Created for a final presentation in my Cultural Translation Workshop, this is a video translation of the last academic year of my life between Paris and Minneapolis. With over an hour of footage to narrow down, I chose clips depicting the constant movement and restlessness of living in two places, which can result simultaneously in both excitement and loneliness. No matter where I live, in Paris or in Minneapolis, my heart is always missing the other.
April
My regular monthly video for April, including visiting Fontainebleau, running the The Color Run 5K, visiting Annecy and Geneva with my sister, hiking on my birthday in the Alps and, of course, regular life in Paris.
“…and
everyone was drunk off Paris, high off ignorance, and hoping, praying, for
indulgence to lead down a path of gold to the city of life.”
–anonymous
Sharpie message on a bathroom tile in The Fifth Bar, rue Mouffetard
------
My desk is covered in half-open, overturned books
and baguette crumbs. My kitchen is coffee-stained from my erupting espresso
maker. My refrigerator is bare, except for jars of salsa with no tortilla chip
partners and milk that is almost certainly expired. It's so late that the Eiffel Tower is
invisible in the night except for two red lights glowing faintly like eyes
suspended a thousand feet in the air. I’m in the throes of a new semester. My
last semester.
I’ve been in school something like twenty straight
years at this point and boy, can I feel the weight of each and every one of
them. In my fourth week of the semester, I’m decidedly lost, confused,
challenged and feeling like I did back in swimming lessons when they tried
teaching me how to tread water and all I ended up being capable of was not
drowning. So maybe that’s all that matters at this point in my master’s degree.
I may not be doing extraordinarily well or understanding much at all (What is translation theory?), but hey, I’m
not drowning. I’m getting just enough
oxygen to not need CPR!
The weather is being a tease here. One minute, it’s
sunny and I can hear kids playing in the park, and by the time I get outside,
it’s overcast, I can feel freckles of raindrops on my face and the wind shoves
my hair onto my lipstick. Today I found myself agreeing with someone that it’s
cold outside. It was 54 degrees. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I must be
becoming Parisian.
Instead of my usual weekend routine of waking up
after lunch and getting dressed around sunset, I decided to get some cultural
things done this weekend and put my titre
de séjour to work. Being under 26 and a resident of the European Union, I
can, in short, get into any museum for free. To be honest, I feel exceptionally
cool whenever I skip the ticket counter and just flash my passport at the
ticket-taker like I’m kind of a big deal.
I spent Sunday at the Louvre. I was determined to
ignore the signs that direct everyone to the Mona Lisa as if to say, Okay,
this way to your f-ing painting that you just paid twelve euros to get a selfie
in front of before you high-tail to the Orsay. I wanted to wander through
the more than 35,000 pieces of art and do some marveling. Or pretend-marveling.
Because let’s be honest, it sometimes just feels good to look at art and pretend to be ultra-cultured. There's an art exhibition featuring Lady Gaga right now that I avoided because I can't handle the pretentiousness after I read that she cried over it. I
followed up my meandering with some Tuileries-meandering where I called my dad
for a long chat in those wonderful green metal recliner chairs (They’re so
comfortable, I swear!).
The Mona Lisa's paparazzi
Oh, hey! It's like a horrible bathroom pic.. in the Louvre.
'MERICA
Monday, my unofficial third weekend day this semester, was spent staring
at completely different art at the Centre Georges Pompidou. Let it be known
that I have never, ever been inside
the Pompidou. Ever. It’s essentially the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis’
bigger French cousin. As one of Paris’s most-visited and well-known museums—and
certainly its ugliest on the outside—it’s really strange that I’d never set foot
inside before. Maybe it’s because I’m a huge complainer when it comes to modern
art. It really gets under my skin and makes me say things I don’t mean, like "It’s not even art!" It makes me feel
something—annoyance, frustration and an overwhelming urge to slap someone who
paints a canvas all one color—so that is probably proof in itself that it’s
art. I don’t really want to get into it, but I can say that after plucking up
the energy and thankfully going solo to spare others of my ranting, I...I liked it. I liked the view it has from
the top floor. I liked the escalator ride on the outside of the building. I
even liked some of the art. Some of it. Baby steps here, people.
I walked all the way home that night. I watched
ice-skaters zip around on the temporary rink in front of the sparkling Hôtel de
Ville backdrop. I crossed the Seine to the Île de la Cité at dusk to the tune
of a man playing the saxophone on a bench. I smirked at the tourists sitting on
the benches next to the hedges on the Parvis du Notre-Dame that I know for a
fact are riddled with hidden rats. I bought a ham-and-egg crêpe on
the rue de la Harpe and veered behind the Musée de Cluny to stuff my face
because I guess it’s not really the thing to do, eating while walking.
I read a quote by Hemingway recently that goes: “Paris
is so very beautiful that it satisfies something in you that is always hungry
in America.” I don’t know what I’m hungry for in America—Art? Crêpes?—but I know
that when I’m here, in Paris, it is so very beautiful and that I am satisfied.
Today is the two-year anniversary of the start of my semester in Paris. When I'm older and hitting milestones like my fortieth high school reunion (like my mom is this year), I know two years will seem like absolutely nothing. But to me, here and now, I can hardly believe it. I can't be appreciative enough of my semester here in Paris during college because I was lucky enough to spend it with fourteen other fascinating, hilarious, fun and sweet people who made me laugh, who explored Paris and Europe with me, who shared the burden of the ridiculousness of life in Paris and who made me break down into a damn mess when it was time to say goodbye (and, frankly, the entire summer of 2012). If not for all of them (all of you, if you're reading this), I wouldn't be back here in Paris at all. I met up with Amelia, one of the fifteen of us Paris alumni, for coffee today on the rue d'Assas and we reminisced, agreeing that we were so incredibly lucky for our time. So, as I write this, I raise a bottle (You wouldn't expect me to use a glass now, would you?) of cheap Bordeaux to you, mes amis, for the memories and for the inspiration to do this again.
Love,
Rachel
Latin Quarter
Atop the Arc de Triomphe
Fontainebleau
Easter at Notre-Dame
The Highlander
Outside The Highlander
Eiffel Tower
On the terrace of Mary-Kate's beautiful foyer on the boulevard St-Michel (near my current apartment)
Giverny
Versailles
Rome
Santorini, Greece
Marseille
Our last get-together with everyone on the Champ de Mars
A woman stands at baggage claim ripping into a new Marlboro carton, waiting for her suitcase. A couple stands kissing on the moving sidewalk, oblivious to the rest of the travelers and, to be perfectly honest, lucky they didn't get an elbowing from me as I scraped by them. I'm back in Paris, if it weren't obvious enough.
I spent just under a month back at home in Minnesota and it was as glorious as I predicted. After arriving home sans luggage (Lost at Schiphol Airport) and sans 40-euro bottle of duty-free wine I specially bought for our Christmas dinner (Confiscated at Schiphol Airport), I spent my days: sleeping till the afternoon, nourishing myself with Nordeast, frosting, root beer, oreos, bagels and peanut butter, driving cars, researching my family ancestry, watching Netflix until 3 AM every night (New Girl, Blackfish, The Shining and a feeble attempt at The Hunger Games before I lost interest), reading non-school material (On the Map: Why the World Looks the Way it Does by Simon Garfield), going to concerts, playing the piano, shopping, gambling, trying out new restaurants, getting a new phone to replace my stolen iPhone, skiing for the first time in ten years with my sister and realizing my lessons served me well from back in the day and spending lots of time with my favorite Minnesotans. But, alas, there are only so many days a person can go without putting on real clothes and not feel like they're at the Overlook Hotel. I walked around the house shouting "REDRUM!" whenever my mom had her back turned.
Goodbyes are hard, especially because I won't be home again until at least September. But it was time to finish up this master's degree and continue living my Paris dreams or whatever, so I left. I have a long road ahead of me.
Part One of my January video
For someone who loves traveling, I sort of hate it. I mean, the act of traveling...well, it sucks. No matter what, I can guarantee at least several of these will happen: I won't sleep more than twenty minutes on any flight, I'll get stuck next to the baby that cries louder than it normally would just to punish the rest of us for not having kids, I'll have no room overhead for my carry-on, so under my legs it goes, my flight will be delayed, airport security will dig through my meticulously-packed bags despite complying with all the rules (Especially at Shithole Schiphol Airport) or my ears won't pop and I'll start whimpering in agony to myself for the last fifteen minutes. Or if none of the above happen, I'll have a unique situation like on Sunday when I got to my apartment and my landlady locked me out (long story) and I was so jetlagged that I tried sleeping in my hallway against my door until she got home three hours later.
But I made it. I'm in Paris. Everything is fine and I'm not flying again for over a month.
To backtrack quite a bit, December was a blur. My friend Ashley from high school managed to fly out from Boston to visit for a weekend and I had a great time introducing her to Paris and to Europe in-between my classes that I couldn't skip and conference calls she had to make because she technically didn't take any time off from work. I made her walk till her feet were borderline sprained and barked at her to get off my futon, stop being jetlagged and go out, because you don't waste your three days in Paris being tired. (You just don't, Ashley.) Being cold-weather natives at heart, we sat outside with a blanket for dinner in the Place du Tertre and drank wine on the Quai des Grands Augustins, as well as hitting the obvious spots like the Louvre, the top of Notre-Dame, the Champs-Elysées and the Eiffel Tower (though she wouldn't climb it). It's a great thing to have an old friend in this big city.
Ashley & I in the Place des Vosges
The rest of the month was devoted to school. I had an awful cold for a week or two that had me going through a box of tissues a day and coughing so badly my ribs hurt. Basically I kissed any and every social invitation goodbye and hunkered down in my chambre de bonne until everything that I had procrastinated on got unprocrastinated. In the process of writing close to forty pages in a week, I was missing the simpler days of the low-stress classes of my study abroad semester and the driving passion I had for my French degree that I don't have for translation. If any college students are reading this, you need to realize your finals could be a lot worse. You could be a graduate student.
Today, the official start of my last semester of school ever (I will not be doing a Ph.D. Do not let me think that's a good idea. It's not.) and I woke up early as I always do at the beginning. I felt daunted by the work ahead of me listed on my syllabi and doubted whether I can do this as I always do at the beginning. The RER B was bursting at the seams during the morning rush hour. I drank copious amounts of coffee and admired the beautifully overcast sky sheathing the Eiffel Tower in fog. I bought a book for class, Texaco by Patrick Chamoiseau, from Brian at The Abbey Bookshop, my favorite bookstore in Paris because he always gives me free coffee, sometimes with maple syrup (He's Canadian), and genuinely loves helping me find what I need. I imagine The Abbey is what Shakespeare & Co. once was before the tourists found it.
I took a long way home to avoid the RER B, taking the boulevard Saint-Michel to rue Monsieur le Prince and the Place de l'Odéon and winding through the nearly-empty Jardin du Luxembourg. The green metal chairs were all empty, a rare sight in the warmer months. January is a wonderful time in Paris because you feel like it's yours. It's not even very cold, despite all the complaining Californians and Parisians with very limited cold tolerances.
My last first day of school picture ever.
Foggy day in the Luxembourg Gardens
The pruned trees in winter always remind me of the vines in Sleeping Beauty.
rue Herschel
rue Michelet
So as I start the new year, what did 2013 mean for me? It was probably my biggest year yet. I worked my ass off applying for graduate school, got in and spent months working on paperwork which included a visit to Chicago, somehow graduated from college with Latin honors, said goodbye to my little companion Ribby, and moved back to the city that makes me so, so happy. Moving here is the hardest thing I've ever done (so much more so than my semester in college) but I've somehow gotten this far. I try to view it like this: if you're going to do something hard, you might as well do it where you want to. I don't want to have regrets of what could have been.
What Grad School in France Has Taught Me
1. You can't get everywhere in thirty minutes or less. In fact, you can't get most places in thirty minutes or less, even though Mary-Kate and Ashley taught me I could travel 9,000 miles to Transylvania in "about twenty minutes."
2. You can't procrastinate like you did back in college. I'm finally learning that starting a research paper two days before it's due is really, really stupid.
3. The Eiffel Tower is really distracting. So is people-watching from my window, Deezer, Pinterest and old Britney Spears videos on YouTube circa 2001.
4. When a professor assigns you five books to read for the semester, you read them ASAP. You shouldn't read other books for fun.
5. You absolutely cannot skip class. Period. I think back on the days when I could Ferris Bueller-it in Montmartre during my study abroad semester and no one cared. That was such sweet freedom.
5. Google Calendar is sometimes the only thing keeping my life intact. I'm holding on for dear life.
6. Sleep can be the most fun part of the day.
7. Saturdays, and even Fridays, are legitimate study days. For the first time in my life, any weekend day is now fair game to get things done.
8. Chocolate and wine is sometimes a meal. After spending most of my life with a certain nonchalance toward chocolate, I've recently realized that everyone's right. It's pretty good. And it sometimes replaces meals when I don't want to go get real groceries.
9. Doing your master's in France before you're 26 is really smart. In a word, discounts. I can get into any national museum for free and get reduced prices on a lot of things.
10. Doing your master's in France before you're 26 makes you the youngest. Everyone else has time to figure out their lives for a bit longer than me. When people ask what I was doing before this career-wise, I have nothing to say. I'm the eternal underdog.
11. Wine and croissants will never let you down, but the RER will. My frown has been turned upside down so many times thanks to them.
12. Coffee is everything.
13. Grad school in one year instead of two means everything is overly intense. Good luck trying to hold down a job on top of it.
14. Grad school in one year instead of two is a relief. I probably wouldn't be doing this at all if it were two.
15. Be really passionate about what you choose to study. It's so much harder if you're not.
But the main thing I've learned from Paris is that you don't have to do what everyone else is doing. Let everyone else live up to those underlying expectations for what your twenties are supposed to be. I'm having a great time doing what I truly want to do.
I, admittedly, haven't seen much of France outside of Paris. It's a little strange that I've seen much, much more of Italy, for example, than France. Last year, I spent a weekend in Marseille and Arles and went on a day trip to Giverny with Central, as well as an awesome hiking trip to Fontainebleau on my own with friends, but other than that, I know nothing about France outside of Paris firsthand. Quel dommage! I see this as a real problem, because it's like only visiting New York in the States (I hate when people say 'the States', but I just did it.). When Parisians realize I'm American (Which takes all of two seconds), they immediately start confessing their love for New York (And sometimes California) even if they've never been there. When I say that I'm actually from Minnesota, I think I burst their bubble. It really peeves me that New York is somehow a microcosm of the U.S. for foreigners in the same way that Paris is for France. In reality, most Americans are NOT from New York and don't live that lifestyle and I think the same goes for the French in regard to Paris. It seems like I'm constantly defending and promoting Minnesota, but I think it usually falls on deaf ears (I think Parisians are just not interested in our lakes or freezing your ass off in the nearly year-round snow).
I sometimes find myself wishing I had just gone the TAPIF route and been placed in a small town in the middle of nowhere just so I can have that alternate experience of France. But I love Paris too much, so I couldn't let that happen. Yet. Maybe another time, since the program allows you to do it until you're 29. But by 29, I should maybe try to have my life a little more put together (Or not. We'll see where I'm at when the time comes. A wise philosopher once said, "YOLO." and I've taken that to heart).
Anyway, my point is that this past weekend, the graduate students went on a day trip to Reims, at the heart of the Champagne region and I loved seeing more of France. There was so little time to see or do anything, so after our two-hour bus ride in, we immediately went to Notre-Dame de Reims, a beautiful thirteenth-century Gothic cathedral whose structure resembles Notre-Dame de Paris, but whose façade is much more ornate. We also saw the Basilique Saint-Remi de Reims, which I actually enjoyed more due to the lack of tourists and a choir practicing in the back. I am such a sucker for European churches. I'm starting to get a little jaded when it comes to their aesthetic beauty, but it just floors me how old they are and to think of how many generations have spent their time- very personal time- in them. I also love them because they're free.
The rest of the day, we spent at the French Champagne house, Pommery. Again, clearly knowing nothing about France at large, I was expecting a Champagne house to be in the countryside and to be able to see the actual fields where the grapes are produced, but Pommery is well within the bounds of the town. I'm learning.
We had a tour of the cellar, where an astounding 28 million bottles are currently stored. Shit!Think about that. Like really think about it. If I did my Googling math right, that's more than five bottles of Champagne for every Minnesotan. I've done winery tours before (In Italy and Greece), but nowhere near as massiveas Pommery.
So here are the photos I took while in Reims that don't really do it justice.
Love,
Rachel
Notre-Dame de Reims
Notre-Dame de Reims
Notre-Dame de Reims
Notre-Dame de Reims- the windows were done by Marc Chagall in the 1970s
Notre-Dame de Reims
Notre-Dame de Reims
Notre-Dame de Reims
Reims
Basilique Saint-Remi de Reims
Reims
Pommery
Pommery
Pommery
Pommery
Pommery
Pommery- this wall engraving was done under candlelight and took a year to complete.
