Les adventures à Paris

Translation: Adventures in Paris. (You should have been able to translate that one yourself!)

The past 2 weeks have been full of adventures all within Paris. Even despite the rolling strikes (which really haven't been so bad), and the "terrorist threats" (also not causing any distress as opposed to the US's media coverage), the past 14 days have been the most fun I've had in Paris, and the most, well, Parisian.

Fondue Dinner

Last Thursday night I met my friends and some other students for dinner at L'Assiette aux Fromages, a fondue restaurant on Rue Mouffetard in the 5th. The night was put together by ACCENT, the company that works with UC to create and manage the school I attend here in Paris.

The dinner only cost 10 euro, and It was by far the best 10 euro I have yet to spend during my time in Paris so far. We were treated to a 3 course fondue dinner, with sides of salad, ham, potatoes and green-beans. The first courses were served at the same time, a cheese fondue eaten with bread (big skewer), and an oil fondue which cooks pieces of raw beef for you to dip in a choice of sauces (little skewer). Usually the fondue's are strictly eaten as bread with cheese, meat in oil then sauce, however because of my dietary issues, I was allowed to break the rules a little bit and dip my cooked pieces of meat in the cheese - like a gourmet philly cheese steak bite. Ryan however, was the first to try the meat and cheese combination. Adrien and Mattieu, the ACCENT employees who came to the dinner, told Ryan that it was totally fine to dip the meat in the cheese. Ryan being the smarty pants that he is, stabbed a piece of raw meat and set it in the pot of cheese fondue - perhaps he thought the cheese was hot enough to cook the meat? When the rest of the table realized what had happened, our chuckling could not be contained, especially that of our French hosts, Adrien and Mattieu. What happened to make it more hilarious was that the burners under our fondue pots weren't working correctly and a waiter came to switch out our fondue pots. The raw meat was still sitting in the cheese pot, not cooking, and the waiter politely removed the skewer and placed it on Ryan's plate before taking the pot away from the table. The waiter's surprised expression was priceless when he realized that the cheese-covered morsel on the end of the skewer was meat, uncooked meat, instead of the bread he was expecting. This faux pas only caused an uproar of laughter, embarrassing Ryan as he tried to blame Mattieu "you told me to do it!", and Mattieu could only continue to laugh. Oh silly Americans, we're so easy to target and make fun of. I had glanced at Ryan's plate a few minutes later to find no evidence of the cheese drenched raw meat; he had eaten it when no one was looking. Mattieu at first looked concerned - why would he eat that?! But there's no harm in it, to your stomach at least. Lesson of the evening - don't stick your beef tartar in your cheese fondue.

Being the little girl famous for her enormous appetite, I very much enjoyed my dinner, especially when a member of my table was a vegetarian and traded me his portion of beef for my basket of bread - it worked out quite nicely. It was a bit embarrassing towards the end of the course though, as the waiter came to take the fondue from our table about 4 times, and each time I was still eating. The waiter and Adrien and Mattieu made fun of me, in shock of how much food I really can put away (it was their first meal with me, ha!), but it was all good fun, saying that it was a good thing.

Dessert was a chocolate fondue, served with a plate of fruit and marshmallows, (this time there's only one skewer so don't stress). The entire meal was delicious, filling, and so much fun. The little restaurant was charming, and I hope to go back although I will have to pay more than 10 euro next time.

Fête des Vendanges

October 6th through October 10th was this year's Fête des Vandanges, a celebration of the grape harvest in Montmartre.

Also known as the fête l'humor, it is a celebration of all the enjoyment and nutty things that can happen after a few too many glasses of wine. The festival itself took place at the top of Montmartre, around the Sacre Cœur, the narrow cobblestone streets lined with booth after booth of wine; red wine, white wine, champagne from Champagne, dessert and flavored wines.

Nestled in between them are booths of different nature to please your grumbling stomach and play off the notes your various wine samples left tingling on your tongue, displays covered with every kind of sausage you could imagine, and some you've never heard of.

You'll occasionally get a whiff of something really stinky causing you to look around you to find the stinky frenchman to blame, then realize you just passed a wheel of cheese, so big that it's probably taller than Grandma. There's booths of macaroons, and bon bons, gelato, nougat, and seasoned baguettes, roasted chestnuts, sausages smothered in sauerkraut, giant vats full of chili con carne and potatoes au gratin (my favorite booth), and even beer if you're sick of wine. You walk through the masses of people, protecting your small plastic glass of wine bought for anywhere from 2-8 euro, listening to an accordion, trying to avoid getting run over by the three-man band, and concentrate on how many oysters or éscargot you would like to buy.

Yes, I bought, and ate, both oysters and éscargot - and they weren't as bad as I thought they might be.

The whole mentality of the festival was loose in comparison to everyday life in Paris. It was literally four days designated for Parisians to let go, and have some fun. There's music everywhere, parades taking over the hilly streets, fireworks (the only other occasion besides July 14th), and probably the nutty-est thing I heard of was being able to un-marry your spouse. During fête des vendanges, one and one's spouse can simply say "I un-marry you" in French three times in a row and legitimately be "un-married", at least for the duration of the festival.

I didn't see any of that actually happen, but my French Teacher told my class that it's part of the tradition of the "humor" part of the festival.

My friends and I spent 2 days at the festival. On top of my oysters and éscargot, I enjoyed some real champagne from Champagne, Melon (cantaloupe) wine, chili con carne, potatoes au gratin and lots of wine. Lots of wine. We sat on the grassy hillside in the warm golden sunshine, in front of Sacre Cœur listening to the music surrounding us, enjoying the most beautiful view of the city in all of Paris. It was a couple days in Paris that will be hard to beat.

A dinner party

Monday evening I was in my room, working away on my homework, wondering if I had misunderstood Madame when she was explaining dinner for that night. It was 8:30 and we usually ate at 7:30 - were they not feeding me tonight? Is that what she had said? But then I heard the doorbell ring, and Madam came and knocked on my own door to invite me to an aperitif before dinner - score!

I walked into the living room and greeted Madame and Monsieur's middle daughter Penelopé and was introduced to her godmother Édith, a warm older woman, very much like Madame. I sat between Édith and Penelopé, Madame handed me a glass of champagne, and I commenced snapping my head to a fro, trying to understand the french words that were flying past my eardrums at rapid rates. I think Édith saw me trying to hide my wide eyes behind my tipped champagne glass because she reached out to my shoulder looking at Madame and asked if I, the poor thing, understood anything that they were saying. One glass of champagne on my grumbling empty stomach gave me a little more confidence than usual, and I was able to pipe up and defend myself, explaining that I understood some of it, that they just spoke so fast, and I was very shy with my French. Édith looked at me in surprise "Mais tu parle français très bien!", and they proceeded to include me in their conversation, telling stories about traveling to Quebec and not being able to understand a word of their French, asking if Canadians had an accent when they spoke English as well, asking me how to pronounce English words that sounded so strange to their romantic ears like "sewing".

The five of us moved to the dinner table for salmon and cabbage. Monsieur filled all of our glasses with wine, re-filling his discretely after finishing it in one gulp, making a point to refill mine when Penelopé caught him. Édith was queen of conversation, she was invited to dinner because she had just returned from a mission trip in Afghanistan where she helped women and girls who were victims of war violence, poverty and disease. She told stories of all the different women she helped, the various households she visited, the many struggles each woman went through everyday. She was animated and passionate - there was something about her that was so interesting and genuine. I loved to see how she and Madame seemed to be such good friends, they reminded me of my Grandma and her friend Helen. There was so much banter, so much life and happiness in their conversations, so much love going round the table - I felt so happy and honored to be included. The more time I spend with my host family, the more I want to spend even more time with them and get to know them.

The story telling and lecturing of poor Monsieur over his bad, sugary eating habits and lack of exercise lasted until about 11:30 when we all realized what time it was, and said our goodbyes. I went back to my room after helping monsieur clean up, feeling more like part of the family.

Théâtre des Champs- Élysées

On Tuesday evening, I attended a concert put on by the Ensemble orchestral de Paris. My first night at the symphony in Paris, and I am in love. How do people in the states not take advantage of the theater? Perhaps it's again because of the youth discounts and last minute tickets that Paris ensures to make available to the public. This evening was again organized by ACCENT, and I only had to pay 12 euro. Usually, for any opera, ballet or symphony, you can wait in line for last minute tickets that cost anywhere from 5-20 euro, and often when buying tickets in advance, student or youth discounts can lower your initial pice to around 10 euro - it's fantastic.

The orchestra itself was extremely interesting. They played various pieces from classic to modern styles, but it all was beautiful and impressive. The orchestra performed solely, then with guest piano accompanist Jonathan Biss from the states, as well as a colorful and extremely talented string octet. I was mesmerized by the entire performance. I love watching other people perform; examining how they move with their instruments, how their bodies entwined with their instruments like extensions of their limbs, evoke the very emotion of the song. But I was surprised to be observing the crowd more often than the performers.

My first distraction was a famous composer who was sitting in the row in front of me, Nicolas Bacri. One of his pieces was performed to open the concert. It was different from anything I had ever heard, so demanding of the ear. At the end, Monsieur Bacri walked to the stage and shook hands with the conductor and first chair violinist as he was clearly enthralled by their performance of his piece.

The audience fed more of my observation throughout the night. For the most part, people were completely still. Hardly anyone moved in their seats, hardly anyone made any sound unless they had a cold and were discretely going through their bag searching for couch drops. Even between songs, no one moved. I've never attended the symphony in the states before so I don't know if it's the same as here, but in the symphonies in France, you do not applaud after every song. Collections are played from various conductors, so instead of applauding after each song, you applaud after each composer. I thought it was extremely strange; it was only something I noticed as I had to refrain from clapping, even if it was something I really enjoying. There isn't any cheering, or vocal sound in addition to the applause, however, at the end one is allowed to call out "bravo!". If the audience would like an encore, it is not vocalized, but the applause falls into a rhythmic pattern, serving as a non-vocal and elegant chant to urge the performers to play another song.

I also found the audience's style of dress to be of interest. Being in Paris, I assumed I would be underdressed in skirt and heels, my hair up, and wearing lipstick, but instead I was nearly overdressed. Most of the people were wearing jeans and nice shirts, it was hardly any different than going to the movies.

I'm about halfway through my time in Paris now, and time is only passing more rapidly. This coming weekend I will be spending in Prague, the following is fall break during which I will travel to Barcelona, then Northern Italy, and the holiday weekend following my return to Paris, I will be spending in Ireland. After that I only have about 4 weeks left in Paris - I'm scrambling to make more plans! But for now, I'm enjoying these past couple of weekends, really getting to know Paris, and enjoying her more and more.

ALLEZ KELLY!!!

Translation: GO KELLY!!!

Exhausted. First day of a new weekend and I come home almost straight after class to relax instead of my typical commencing of epic adventures. But the past week had every right to cause me to feel so tired - it is a wonderful tired I must clarify.

Last Thursday, I found myself riding on an overnight train to Bayonne on the Atlantic Coast of Southern France. Carly, Ryan and I boarded the train, armed with their beer, my wine, brought in place of the forgotten benadryl in a vain attempt to help our sleeping in the half-reclining seats. We got off the train in Bayonne at 6:40 am with the sky still reluctant to show the first signs of daylight. The three of us wandered around the train station, sharing a small neon orange blanket and nibbling on dark chocolate and almonds, looking for a nonexistent bus stop in the dark. We had about 20 minutes to find it, but after walking to each stop visible at the roundabout and asking 4 different people, we found our bus - just as it was pulling away. The three of us instantly sprinted, packs bouncing on our backs, dodging cars in the roundabout, however we split in three different directions. Carly being my directionally-challenged friend mentioned in a previous post, went in the completely opposite direction (love you).

Ryan luckily jumped in front of the bus and paid the driver who graciously waited for Carly to cross two streets, and we sighed as we plopped down in our seats, finally on our way to Hossegor.

The early gray sky was streaked with warm pinks when the bus dropped us off. We walked through the town of Hossegor, admiring the surf shops and cafés that were still closed, excited by the smell of salt water. Carly goes to Santa Barbara as well, although we didn't know each other before, and Ryan grew up in Hawaii and now attends UCSD, so it's understandable how the smell of the sea can get us a bit excited after living in a bustling city, away from our natural habitat of beaches for over a month.

The beach welcomed us with a giant black stage, covered in Quiksilver logos. We had arrived. On the stage there was a large screen showing videos and interviews of professional surfers. The golden glow on the horizon, backlighting this stage made the excitement too much to handle. It was almost 9 am, and the Quiksilver Pro France 2010 would soon be starting it's first heat of the day.

We ran down to the sand, sinking or toes in, relishing in its familiarity. For a moment we paused with smiles, unable to register the sensations of feeling sand on the feet and ocean spray, the sound of the crashing waves, a subtle taste of salt and the view of the most beautiful beach. There was so much to enjoy, it was overwhelming in our delirious states. The white tents further down the beach caught our attention, and again we began our excited pursuit, feet sinking deep into the sand with every step on account of our heavy packs. By the time we made it to the tents we were exhausted, panting, but we were there. Brett Simpson was right in front of us in his white rash guard, slicing through a wave. It was incredible.

We spent the entire day on this magnificent beach, listening to the hum of a thousand cameras' shutters, watching crowds chase Kelly Slater into and out of the water, crossing fingers when we weren't sure if someone would make it out of a crushing tube. We ate hamburgers and chili dogs with fake hot dogs and cheese whiz sans bun - the hot dog vendor gave me the strangest look "Sans pain?!" explaining that he'd never done that before, but ok. And at the end of the day, happy and relaxed by the surf and sun, we took the bus back to Capbreton, after which we realized we could have saved the 2 euro and walked.

We had reserved a room in a little hotel, choosing the 2 person room to save money. Since there were 3 of us, Carly waited outside while Ryan and I went to check in. The kind old lady with an auburn beehive welcomed us to the empty building, and handed us a key to room number 7. We made it inside the room after 5 minutes of Ryan trying to work the old fashion key in the loose lock, and we discovered that room number 7 was a charming corner room with two windows, a tiny bathroom with a door that didn't shut, and one bed. One big bed. And wood floors.

We had to stop analyzing the room for a minute so we could figure out how to get Carly past the lady at the front desk in this empty hotel. Ryan went down to scope out the situation and talk to Carly, while I was left in the room, laughing at it and our big bed and bathroom door that wouldn't close. Luckily, the lady with the auburn beehive was just coming off her shift and leaving for the day, and Ryan and Carly were able to slip in behind her unnoticed by the new lady with her simple silver hair and cable knit sweater.

After laughing at whoever was in the shower behind the bathroom door that wouldn't close, and napping while The Simpson's in French played on the TV in the background, we head out to find some food, and some fun. Food unfortunately was skipped, since we had eaten burgers and fries only a few hours earlier, but fun was definitely found. There was a concert that Quiksilver put on in Capbreton that night, as they had had events every other night in near-by towns. We could hear the music from our hotel, but had no idea where it was taking place. Following the sound ended up being a mistake, in the small town, noises bounced off all the buildings, through every street, making it sound as if the music was coming from all directions. We walked in a big circle, back and forth down the same street, were searching for at least a half hour, before we made any progress. But then it appeared. Road blocks, preventing cars from driving through the town center, the back of a stage, and Quiksilver banners covering outdoor bars serving drinks with straws and glow-sticks. We made out way through the crowd, deciding to allow Ryan to weave through to the bar to get a round of drinks.

We had only been sipping on our drinks for a few minutes before a guy in the crowd in front of us turned around and greeted us in French. His name was Sylvan, and he lived in one of these small towns and loved to surf - like everybody else. He introduced us to his friend Tony, and a few others, and the group of us stayed together for the rest of the night. It was the most French Carly, Ryan and I had spoken in a given night since we usually all stick together. Between our French, and Sylvan and Tony's English, we all got along and had some fun dancing to the bands on stage, and talking about anything from surfing to music, how we felt in Paris, what California was like.

The three of us split from our new French friends at around midnight due to the long day we had had beginning at 6:40 that same morning. We made it back to the hotel and into our funny room number 7 and all slept in the one big bed like pigs in a blanket; Carly and I didn't have the hearts to tell ryan to sleep on the wood floor without any pillows or blankets. We giggled at our little room number 7, tried to find more Simpsons in French and became disappointed with our 10 channel selection of late night TV before setting the alarm for 7 am and turning off the light.

I rolled over in the morning light to check my watch, 8:15. We scrambled a bit to get our things together - Saturday was the finals of the pro tour and we didn't want to miss it. Carly left a few minutes before us to get past the front desk, Ryan and I checked out with the simple silver haired lady, and we were off - walking to Hossegor again with all of our belongings. We stopped at a grocery store in the little town to buy some breakfast and at a pharmacy for a tiny 15 euro bottle of sunscreen and soon we were again walking down the beach to the white tents. My feet had become raw, walking on the more grainy parts of sand with sharp pebbles and small bits of broken shells. Each step in the sand became extremely painful, and I tried to walk tenderly on the wet sand as I wouldn't sink so far into it as the dry sand with my pack. I was nick-named "baby-feet" by my two wonderful friends, and slowed us down a little bit from a run to a brisk walk, but we made it there all the same, and we hadn't missed the final. Semi-finals were just finishing up by the time we claimed our territory beneath the dunes, ready to devour our incredible breakfast.

At the store we had bought smoked salmon, yogurt, apples, bananas, potato chips and champagne to go with a bottle of orange juice we had brought home from the concert the night before. We sat on the sand, feasting on the best breakfast I've ever had, warming up in the sun and getting ready to watch incredible surfing on some of the most intimidating waves I've ever seen.

Kelly Slater was in the semi-finals, I think against Owen Wright, now I don't really remember. Towards the end of the heat, Slater took a wave, slid down into the tube, and no one was really sure he was going to come out...but he did. The announcers that had been keeping us so entertained the past two days counted down together in English " 3...2...1...10! Kelly Slater you have received a perfect 10!". I don't know very much about surfing, but after watching a lot of it those past couple days paired with Ryan's tutoring, I didn't really think a 10 was possible. It was absolutely insane!

Unfortunately, Kelly didn't win, in the finals he got some crappy waves and so the crown went to Mick Fanning from Australia, the current world champion of men's surfing. Second place isn't too shabby though, and Kelly still had to run from all the crowds that would chase him all over the beach.

When the competition was over, the crowds clear off the beach. Ryan and I went and jumped in the water as it wasn't so cold. It was the first time I've been in the Atlantic ocean! The salt water felt so good on my skin, it was so refreshing that I didn't even mind when we got yelled at by beach patrol. Nothing could have spoiled my mood that day. After a couple hours of lounging in the sun, we had to find our way back to the bus stop to get to Bayonne for our next over-night train back to Paris.

Bayonne was a totally different world. We crossed the bridge from the bus stop into the old center and found ourselves traversing through allies and narrow cobble-stone streets. Each pub was overflowing with people wearing blue and white, blocking the streets making it almost impossible to walk through. There was a rugby match, Bayonne verse Biarritz, their biggest rival. Each of the tiny stone streets lead to the stadium where the sea of blue and white eventually drained into.

We found our way to a small restaurant away from the crowds called El Asador. We were first drawn to it because we could hear someone inside singing - the place was empty though. We went inside and sat down at a table - the restaurant was basque food, something we had been wanting to try during our whole trip, and the menu offered a "formule", a 3 course meal which you could chose from a select menu. The server was incredibly nice and helped me to order food that would be gluten-free, and helped us with various other things throughout the evening. Before the entrées (appetizers) came out, the server brought out a carafe (pitcher) of sangria for us to share, some bread, and gazpacho. The three of us argued over which glass the sangria went in - the smaller one, or the wine glass - we asked the server, just to ensure our etiquette, and I was right! Alcoholic beverages always go in the smaller glass in France, the larger, even if it is a wine glass is reserved for water. If you put wine in your water glass, you'll be getting some chuckles and possibly accused of alcoholism. We also tried to figure out what the appropriate way to eat our gazpacho and pepper, and whatever that thing in the spoon was the server told me I couldn't eat. IN our hunger we just went for it, but after, we observed a neighboring table, and I tried to coach Ryan through the process - he failed miserably, leaving us all in fits of giggles.

The entrées (appetizers) came out, mine being different from that which was on the fixed menu, because both of the choices contained gluten. Instead I received a plat du jambon (plate of ham, prosciutto -like For the main dish I had mullet, baked cod-like fish in a cream sauce with potatoes, mine without breadcrumbs. And for dessert, I had crème au something - but basically crème brulée only the custard was heavier like that of flan. Everything was absolutely phenomenal! I dare to say that it was by far the best meal I've had since I've been away from home, for going out for meals anyway - Madam does cook some mean gluten-free crêpes.

Full and happy, we left the amazing little restaurant to make our way back to the train station. We hardly took any pictures while we were there, thinking that it was something that was too good to be captured in a photo, or to be described. It was something that we would remember forever, and people would have to go there to understand.

I already miss it there, but I'm hoping with how close Bordeaux is to it that next semester it will be an easy day trip. It's made me become even more excited for what's to come.