"To err is human. To loaf is Parisian." -Victor Hugo

     In the past few days, Paris has subtly, and not so subtly, let me know that I am huge. Like literally a giant. Every café or restaurant establishment that I have been to, I have had to smash myself very precisely into my seat. This sometimes requires pulling out the table to let me into the booth and then having it shoved back into my lap once I sit down. Also on my lap is my purse/backpack bag because we've been warned and warned and warned about pickpockets. Getting up to go is another hassle because the too-large furniture for the too-small establishment traps my feet and I have to gracefully stomp over the chair to get out. 

     In the shower, the shower head is one of those hand-held hose ones, which of course, is too short for me so it's almost impossible to get the shampoo off the top of my head. When I stand in front of the mirror, I can only see from my chin down, so I have to bend over like I have scoliosis to look at my face. And at Foyer Protestant, you better damn well take your shower before 9:30 PM and not flush the toilet, either. These and other bizarre rules can be found on about fifty passive-aggressive handwritten posters all around the foyer. In French. So when you're tired and want to do pretty much anything, you need to read a poster, read it again, and then try to figure out what it means. And it always means 'no' to what you're hoping to do.

     There's also a mouse problem here. One of the first nights, I was sitting in the kitchen and I saw something move out of the corner of my eye in the hallway and the next night someone told me about the mice. I've been told to store my suitcases in the attic so they don't nest in them. At least there are no spiders or crying babies in here, because then I'd go all Jenna Marbles in here and end up on YouTube.

     After classes today, we went over near the Place d'Italie as a group to see The Artist, which I was really excited about since I had never gotten around to seeing it before I left. The movie theatre was like a large home theater with no sticky floors and no snacks. After the movie, we searched for somewhere to eat since it was 8 PM, which is dinnertime in France, but everywhere we went had stopped serving food for the night, so people were just drinking. We ended up eating Chinese after realizing this at another restaurant and then going out for drinks at a bar nearby, where we all bought pina coladas and shared some first hysterical laughs. Despite all the problems and annoyances, it's just a part of what Shelley calls "culture stress." If we weren't annoyed or stressed, she wouldn't be doing her job, she said. Being annoyed comes with adapting to a new culture, so the good news is that I'm adapting!

The shower for short people.

Courtyard at L'Ecole L'Etoile

My first pain au chocolat ever! The dome down the street behind me is the Sorbonne.

The Artist

My first drink in France.

Rachel 

“Oh, but Paris isn't for changing planes, it's for changing your outlook! For throwing open the windows and letting in... letting in la vie en rose.” -Sabrina, 1954

     I leave for Paris in 3 days and I couldn't feel less prepared. My packing has consisted of me coming across things around the house that I think I need, but probably don't- i.e. Scotch tape, three different bikinis, a baseball cap, an Italian dictionary, leftover candy canes from Christmas- and dumping them in a spot in the basement I've designated for all the things that I want to fit into my two suitcases. I haven't even begun thinking about the clothes that I want to bring because all of them will fit, right? Right. Be honest, how can a person pack light for four months, which includes winter, spring, and part of summer? I'm going to ignore the list they gave me on what to pack when it comes to clothes. In front of basically every item on the list was a 1. One pair of jeans, eh? Nope, that's not happening. I don't think I'll be bringing fewer pairs of jeans than I am bottles of hand sanitizer.

     I just booked a shared shuttle from Charles de Gaulle to the foyer where I'm living, on the rue Pernety in the 14th arrondissement. It's completely maddening just trying to figure out the logistics of getting my little self all the way to my new bed in Paris. My flight arrives at 8 AM (Paris time) on Monday and as far as I know, I will have 15 minutes to get through customs, find my luggage, call the shuttle driver and tell him or her I'm alive and find where ever the hell the shuttle is among the nine terminals at this particular airport. Once I get to my foyer, I have to get through the (locked?) gate, which I have no key or passcode for at this point, ask the front desk for an envelope which will supposedly have written directions and a metro pass in it on how to then get myself to the Central College Abroad office later that day. If I can do all this on my own, I SWEAR I will get myself on The Amazing Race. Or in a Dan Brown novel.

     I'm about halfway through my goodbyes with friends and family, which has so far made me as emotional as I was when I saw The Muppets (unexpected crying in both cases). I need to keep reminding myself that I have been planning this for five years and that this is the opportunity of a lifetime. I need to have the courage to believe "I can do this!" So, let's do this! 

À Paris!

Rachel