Grasshopper. We made our last night in Amsterdam count before we had to get up and leave the next morning.

            I am so happy I had this opportunity to get to Amsterdam. Before coming to Paris for the semester when I was thinking about all of the places I wanted to visit in Europe, Amsterdam wasn’t even on my radar. Having asthma, smoking is not something I do in real life, so Amsterdam is not such a Mecca like journey for me as it is other people. Having gone now and participating in the activities, I am so happy I did! The city is exquisite with so much culture and beauty. The entire time I was there it was like being in a coo coo clock. My advice to anyone traveling to Europe is to make a trip to Amsterdam now. Come January, there will be several laws enforced on the buying and selling of marijuana that will make it illegal for establishments to sell to foreigners and locals without a license and for non licensed people to smoke. It will be similar to how California distributes. Even if you don’t smoke, I would still suggest going now. Without having this legal trade, there is no doubt it will end up in the hands of dealers, making the city less safe. On top of it, tourism revenue is sure to go down, and the city will lose out on the tax money it has been obtaining from this. I can only assume that after these laws are enforced, Amsterdam will no longer be the same, so go now and make it count!

Parisian Excursions and Last Minute Trips

My favorite part about living in Paris is that you have to really try to get bored. I’m almost convinced it is completely impossible. My past few days were full of exploring, sightseeing and exhibitions. With something new to discover always lurking around the corners of my world here, I am kept consistently fascinated by the most exquisite city in the world.

            After taking all of Saturday to recover from our night on Friday, I was all set to go to the Mason & Object (which I later found out is pronounced May-zon and Oh-jay, not May-sun and Ob-jekt… of course) trade show on Sunday. Trade shows feature various vendors presenting their work to potential buyers or independent stores with the hope that they will leave the show having several orders placed. Being students, we are also invited to come to the shows at a discounted rate. This particular show was for home goods and featured everything from bedroom décor, to candles, to bathroom accessories. I was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer mass of the trade show. I was expecting a large venue, of course, but what I had in mind was a building comparable to the size of a football field, not five football fields. The products being featured were so much fun to sift through. All of the booths gave off the appearance of being in separate boutiques, each one unique to the brand’s aesthetic. Two hours, countless notes and many forbidden pictures later, we were completely exhausted and convinced we had walked miles. We headed for home to complete our homework on the trends we saw at the show, and how they relate to trends in the fashion industry.

            Our next scheduled trade show is Texworld net week. Texworld is a German fashion trade show being held in Paris that will be featuring textiles, fabrics, patterns, color trends and everything new in trend in the industry for the season. Our product development teachers, the owners, creators and designers of the men’s wear line, Les Garcons are also the art directors for this trade show. We discovered they love us as much as we love them when we were told how well we would be taken care of at the show (those details will be continued…). While we are there, all special treatment aside, we will be taking on the role of Les Garcon’s assistants and interns and will be speaking to vendors about the brand and placing sample orders to be mailed to the design studio. After the orders are filled and the samples are sent, the boys will actually use some of our fabric and textile choices in their next line. Thank goodness for no pressure.

            The group’s next excursion was to the Louis Vuitton and Marc Jacobs exhibit at the Louvre. Happily for me, this excursion would also end my hunt for Mexican food in Paris- a seemingly endless journey. I was told of a Chipotle not far from school, and upon receiving this piece of information, we planned to go the very next day after class prior to the LV/MJ exhibit. The burrito was just as delicious as I remembered. My only grievance is that they only had brown rice. Get over the health food bullshit, Parisian Chipotle, because guess what? Even if the rice is brown, the burrito is still a million calories. After that, I was publicly and relentlessly flogged by the Starbucks barista for not knowing how to ask for my coffee beans to be ground in French. He had such little faith in me in fact, that he even told me I could have it for free if I could figure out how to say it in French. Bastard. After that, the woman peddling stamps at the post office sighed at me every time I tried to communicate in Frenchlish with her. I really need to learn how to tell people off in French- you know, the really important phrases that make you feel better about yourself.

            The Louis Vuitton and Marc Jacobs exhibit was more than I could have imagined. It began with the start of Louis Vuitton’s life and how the company came to be. It featured some of the original trunks he created, before he even began putting the now notorious LV trademark on his pieces. The exhibit progressed chronologically, showing the advances he made in his trunks, followed by fashion dolls from when the brand introduced clothing, then displayed amazing, delicate gowns, customer logs and everything that gave the brand it’s amazing reputation. Upstairs shows the brand after Marc Jacobs got his glittering hands on the production. Runway shows were projected and played on loop, mannequins were set up in staged rooms appearing ready for a photo shoot, and my personal favorite piece was the bag that was a focal point in the documentary, “Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton”. It is the bag that was made from pieces of older bags, sewn meticulously together with countless hours of labor. Seeing it in person from less than a foot away was quite a feeling. The exhibit took about an hour to walk through, and is well worth the $8 entry fee (which is waved for students!). I highly recommend going before it is over.

            I have been continuing to bike around the city for exercise and sightseeing, and I feel like I am becoming more comfortable everyday with my surroundings. Despite the rude people, I feel as if my understanding of French has gotten better, and I can only hope that my French language courses will begin to kick in soon. Wednesday night we went to the Eiffel Tower again, were I was able to toast to my grandpa and dear friend’s birthdays with champagne and record birthday messages to send to them. As always, we stayed out much too late and had far too much fun for a weeknight. As the school week began to wrap up and end with a long, four-day weekend, I decided that I couldn’t have my week outshine my weekend, so the only solution I could see was booking a trip. So I did. I purchased tickets to leave for Amsterdam in less than 48 hours. I will be going with a friend in my group and we will be joining a group of about eight other students from St. John’s. It will be a four-day/ three-night excursion full of adventures only legal in Amsterdam. After all, according to Oscar Wilde “Life is too important to be taken seriously.” So until I return, as they say in Dutch, tot ziens!

Fashionably Late

Vogue’s Fashion Night Out is a worldwide event that celebrates the start of fashion week in September. Last year, I attended Chicago’s event, and this year I was able to go in Paris. Being a fashion student, I was ecstatic to go! I couldn’t wait to put on a trendy outfit and go see what French fashion was all about. I wore an electric yellow/green dress with an asymmetrical hem, my black J.Crew bubble necklace, a faux (duh) leather jacket and six inch black pumps. Our night began at the event’s official photo station where we of course posed to get our picture taken, and where we were taped for a live stream of the event. Also in this area were two makeup booths- one for Lancôme and one for Yves Saint Laurent. Everyone came dressed to perfection in their best fall garb. I saw everything from dressed-up denim to floor-length tulle skirts. Photographers were everywhere and it felt like being on the red carpet of a movie premiere. A friend and I were asked to pose several times, and kept catching candid photos being taken of us. Finally, I now know what it feels like to be followed by the paparazzi, and let me tell you, there is nothing annoying about it.

            We continued down rue Saint-Honoré passing countless designer stores with the most glamorous people shopping for the most luxurious clothing. Almost every store was offering desserts and drinks to shoppers, sending this event over the top. The street was lined with fashionable people allowing for supreme people watching and creating the illusion of being at a fashion show. Every store we visited offered us champagne. Naturally, it would have been rude to decline, so we obliged… every time. My favorite store we went to was Marc by Marc Jacobs. The atmosphere was exactly what you would expect from the brand: lively, fun, energetic and young. There was a long line to get into the women’s store, so we went into the men’s boutique first to shop with a friend for his wardrobe. While we in there, a friend made a good impression on one of the men working the event, so he took all of us over to the women’s store so we could bypass the line. It really is true that having adorable friends can pay off.

            While inside the store, we had full champagne glasses the entire time. The employees were great, and we ended up making friends with two of them and had plans for the next night before we even left. Needless to say, we all ended up leaving with bags of goodies and a great buzz. After Marc Jacobs, when the night had come to a close, I headed back home with a friend. While on the train we ran into three friends from our dormitory and made slight detour for pizza. Once again, my lack of French was the cause of irritation for our waiter who ended up high on my shit list by the end of our dinner. Fortunately for Pizza Pino, all their food is as delicious as my French is a joke.

            The next day I made plans to take a bike ride around Paris with a new friend. I’m not sure if it was because of the fact that biking makes me think of Chicago (or at least the obnoxious hipsters that refuse to take public transit…or shower), or because I knew I needed a workout after all of the bread and cheese I have been consuming since arriving in Paris. Nevertheless, I knew it would be a great way to see the city. Paris has bike stations located all around where anyone can rent a bike and ride. We went out for an hour and I was able to get my bearings on the locations of places around the city. While convenient, taking the metro makes it difficult for me to figure out where places are located, and the distance they are from me. Biking really helped bridge this gap, and for the first time since arriving, I realized how small and quaint the city really is.

  That night we had plans to meet the boys from the Marc Jacobs store from the night before at a bar called Le Pom Pon. Being as directionally challenged as many of us are, the trip to the bar that should have taken twenty minutes ended up taking: two hours, two pee breaks, a group split up, countless people giving false directions, one desperate phone call to the boys, a map, and possibly five years off my life. Thankfully, the bar and the company in it were well worth the travel disaster. Because of the exorbitant amount of time it took to get there, the bar closed after only one beer into my night. Afterwards, four of us headed out to The Social Club, where a friend was able to get us in past the line and with no cover charge. Once again, thank goodness for cute friends. The night ended around 3:30, upon which time we began our hunt for a cab. I have learned that in Paris, you have to really want a cab in order to find one. By saying this, I mean you have to completely disregard any manners you may have and run to get in front of people in order to catch the one cab that might come strolling by with a green light every fifteen minutes. All etiquette aside, we flagged one down and made it home in time to be in bed at 4:30.

           

Fighting to Become a Regular

My first week of school has already come and gone and with its passing I have been left with fun anecdotes and memories, excitement for my classes to really begin, and the feeling that I’m not in Kansas anymore.

            Everyday here is something new: classes, teachers, different foods to try, different train lines, people etc. I sometimes feel like I’m living in a screenplay. The school week came to a close with a project due on Friday. It has been difficult getting back into school mode after such a great summer, but alas, reality waits for no one. To celebrate the close of our first week, we went back to the bar (Long Hop) that we went to last Friday. With its infusion of dancing and pub atmosphere, we decided this would be the bar we become regular (alcoholics) at. After drunkenly getting lost on the way and wandering around with no direction for roughly an hour, we finally arrived at the bar to find it even livelier than last Friday. Going out in Paris has been an experience because you never know what sort of characters you’ll run into. It seems for me, every person I talk to comes from a different country. Combine this with not being able to understand accents well, and you’re in for one hell of a night. After free rounds of shots, experimenting with new beers and hours of being out, we looked for a cab to take us home… little did we know this would be the highlight of the night.

            After wandering around in the brisk early morning air for about a half hour fruitlessly searching for a cab, we came across an interesting little guy who looked like a flunky in some sad Parisian gang. With his teardrop/cross tattoo combo in the outer corner of his eye, one could assume he has killed someone (or at least wanted it to appear that way). Nonetheless, I was not planning on standing down to some bastard who thinks it’s okay to be a disgusting creep to slightly intoxicated girls. After being grabbed by the greasy jerk, I fixed him with a withering stare and ripped him a new one with a few choice words. Never have I come closer to using my mace or physically bashing a person into the ground. Fortunately, the boys we were with were able to get him to back off and leave us the hell alone. Shortly after, we found a cab and made it home safely.

            Needless to say, the next day we slept in pretty late and spent the day hanging out and going grocery and clothes shopping. Getting to know our area of Paris (St. Germain) has been lovely. The area is so beautiful and regal looking, I feel like I have stepped into a painting. We have several markets around our dormitory that sell freshly baked baguettes and croissants (Parisian staples), fresh fruit, cheeses, and a wide array of wines. In addition, we are never more than a few doors away from a bakery where we can get cold sandwiches, paninis, desserts, and pastries. The shopping here is never ending, and the city is abundant with stores for every kind of shopper. There are a few good consignment and vintage shops nearby, shoe stores, fast-fashion empires like H&M and Zara, and independently owned boutiques and small chain stores everywhere. Although retail space is everywhere, nowhere in the area seems too built-up or tacky. Everything seems to fit, creating an aesthetically perfect neighborhood.

            That night we were planning on going out to an Australian bar called Café Oz. After much confusion and disarray that comes with going out in a group of roughly 15, we ended up at two bars in the area. The first had a more rugged look with exposed brick, dark lighting, stone staircases and a dungeon style basement for dancing and bartenders dressed as naughty boy scouts. A few beers in, a friend and I headed downstairs to the dance room where we let loose. Eventually we ended up dancing on the raised platform, clearly fitting the profile of “those American tourists”. With this, we seemed to attract some attention- some creepy and some good. I’m sure you have been to a bar before and can imagine what creepy attention can look like, so I’ll refrain from being redundant to what you already know. The good, however came from a guy in the corner of the bar, pretending not to notice me. In fact, every time I looked over at him, he looked away thinking I hadn’t noticed. Being myself, I never shy away from a situation that has the potential to be an awkward train wreck, so I jumped down and headed over to meet this guy who thought he was being discrete. After introducing myself, I learned he was in the French military (and then I noticed the muscles), and had nothing but nice things to say about America’s men in uniform (this means extra points, right?). After running into him again later, I felt even better about meeting him after he told me to let him now if anyone in the bar bothers me because he would take care of it. There’s nothing like a man in uniform to save the day. I’ve always known Disney was telling the truth.

 A few hours into the night we headed over to the second bar across the street. It could not have been more different from the first. The whole bar was white with bright colored lights. The bartenders lit fire on the bar and mixed colored drinks. On a more disgusting note that sealed the deal for my disliking this establishment, the bathrooms were flooded with a centimeter of water and the stalls had no toilet paper or locks. They seriously needed to get their priorities in line. After a short stay, a beer and too many uncomfortable encounters, four of us headed to our final spot. We closed this place down, dancing until the early hours of the morning and enjoying the friends we met along the way. By the time we got home it was 6 A.M. and we were ready for bed and the blessing of being able to sleep through half of our Sunday.