I’m sitting in Starbucks with thirty minutes to kill (read: pretend I don’t have real work) before babysitting and I thought I’d update a bit. Also I’m sitting next to this couple that must be on a first date or something, and it’s pretty hilarious. It’s an American girl and a french guy and they’re currently talking about their favorite colors. I kid you not. His is maroon (weird, right?) and hers is green. I keep thinking they’ve left because I don’t hear anything (my back is to them) but then I realize they’re just having a awkward quiet moment... isn’t it fun when you can look and laugh and say thank god that’s not me?? 


On this topic, one thing that is really different here than in the United States is the dating culture. French guys like to date. Honestly they love it! They’ll go mooney over you, ask you out to drinks, coffee, dinner etc, date you for a couple of months during which you’re their sun, their moon, their everything... And then move on, or it fizzles, or it can turn into something real (I'm not that much of a miser, I swear!) But the two month getting-to-know-you phase is much more formalized, you’re definitely seeing each other and not just “hooking up” - an idea that does not make very much sense to them in the first place, unless you are just a horndog looking for a petit d’amour pour la soirée. Whereas in the U.S. to be “hooking up” with someone can often indicate that same beginning period of a potential relationship, you would never casually say you’re dating someone! Goodness no! Facebook official usually waits a good 6-12 months until a relationship has been established. We certainly do not like to jump the gun in the U.S. While I don’t mind this “system” if you want to call it that, and dating/hooking up/getting to know someone never really follows any rules, I do enjoy getting to go on dates! Something about it feels very sweet, kind of old-fashioned, and usually you’re less drunk, or in an environment of copious drinking, than at a typical night out in college, at a house party. I don’t mean to glorify the french approach to dating, for its very easy to get trapped at a bar with a french man whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you physically have to remove him and watch him walk right up to the next girl and start in on her, but it is a very nice alternative. Grass is always greener. And maybe this does exist in the U.S. post-college?  I’ll just wrap this up and say that dates are gr8 and since you have a pre-ordained goodbye gesture (the bisous on the cheeks) you have an easy out for no kiss at the end.  And in €-strapped lives in paris, a free drink is always appreciated. I’m just glad that mine aren’t as bad as this one I’m listening in on. This guy just told his date that he “has total control of his brain” and then compared himself to the movie inception. Oh boy. Too far for the first, dontcha think?

Back to ma vie. It’s finally nice here!! 50 degrees and sunny today, I took off my coat from the heat for the first time in maybe three months - discounting Spain. I think the Winter Blues had everyone by the throat a little bit because all of my friends here seem just so much chippier! On that note, Summer fashion is quickly approaching and Spring fashion is underway - and just as I had my Winter Paris look down, too! Apparently I have to go buy a jean jacket, a jean shirt, and wear them together with a pair of jeans and big sunglasses. All the rage. I forget what I was going to talk about here, but I think it was along the lines of my babysitting yesterday. It was so cute and funny I thought it would make a nice little blog post. 

So I went to pick up Neal, age 11, and Julieanne, age 7, at school yesterday as I do every Monday and Tuesday at 4:30. This time, Neal wasn’t going to go to English class, just sat with me to wait for Julieannes, and so didn’t have any homework to do. When this happens it generally means Neal gets extremely bored, thinks its the end of the world and wanders around the American church as I follow behind begrudgingly - I’m usually perfectly content to just sit for an hour and watch all of the babies (for some reason there are always a million French babies and toddlers running around, it provides very nice entertainment). However this time I got out my french homework and started it - it was a preposition worksheet. Neal looks over my shoulder, reads the first line and goes, “that’s wrong” and then laughs. I whip the paper out of sight, cheeks red, and tell him to bug off  (we have a very fun relationship). But then I calm down, tell myself he’s only 11, and ask him to help me - why not? This is for another day, but I have developed a little bit too much pride in French, making it harder to progress since I hate making mistakes and blush furiously every time I do. I just oh-so-want to sound like a smart, quirky Parisian girl, and haven’t yet conceded that it’s hopeless. Anyways, what proceeded with Neal was a veritable French lesson, from the 11 year old in broken english to me. Not on the prepositions, Neal and I were struggling equally on this, but for some reason he started telling me about the passé simple. The passé simple is a french verb tense that does not have an equivalent in English and is pretty old-fashioned, so none of my French teachers ever taught it to me. However I do come across it a fair amount in French writing and it’s pretty frustrating to not even be able to identify the tense. Neal, very calmly and concisely, walked me through the endings of the passé simple, and explains why they are so strange and accidentally kind of funny. For example, the ‘pouvoir’ form in passé simple is “put-” so for the I form, ‘je’, you say, “je putes” which means, in regular verb form, “I stink”. We had a good laugh over this one and commiserated over the horrible inconsistencies of French grammar. Just a little moment that made me smile, and honestly helped me out a fair bit in my french comprehension. Then we moved on to a 45 minute conversation detailing every single family in the Yu-gi-yo card deck, their good and bad characteristics, and which ones I would like and why. Strangely enough, this was a much more familiar topic for me having done this with Neal for every Monday since November. 

Alors, je pense que c’est tous mes amis. Oh! That’s a total lie. I have an internship now! Just for my last few months in Paris. I’m so happy to have it, if just because now I have a grand total of 1 thing to put on my resumé that doesn’t say “nanny for tons and tons of random kids for the past 8 years”. Even though I know how much nanny experience lends to politics... 


I’ll fill in on the internship another day, it’s time for work! Which is good because I’ve already forgotten at least 3 of the yu-gi-yo rules I learned yesterday. Neal is always frustrated with me, I’m a terrible yu-gi-yo student. 

Pictures from Berlin and Krakow

Pergamom museum in Berlin

Me and Camilla in Berlin

Making our Mark - East Side Gallery

Looking very cold in Brrrrrrlin

Colorahda!

Krakow market

friends in Krakow

Beautiful 16th century church

First things first

A year of firsts. In many ways, I feel like this is a year in which a wet, pink, screaming baby (me) was passed across the ocean from the golden land of 24-hour-service/meal-and-housing-plans-handed-to-you-with-a-smile, to a confusing landmass full of no-we-will-not-go-out-of-our-way-to-help-you-slash-you-aren’t-dressed-as-cool-as-us. Well. Back in the beginning I stepped off of my Aerlingus plane in late August with confidence and happy nerves as to what lay ahead of me. But in reality I have had a much harder time getting accustomed to living here, and living here alone (key word), than I ever thought I would. This could just be a peter-pan-nightmare called growing up, or it could be some karmic “getting what you wanted” business (followed by evil buddhist laughter) but I actually think that this is simply the Syndrome of Firsts. It feels like every time I turn a corner in this city I meet something new or have to deal with some new situation (in french). At CC, deciding to go to Benjis instead of Rastall is enough of a novelty to send that thrill of spontaneity down my spine - but here in Paris I've started grasping anything the least bit familiar with an iron grip (just imagine running into me in the street...) To help you get one I mean by "firsts," here is a little taste of some of the extra-fun ones I've run into thus far: 

First time I had to look for an apartment. First time I had to look for an apartment in another language. First time I had to figure out an international bank transfer, in another language, over two times zones. First time I had to report my phone lost, in another language, and call insurance to get it replaced. (This ended up happening two times! Second time around, I was a champ.) First time my computer was stolen, and I had to buy another one, in another language. First time I memorized a french computer keyboard. First time I moved into a new apartment. First time my fuse blew, and I didn’t realize how to reset it for three days and all of my food went bad. First time I figured out how to turn my hot water on (and off...) First time I had to talk to the french police when my neighbor called them amidst a tuesday-night-lets-drink-whiskey serious gathering chez moi. First time I had to give a 25 minute presentation in french, and was so nervous that I forgot how to say any and all french numbers. First time I got in an argument over the bill with a frenchman, in french, over the price of my haircut - and won, just saying. First time I lost my mailbox key. First time I had to call a locksmith (need I say, in french?). First time I missed a flight, and begged the airport staff until they gave me a new flight free of charge (this experience had a very familiar ring to it, but the desperation was probably much more poignant since I was struggling even more so to do it all in french). First time I paid an electricity bill. First time I paid a €300 electricity bill. Last time I used any electricity (jokes). 

The point of this list is to say, I have had a lot of firsts, a lot of scary firsts. Calling my bank at home, my mom and CC to ask for help has been both difficult and frequent. In response to all of this onslaught of novelties, I make habits, I create routines, I do anything to make things stay the same. I say bonjour and au revoir to the same people every day, and stop at the same snack stands (self-medicating with a twice-daily pain au chocolat has proven to have great results). My schedule has me in class everyday in the mornings, with work every afternoon, and I definitely remember to turn off my lights. However something I think I easily forget to notice, and seriously fail to remember, is both the overwhelming number of GOOD firsts, and the fact that my motivation for coming to Paris was largely to do, see, and experience, something new! While the bad firsts make better stories, especially since the french make themselves so much fun to imitate (see video link at bottom to better understand this), the good firsts are what keep me so inexplicably happy here in this gray and misty city.

So I thought I’d include here some unexpected “firsts” that have made me stop, look around, and wonder at how freaking cool my life is right now.

First time my class stopped in order to explain the word “prey” to a spanish speaker who didn’t understand the french — three languages were flying across the room in order to explain it, descriptions in french, english and spanish until she understood, and class resumed. Same thing happened another day when a german girl could not remember how to say “sustainable”. Luckily, there’s almost always a german or two in my classes so a quick debate in german fixed the problem. First time I figured out that the little 7 year old I babysit for, named Julieanne, had been saying “Fac,” a shorter way to say “faculté” which is another word for university, and not something else... this one had me very confused, and laughing for a long time afterwards. First time I got to hear about “american exceptionalism” from a class full of french, irish, australian, german and english students. Fascinating. First time I was invited by my nanny-friend, 50-something-year-old Fred (short for Frederique) to her Valentine’s day community choir concert, and went. Best V-Day yet by far. First time I found myself as a translator between a desperate Dutch woman whose purse had been stolen, and the french police when neither could communicate with the other. First time I went to a Monday night reading at Shakespeare & Co, and drank wine along the Seine with the featured authors afterwards. First time I went to a debate to hear prestigious speakers, including ex-ambassadors, discuss and answer questions about the upcoming U.S. elections in a gold-gilded hotel right off of the champs-elysées. First time I shared a cup of red wine at 4 PM in the center of a convenience store with the owner, named Ali Baba, who had been welcomed so warmly and treated so well by Americans when he went to New York, that he wanted to show Americans the same treatment at his home in Bordeaux. First time I went to a Bob Dylan concert with the father for the kids I babysit for, who also happens to be the diplomatic advisor to the head of the French senate. (A repeat story, but too cool to not be included).

And of course there are the smaller moments. When I can communicate clearly and quickly in french, when I find myself in a beautiful new neighborhood in Paris and simply stop and stare, when I find myself actively interested and engaged in a class here. The little things, and the “good firsts,” as I’ve so eloquently named them, are the bits and pieces of life here that feed me, along with the chocolate croissants, and keep me going in a city that can all too easily feel alien and frightening. Since I’ve been here I’ve taken to jotting these little things down, with the goal of writing about them - in a blog or home to mom - and only now have I found a way to compress them into one blog post (a post which, naturally, turned erroneously philosophic... a tendency which internet-me cannot seem to get control of). 

On that note, enjoy the movie clip (it says it has subtitles but I don’t think they’re there, just look at his face because it is such a good imitation of what I see here in paree), and I’ll keep you posted on anymore exciting adventures (or tenuous struggles) in the life of me, your wonderful, emotional-roller-coaster-riding, ever-growing — in every way (think life experiences + constant croissants) — long-list-and-hyphen-loving, friend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxndREL9h74&feature=related

update: spring break

Hola! Buenas días! 

I’m writing this on the train from Valencia to Barcelona! It’s so fun being back in Spain and seeing how much spanish I remember from the summer I spent in Salamanca (none). It’s the strangest feeling trying to switch between two foreign languages. It feels like your brain is trying to do backflips, or maybe a better comparison is what it feels like when I try to raise an eyebrow (which I cannot do and have always been irrationally jealous of people who can) - I screw my face up in all these strange positions, and end up little else but a bright red face, and in the case of speaking spanish, a lot of spit. The prideful creature that I am, I decided that I would take on spanish like a game. I only had about three verbs to work with - tengo, quiero, soy - and a veeryyy shaky knowledge of some semblance of grammar. The challenge was muy grande (see what i did there?) and it was actually quite fun. In Valencia in particular the service-sector, so like waiters, store keepers, hotel staff, speaks much less english than that in Paris (which is composed almost entirely of fluent english speakers), so every request really did turn into quite the task. None of this stuffy Paris attitude of perfecting my disaffected, slightly bored face coupled with rapidly spoken french (striking the right cord you see, proving that I was both a super cool fluent foreigner but I didn’t even care about how cool I was). Instead ordering dinner became a series of stuttering, pointing, gesticulations and laughter. Que bueno! 

So, if you have skipped the entire introductory paragraph up to here, (by this point no doubt you are an avid-Ariella-in-Paris follower and have realized that the first part is always usually jibber jabber) I will state again: I’m on spring break mothafoookah! Naturally, since Sciences Po gives us our spring break the last week of February, when the weather is nice and balmy, my friends and I decided to head up north to Krakow! T-Shirt Contest anyone??... chuckle chuckle. Krakow. It was truly the first Eastern European city I’ve been to, excluding Berlin which I would not place in the same category (and where we stopped over for a day on the way to Krakow -I’ll try to post pictures later this week). It also is one of the only Eastern European cities that was not bombed to smithereens during WWII. While I don’t have much basis for comparison, I can say that Krakow is absolutely STUNNING and probably has one of the most beautiful midieval churches that I have ever been inside. My friends and I spent the first day walking around the city and found our way to the old castle. Needless to say, we practised bowing through the royal court for a good half-hour in the rain until the castle closed and we were oh-so-politely “bowed” out. Polish food is absolutely amazingly potato-y delicious meaty goodness with which we identified just one teensy problem: while it puts a smile on your face, it certainly does not on your digestive system... let’s just say that I really missed my “special” tea while in Poland. 

Now on a much more serious note, I’d like to put in a little bit about going to Auschwitz and Birkenau. We took the better part of our Sunday to make our way out to the camps, 45 minutes outside of Krakow. The 3 hour long tour was given to us by a grandchild of concentration camp survivors, and the details, images, stories, and preserved documents from the third reich were absolutely horrifying. While auschwitz is preserved almost in its entirety, Birkenau was burned and dismanted so while we spent less time there, the giant field empty except for rows of standing chimneys, gave you a true sense of the enormity of these concentration camps. There’s an extremely moving memorial that was constructed next to a half-destroyed gas chamber at Birkenau as well. Just writing about this brings me back, I can feel the gloom and sense of disbelief that felt like almost knocked me off my feet throughout our time there. I’m so happy that I got the chance to learn more about the holocaust and maybe get an inkling of knowledge of the depravity that went on there. 

However, it was a nice relief, and felt like an unbelievable luxury, to head out to spain. Even if our trip did not make the most sense - going from Berlin and Krakow down to Spain - we were certainly ready to get to warmer weather, and hopefully participate in more spring break like activities (sangria being a primary goal). We explored Madrid, and Camilla and I got to meet up with CC grad Jenny Natelson for a delicious lunch of calamari sandwiches and tinto verano. Valencia was beautiful and grandiouse and now I am off to find some long lost CC boys in Barthalonahhh. I’ve been having too much fun with the lisp, it makes me feel like my bad spanish is more authentic because I’m willing to jump right into sounding just as much like a toothless grandma as the locals. Solidarity, you know?  

That’s all I got for esta momenta (...its like im trilingual, sabes?)

Until next time, 

Ciao ciao amigos !