June

When I go about making my videos each month, I usually just choose a song that I've been listening to a lot that I estimate will be the right length for the amount of footage I have once it's been cut down considerably. I'd been listening to "Café Lights" by Hey Marseilles a lot and it seemed to fit for the amount of clips I had and it has some stereotypical accordion music in it--perfect for Paris, right? It ended up making for an unintentionally and borderline-depressing video because it features my best friends in Paris who have all left our great city this month. I didn't mean for it to come off quite so melodramatic, but enjoy it anyway!

Back to thesis writing,
Rachel

Istanbul, Crete & Athens

“If you’re 22, physically fit, hungry to learn and be better, I urge you to travel—as far and as widely as possible. Sleep on floors if you have to. Find out how other people live and eat and cook. Learn from them – wherever you go.”

- Anthony Bourdain

*     *     *

ISTANBUL

     California knows how to party. 2Pac is louder than the fifteen other voices in the shuttle as the headlights light up one of those universal green road signs: "İstanbul" with a white arrow. In the city of L.A. Mounds of apartment buildings crop up in the blackness around us. Where are we? The driver next to me drives with one arm, the other clutching his phone that he shouts into, pausing every so often to assure me that my backpack that keeps shifting over the emergency break "is okay." He makes no attempt to alter his driving as we shoot through an automatic toll. In the city of Compton. Neon corporation signs like Toyota light the way as the city grows denser. Minarets spear the sky. We keep it rockin'. What's better than the first glimpses of a new country? We keep it rockin'.

     I'd never been so far away from home before I went to Istanbul the last week of February. The past few weeks since then have been so congested with midterms and the onset of unseasonably good weather in Paris that I've put off writing about it until now. For the last spring break of my life, I traveled with my friend Rebecca and her two friends from Notre Dame who are teaching English in France, Allison and Kelsey. Uncharacteristically, I let the others organize most of the trip. The night before we left, I packed and watched a few videos in a last-ditch effort to learn at least one word in Turkish. I hadn't been to a non-Francophone, non-Anglophone country in almost two years, so I wanted to make an effort rather than assume that the whole world speaks English (When people say that, I want to scream). But damn, Turkish is a lot harder for an English speaker than French. Overall, I can only recognize 'thank you' when it's written down, but I can't tell you how it's spelled or how it's pronounced. I can also recognize rakı and nargile, but that's only from experience, not from any conscious effort.

    Feelings of that great French word dépaysement ran high, the feeling of complete disorientation in a foreign environment. I’d never been in a country where I physically and culturally stick out so much and there’s really no way in hell that I can be mistaken for a local. I couldn’t decipher any of the language written on signs or maps, had not a clue about the layout of the city, didn’t know what Turkish people ate or drank or did with their time, didn’t know how to get plastic tokens for the tram, didn’t know anything about Istanbul. I only knew about Islam, kebabs, the Bosphorus and Liam Neeson being a sixty-year-old badass in Taken 2. The city just never occurred to me. It’s probably the most humbling experience to be among thirteen million people you know nothing about and who don't know much about you either. This is one of the reasons I want the career that I do in study abroad; encouraging young Americans to have experiences out of their tight isolated bubbles can only be the start to overturn how we’re perceived (And I’ve certainly heard some not-so-positive words in my time abroad). We are woefully underprepared for the future and most of the world, believe it or not, is not a replica of the United States.

     At our hostel in the Sultanahmet neighborhood—the tourist epicenter surrounding the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia—I met a pilot from Ohio named Austin who’d been traveling through Africa for weeks. He was so grateful to be back in a Western country again. This struck me because I’d never been somewhere so completely different from anywhere I’d been in “the West.” What is “the West” anyway? Can it be defined with borders? What makes a place “Western” or “non-Western”? I thought about that a lot during those four days in that city where East meets West and I don't have any answers.

     On our first full day, Sunday, we took a long boat tour to the tiny fishing village of Anadolu Kavağı—the very first time I’d ever been in Asia! We chose a fresh sea bass and had it cooked for us for lunch and then climbed up to the Yoros kalesi, a castle in ruins with a panoramic view of Istanbul on one side and the Black Sea on the other.

    On Monday and Tuesday, we went into the New Mosque, the Spice Bazaar, the Topkapi Palace, the Basilica Cistern, the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia and the Grand Bazaar, where I remembered what a pleasure it is to barter. It rained. It was cold. I had wishfully packed things like a swimsuit, sunscreen and a light jacket—half-thinking that Google Images is real-time photography of the current weather—instead of a warm coat and sweaters. None of the tourist sites were heated as far as I could tell, so I channeled my brave inner Minnesotan and sucked it up.

    The highlight of our time in Turkey was when we were fortunate to see Istanbul with a local, Atıl, the brother of a friend in Paris. Over two days, he brought us to his university, Taksim Square, coffee shops, tea gardens, rooftop bars, most of which were in non-tourist areas far from the city center, while introducing us to rakı, ayran, chai tea, Turkish coffee, salep and nargile. It was so much fun to have an authentic experience in this city I knew nothing about. I’ve never had so much tea in my entire life.

     Inside the Hagia Sophia, I said I never wanted to leave Istanbul. While I was almost certainly under the influence of just having held a cat in my lap, I was only partially kidding. The city was full of delicious food, reasonable prices (Hear that, Paris?), incredible culture and the nicest people I’ve met in Europe. I’ll be back.

Lunch in Anadolu Kavağı

Black Sea

Yoros kalesi

Basilica Cistern

Hagia Sophia

The Grand Bazaar

Hagia Sophia

My first tea in years.

CRETE

    

     It always starts off with a car here. Greece is the only foreign country I've driven in and I love it. With less than two minutes of paperwork, instructions and a seventy-euro fee (last time no one even asked for a valid driver's license), we sped away from the airport in Heraklion along cliffs in our tiny red Toyota, elated to have a touch of American freedom usually stunted by the practicality of the Paris métro (Not that I've ever wanted to sit behind the wheel in Paris. Ever.). Orange sellers in shacks dotted the highway along the north coast en route to the Venetian port city of Rethymnon and I thought, what if I quit grad school and sold oranges on a Greek island? I'm still holding that as an option.

   
     Our hostel was in the Old Town of Rethymnon and not accessible at all by car. The only worker was a little day-drunk and had holes in his pants, but hey, no judgment. We didn't stay in our hostel really at all other than to sleep and use the outdoor showers, which was a little unsettling knowing Holes-In-His-Pants was floating around somewhere. We ran to the port to catch the one Cretan sunset we'd see on this trip and had dinner along the water with "a dessert on the house" which was fruit and ouzo, neither of which are dessert in my vocabulary, but are always welcomed. And we saw stars- in the sky. I can't remember the last time I saw those.

     The next day, I drove us west to Georgioupolis to go horseback riding. The "road" up to the ranch was more of what I'd imagine the ground to look like after a giant avalanche goes by. Water from puddles washed up over the hood and it's a miracle that I didn't lose any teeth on the steering wheel. A Belgian named Kristi greeted us enthusiastically outside the stable and within a few minutes we were on horses. The last time I rode a horse, I think I was three and it was a pony. But it didn't matter. I got so used to it that I can only describe as like driving a car that has opinions. We rode down the mountain through a river, olive groves, mulberry trees, lemon trees, a marina and the little town of Georgioupolis. It was so peaceful to feel the sun on my face, the scent of olives in the air, and have no technology in my hands. I may live in a big city, but I think my heart is in these sorts of quiet places.

Fortress of Rethymnon

Georgioupolis

Georgioupolis

Georgioupolis

Rethymnon

ATHENS

     There are few things that I hate more than alarms. The intercom on the ferry jolted us up only a few hours after I'd fallen asleep and the sky was still black. I have no idea what time it was. Normally, if I have no engagements for the day, I'll sleep until the afternoon, so this was just unpleasant. We threw our shit together and took the train into Athens to the touristy Plaka neighborhood. Thankfully the others weren't so anti-morning and were able to navigate. I, on the other hand, napped the first chance I got.

    

     At the Acropolis, I was denied my customary EU student discount, even though I showed the bitch woman working my EU student visa. She wanted to see my student ID. What is more official than a sticker stamped by the French government in my passport issued by the American government? Apparently the plastic card with a worn-off picture of me that I left in Paris. Every other place in Europe has accepted my visa. I'm the type to just eat a raw steak even if I ordered it well-done, so it was surprising even to me when I started raising my voice at the employees and saying things I shouldn't have. But she shouldn't have denied me. 

   I'll never forget the first time that I saw the Eiffel Tower and wondered why it was brown and not black like I'd pictured. Something is always a little off when you see famous sites in person for the first time. Standing beside the Parthenon, it looked exactly how I'd pictured it but then again, not at all. Was it bigger? Smaller? Older? Newer? I still don't think what I saw has registered in me.

     We went to the new Acropolis Museum nearby and tagged along behind a tour group with bodyguards who we presumed were EU delegates in town. Overwhelmed by statues and dates and facts and pottery, we left in a state of straight-up delirium. We drank coffee and shopped and ate dinner for the rest of the evening in the company of traditional Greek music. Or something like that. I was tired.

     Rebecca and I were the last two to stay on until Saturday and we had the day to explore, just the two of us. So we drank and ate and drank and shopped and climbed Mount Lycabettus and talked and laughed and drank. It was a perfect good ending to our week of travel.

At the Acropolis

The Parthenon

Acropolis

Acropolis

If you read till the end, congratulations. It was long, and I apologize. For all of my pictures, head to my Flickr.

Love,

Rachel

The Long and Winding Road

    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.

Love,
Rachel

The Lucky Ones

   

     It's cloudy and crisp, the streets are a blur of black coats, near-white buildings and strings of blue lights. People kiss cheeks and duck out of cafes and kids are happily screaming in their school courtyards. Delivery trucks are unloading on the sidewalk. Parisians are dressed like it's colder than the five degrees Celsius that it is and rubbing their hands for warmth as they walk. Shoppers browse their way through high-end boutiques in this part of the sleepy seventh.

     It's Thanksgiving, but you'd never know it.

     Despite its American status, my school is open like any other day. I have class all day and papers to write. Instead of eating turkey and mashed potatoes all afternoon, I'm eating a sandwich and croissant. It's not weird to be skipping a traditional Thanksgiving, because don't forget: it doesn't exist here. It's just Thursday. It'd be much stranger to be away from home on Christmas since Paris has been in the holiday spirit for a month already and you can't avoid it (the Christmas lights here really are spectacular).

     Every year on Thanksgiving, my family and I sit down to our Thanksgiving meal--which is either enthusiastically home-cooked or ordered from a restaurant--and we start eating and talking around the table. I smile and everybody knows what I'm about to say: everyone go around and list what you're thankful for. Since I can't be at home, this is what I'd say this year:

I'm grateful, thankful, appreciative and glad to be living in my favorite city again, 
More and more everyday I'm realizing that it's always better to follow your heart than to do what you think people expect from you. Grad school isn't fun, but living abroad, meeting new people, staying out later than you should because you're too happy to just call it a night and feeling the accomplishment that you can make it not only on your own, but on your own on a whole different continent, in a different language and in a different culture is definitely fun. I've learned more by living in Paris than I ever have in a classroom. I'm thankful for all the help I've received along the way here because I know I'm one of a lucky few.

I'm thankful for the last seventeen years with my cat,
Here comes the cat shout-out. But honestly, most people don't get that many years with their favorite pet and I'll always be grateful that I was home in the summer with her when it was her time.

I'm thankful for airplanes,
I have four friends and family members coming to see me over the year, starting with my friend from high school, Ashley, next week. Plus, I get to go home for a month in mid-December. No matter how far away I am, I always think it's only a grossly overpriced ticket away. I'm so glad I'm able to spend the holidays at home, despite how much the cold is going to suck. I can't wait for bonfires, Minnesotan accents, real grocery stores and to party it up with everyone at home before another semester of doom (Okay, school's not that bad ).

and I'm thankful for you.
If you're reading this, I probably know you and therefore care about you. So thanks for existing. And reading.

Love,
Rachel

Before Sunset

"Can I learn to look at things with clear, fresh eyes? How much can I take in at a single glance? Can the grooves of old mental habits be effaced? This is what I'm trying to discover. The fact that I have to look after myself keeps me mentally alert all the time and I find that I am developing a new elasticity of mind. I have become accustomed to only having to think, will, give orders and dictate, but now I have to occupy myself with the rate of exchange, changing money, paying bills, taking notes and writing with my own hand." 

-Goethe, 11 September 1786

--------------

     When I leave a week in-between posts, it feels like there's too much to say. In Minnesota, I can go weeks without anything notable happening, but even a day in Paris is so saturated that when my head hits the pillow I can't even remember waking up that morning. I can't commit to anything with anyone without first consulting my Google Calendar. I feel scattered.

     I know I'm definitely learning how to be independent much more this time than last time, even though last time really kicked my ass (in a good way). I've had to get my whole life set up (phone, bank account, rent, internet, etc.) without anyone helping me and usually not in English, either. This is the first time I've ever lived completely alone before. It's no longer, "Hey, whose turn is it to buy toilet paper?" but instead, "Okay, how am I going to tell my landlord that my pipe burst in the kitchen?"(Luckily for me, water started leaking through my landlord's ceiling, so she knew about it and thus I didn't have to figure that one out.)

     Maybe I've been so busy because the weather's so nice and I don't want to spend any time inside. Last week, I was convinced that summer was over and we were already doomed for a seven-month stretch of cold, continuous rain. But then the sun came out and the scarves came off. Well, off anyone non-French, anyway. In my observations, I've come to the conclusion that Parisians only experience one season: cold. It can be seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit and they still refuse to remove their wool scarves and fur-lined coats. I've been wearing jeans just to be polite, but I'd be much more comfortable in shorts like any reasonable Minnesotan would. When I don't wear a jacket, they look at me like funny. Same goes for when I smile in public. Anyway, it's so beautiful that I was struck by how gorgeous the light was streaming through the windows at McDonald's on boulevard St-Michel at sunset today. And then I felt stupid because it was McDonald's. 

     One night last week, I sat in the empty square in front of Saint-Sulpice, my favorite Parisian church, staring at its golden façade and I realized I want to start doing sketches again. It makes me so happy to just sit and observe and listen to the fountains. It's nice to not be in a constant state of mild anger over things like people who think it's okay to flâner in the métro or cough in your face and instead do something that doesn't require any thinking.

      On Saturday, I spent time sitting in one of the green metal chairs in the Jardin du Luxembourg watching, listening and sketching with my watercolor markers. A French girl approached me, asking "Qu'est-ce que vous faites ? Est-ce que je peux regarder ?" She told me she came to draw, too, and that my drawing of the palais was beautiful. She left and I sat there for a long time with the sun warming my face and I thought if I had to live in the Jardin du Luxembourg for the rest of my life, I could be happy. I'm not sure why that would ever be a legitimate situation, though. (Sidenote: I can make watercolor postcards. If you want me to make you one, send me your address.)

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

The Medici Fountain, Jardin du Luxembourg

     One of my favorite leisure activities is to browse the bouquinistes, which almost always takes me to the Pont des Arts. Even though Romantic Paris is starting to really annoy me, I still like reading the locks to see where they came from. On late Saturday afternoon just before sunset, there was a brother duo playing a set of their own music and a few American covers (Watch it here) and you wouldn't have guessed from a distance that they were actually good since a swarming group of girls usually doesn't hint at greatness. They mentioned an upcoming show of theirs, but I could only hear "October" and "frères." I actually Googled "Octobre concert Paris frères musique" but that didn't direct me to anything. I still have one of their songs in my head.

Pont des Arts

Pont des Arts

Pont des Arts

     I covered most of the sixth on foot, which I never would've done last year since I was such a métro enthusiast. I really couldn't see the forest for the trees. I had no concept of how the city is connected. For example, I had no idea that the Montparnasse Cemetery is right next to Raspail or how close I used to live to avenue du Maine. None. On Sunday, I went down to the fourteenth to find a Monoprix or Franprix that would be open in the morning and I ended up walking all over my old stomping grounds. Simply put, the fourteenth is my jam. For real. I literally walked down the street with a huge smile on my face before realizing I was in Paris and shouldn't do that. I love how real it feels when I'm there and I feel like I fit in. My new neighborhood in the sixth is mainly upper-class and the traffic on the boulevard St-Michel is a constant roar in the background. In the fourteenth, I can actually hear my feet hit the ground and it's beautiful.

     

One of my goals this year is to find someone to take me for a ride.

Cour du Commerce Saint-André

Institut Hongrois on rue Bonaparte

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

View of the Tour Montparnasse near home

      I went with my new friend Rebecca to a French-English "meet-up" at Café du Châtelet in the first, where a big group of French speakers and English speakers hang out, have a beer and do trivia. Each time it was a new round we had to speak only in one language. It's really, really strange and absurd to hear French people struggle to speak in English to each other. My team was three Parisians, a grad student from UW-Madison, an Indian man who lives in Spain (and spoke no English or French) and a Swedish man. We ended up winning the whole game and got free shots. We stayed long after it was over, analyzing life to death as they do in Paris. This is part of why I came here; where would I be able to meet so many different people at home? It puts your life into perspective when you realize the world is so much bigger than the United States. That's the cross-cultural studies degree talking.This wasn't the only time, either: On Friday, Rebecca and I hung out with people from Israel, Mexico, Switzerland, Spain and France (And their eighteen-year-old tabby cat and I fell in love), and last night I talked about my favorite books at Shakespeare and Company with a guy my age from Luxembourg and an older, seriously snobby man from Boston who was quoting entire passages of Gatsby to me just because he could and acting like he personally knew Henry James and James Joyce.

     Here are more pictures of the past week. I realize I almost never talk about school, which is why I'm here in the first place, I guess. Another time.

Rachel

RER at Port-Royal

Picnicking on my balcony/terrace

Musée de l'Orangerie

Braved the lines for their famed hot chocolate, which outshined their terrible service.

I finally got down to the quai to drink wine. There is really not much better than that.

The staircase in an art studio we wandered into in the first. Some of the craziest stuff I've ever seen.

Pub Quiz Night at the Highlander and trying to reform a winning team.