lundi 16 juillet 2012

Have you ever had to make yourself blink and shake your head just to remind yourself you’re not dreaming? I did that this weekend, the majority of the weekend. Friday we went to a Bastille Day dance party inside a fire station with probably 400 people. Ran into an A&M friend on the other side of the world. Danced my heart out in the rain. 

Slept in until 1pm Saturday. Did you know there is a mini Statue of Liberty in Paris? I saw it. Picnic of cheese, baguettes and French cookies on the Champs de Mars under the Eiffel Tower. Sunset and laughing with friends. Mental pictures.

Then “It’s Raining Men” came on, and I thought of Gracie, mom, and I jamming out to that song on the Summer Mix CD on the way to Cambridge.

The theme for Bastille Day’s Eiffel Tower fireworks was Disco, so they hung up a HUGE disco ball in the middle of the Eiffel Tower! The fireworks started, and for an hour, we got to live in a dream world with the sparkling Eiffel Tower lit up by fireworks. We laughed and danced and ooed and awed and screamed like little girls.

More mental pictures.

Pinch me.

Yesterday I went to lunch with my church here, and met a bunch of new friends. But unfortunately that was my last Sunday. I started to get really sad yesterday once I realized I was about to leave. I feel like I am just getting to know a few people really well, and am just getting fully adjusted. I could stay here for a long time.

The friends I met are from Seattle, and they are some really cute sophomore college girls who I would love to be friends with. After dinner, we went to a really neat open-air market with old trinkets and vintage clothes, house decorations, books, jewelry.

I spent almost an hour flipping through a box of old Polaroid pictures. I found one photo of a marine sitting on the stairs with a smirk on his face. And another one of a young woman, and you could only see the silhouette of her face against the sun as she looked away. I imagined that they gave those photos to each other to remember when they were apart, as they were both had a worn crease down the middle.

Kaitlyn and I hung out with our friend Razvan by the Seine after the market. I love the quais of the Seine. We sat and listen to music, drank Schwepps, did trust-falls, and talked as the sun went down. “I have starting living by a new motto,” Razvan said, “My friends are more important than sleep.” I texted Beatrice and told her I changed my mind and wasn’t going to be home for dinner. And the three of us went to the Latin Quarter and ate falafels at the famous “L’As du Falafel.” We sat in the street and watched the people go by.

I was tired this morning. It feels like it should be Friday. It’s Monday. And it was worth it.  

I’m trying to figure out how I can get back here. Still working on it. I’ll keep you posted.

vendredi 13 juillet 2012

This week has gone by possibly faster than any of the past 6. And exactly one week from now, I will be packing my bags and preparing to leave Paris. It’s a strange place, where I am right now: I am still in Paris mode, but I am having to prepare for Texas mode again. And it’s bittersweet.

In the last two weeks, I have started to be more homesick for home and everyone who makes up the idea of “home” for me. So it’s for that reason that I am antsy to see everyone, to see my parents’ new home that they are already getting used to. But I have also had to slap myself a few times recently and remind myself to make the most of the rest of my time here.

I love it here. I absolutely love it. And that’s why it’s bittersweet.  But I think that if I were to stay here for a long time—not even permanently, but just for a longer time than 8 weeks, some things would have to change. I guess that means I’ll have to come back—just to test my theory, of course.

This past weekend, the church I’ve been going to here had a party on a boat on the River Seine! The theme was Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler, Gone With The Wind, Civil-War-era boat ride down the “Mississippi River”. As you can expect, this meant no one had a clue what to wear (“What’s the Mississippi river?”).

It ended up being a very fun idea, and they even hired some French man to teach us how to “two-step.” (I must note that the first song he put on after teaching us to line dance was Mercy by Duffy. Wonderful song, but for two-stepping?! I wanted to step in with my side-kick Chloe to show them who’s boss.) The “un, deux--un deux trios quatre--un deux trios quatre” counting was a first and made me smile.

Tonight, I am going to eat raclette with my friends at a restaurant—apparently the idea of raclette is similar to fondue, but is different? Good story, Jen, right? I’ll have to blog about it after eating it, so I can actually have something to say about it.

This weekend is Bastille Day! To celebrate the French’s equivalent of independence day, there is a parade down the Champs Elysees in the morning, and fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower at night. Apparently, everyone picnics on the Champs de Mars all day to save their spot for the evening fireworks.  

I love the idea of having a parade on the Champs Elysees, because of the history that has happened there, and how symbolic it is. During the Occupation of France in WWII, Hitler and his army marched down the Champs Elysees in 1940. And upon the Liberation of Paris in 1944, the French army paraded down the Champs with Charles de Gaulle to symbolize restored control of Paris.

I ended up buying that book Paris-Brule-t-il (Is Paris Burning?) about the Occupation of France in WWII, and though I haven’t gotten past page 2, I will make progress! It’s mind over matter here. I am a reader. I am a reader. I am a reader.

Aaaannnnd for the last random thought to spill on my blog, here you go: I have to have my boss fill out an intern evaluation (for A&M), and when he handed it back to me, I saw he had written Sharon Stone as the student intern name, and Paul Newman Prince of Persia as the Intern evaluator. I simply responded, “I don’t understand.”

Generational thing? He wrote me a new one. 

Check out that reach! These are some experienced tourists. Welcome to Paris in the summer!

jeudi 5 juillet, 2012

My favorite things about Paris so far:

-Having my window open all day and night and letting the breeze come in

-Safety in numbers: you can walk across the street as long as there isn’t a car coming at that moment (despite the lit-up red man telling pedestrians to not walk). If hesitant, just follow people who start walking. I learned that on my first day here: Julie told me “In Paris, you always go when it’s red.” But there is no fine for j-walking here!

-Fresh bread with butter. No explanation needed.

-Young guys will put on music in the metro and start dance parties. Ice Ice Baby was on yesterday and I was laughing really hard.

-This bumper sticker: "I love nothing. I'm Parisien." 

My not-as-favorite things about Paris so far:

-They put zucchini, carrots and cucumbers in everything.

-It is normal to undercook your beef so it’s “sanglant”—literally, “bloody”. Very foreign to me.

- No public bathrooms ANYWHERE. I have to remember mommy’s sound advice: before you leave the house, “just try.”

-I miss dogs and always want to go up and pet the ones I see in the street. I particularly miss my best friend Molly.

-The metro can be pretty stuffy and germ-y.

-The weather is just as unpredictable as Texas: one day it’s 80 degrees and sunny, and the next day it’s 60 and rainy. And it gets pretty humid here too.

- Fois gras. And salmon paste. 2 words come to mind: Cat. Food.

I have been trying to start to look up ideas for what I would want to possibly do after I graduate (10 months away, eek!) which is very exciting, but also a bit scary, as I’m still not sure what I see myself doing. 

Maybe Public Relations, maybe journalism? Maybe moving to the Caribbean and sleeping all day? It’s fun, however, to think of all the places in the world I could possibly work, and to think of what a blessing it could be if I can get a job doing something that I really enjoy.

I have been a bit homesick this week though, just missing getting the rest that I get at home with my family. It’s different here, just because I don’t really have my own space, except for my bedroom. Still finding the balance of getting Jennifer-time, and pushing myself to take advantage of being in Paris.

Most unfortunately, the taste of coffee is getting a bit old to me—because of my 4 cups a day. I am tired here. Sometimes at work, I’ll look at my desk and take a quick nap with my eyes open. Don’t ask me how it works. It’s just magic.

Last night, I went to my friend Ed’s host family’s house with Kaitlyn and some other girls, and we all celebrated the 4^th of July by making an “American dinner,” consisting of chili lime chicken, chips and queso, lemonade, and a blueberry tart. It wasn’t the most typical American meal ever, but hey. It worked! It was just fun to be in a different French family’s home—I always enjoy seeing the differences between families.

Well. I probably have much more to write about, but I’m having trouble thinking because I’m just on my 2^nd cup of coffee! 

But for the road, I’ll leave you with this: People rollerblading through the metro is just as annoying and puzzling as people rollerblading through A&M campus. 

I’m pretty sure stairs are more difficult on skates.

samedi 30 juin, 2012

Currently sitting in the gardens of the Petit Palais, at an outdoor café with a Coca Zero. It is breathtaking here!

I am grateful for a relaxing day, as for some reason, this week has been very go go go for me. I haven’t even had time to paint my nails (and if you know me, you know how significant that is.)

Fortunately, this week has been full of lots of really great things. Monday night, I got to cross something from my Paris bucket list off: sitting on a blanket on the Champs de Mars under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of wine, cheese, a baguette, and the sunset. I went with my friend Alissa, and we actually climbed the Eiffel Tower before our historic picnic! That's right, climbed. Not elevator-ed. 

Champs de Mars, seen from top of Eiffel Tower

The next evening, Alissa and I met up again to climb to the top of the Arc de Triomphe—something that I didn’t even know was possible. That was definitely the best view of Paris I have seen so far: you see the Champs Elysees, leading to the Place de la Concorde at the end. You see the “Etoile” (“star”) from up there—a bunch of streets meet together at the Arc de Triomphe, making a star shape. You could also see the Eiffel Tower from the top of the Arc de Triomphe (making the trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower a bit underrated—you can’t see the Eiffel Tower up there!).

The view of Paris and the "Etoile" from the top of l'Arc de Triomphe

I have found myself becoming very interested in French History. Through my work, I am now working on a tourist guide of the 8^th arrondissement, so I have been doing research on many of the iconic places here. There is so much history here, and I find it so interesting because I know almost none of it. Still looking for a good book about the history of France..let me know if you have any recommendations!

I found one called Paris Brule-t-il?, which looks really cool. “Paris brule-t-il?” means “Is Paris Burning?” and that’s apparently what Hitler asked one of his commanders on the telephone after giving the orders to burn down Paris in WWII. Fortunately, a German commander refused to burn what he saw as the most beautiful city, so he surrendered to the French. Paris was saved.

Hootie Happies:

• It is Paris SOLDE season! Which means that there are sales everywhere. Legally, stores are only allowed to have sales 2x a year: for 6 weeks in the summer, and for 6 weeks in the winter. Throughout the 6 weeks, the prices continue to go down, but there are less and less items. Ergo, I got a pair of sunglasses, some black flats, and a cute shirt—all for 30 euros. That was my high of the day.
• After telling my coworker I took a nap in the Jardins de Palais Royale, he said “I gather you like to sleep?" “Why?” “Well it’s not the first time you’ve mentioned taking naps.” What can I say? I take after my mommy.
•  I applied for a job at the FBI this week. Yup.
• I got to take a day of work this week to tour around the 8^th arrondissement—to visit museums, restaurants, and monuments for my tour guide. Tough life, right?
• Tuesday evening, before going to meet Alissa for the Arc de Triomphe, my shoes busted. And I couldn’t walk without them falling off. Unfortunately, all of the stores were about to close. Equally as unfortunate, the incredible sales were going to begin the next day. Desperate for comfortable shoes, I bought sandals at Gap. Silly Jennifer wore black tights that day, so let’s just say that I got more than a few stares from Parisians for the rest of the night…

samedi 23 juin 2012

As I write this, I am in the Bourgogne countryside of France with the host family of my friend Kimberly. I am once again taken back by the beauty and simplicity of the countryside. Now I know I’m no country girl (coming from the girl who, at 11 years old when at our ranch Perry Lake, refused to leave the car: “There are too many bees!”)---but I can appreciate the peace that is here.

This house/countryside is particularly remarkable because the family of Benoit (Kim’s host-father) has owned it since the 1700’s. That’s a really long time. The family has had the home as a vacation/weekend house since then, and about 8 years ago, they started redoing it.

Benoit gave Kim and I a tour of the huge garden (in which we picked fresh raspberries, red currants, and blueberries for dessert), the underground area where the family would make wine and store produce during the wintertime, the backhouse area where they would make fresh bread in the brick oven, and of course the picturesque, antique well in the backyard. There are old bedrooms full of antique books and dusty toys; antique sewing machines that one sees in a museum, and old pictures of Benoit’s great great great grandparents; long dusty dining tables in a dining room, with an entrance in the back for the service.

Long story short (or maybe not so short…) it is a very quaint plantation-like home that has been passed down from generation to generation in the Michon family. I will note that in the wine cave, I naively asked Benoit how wine is even made.

My memory-triggered self became amazed by the fact that 2 centuries ago, women in their long dresses and corsets walked up these stairs after picking fresh pears and tomatoes. There is just something here that makes me appreciate the past and a family’s history.

This morning at breakfast, Kim and I were talking to Odile (Benoit’s wife) about her family. She started telling us all about where her ancestors were from, what they did in their lives, how certain wars affected them, and how she took her daughter to Norway to introduce her to her cousins who still live there.

I began to wonder about where I come from. From where did my great great great great grandparents move to America? As Odile pointed out, no one in America is really native: anyone who was actually native (i.e., native Indian) has been killed, put on a reservation, or had their rights taken away from them. Everyone else is, at the root of it, from another country but calls themselves American. (The truth hurts, huh?)

Benoit

Odile suggested that I talk to my relatives who are still living, ask them about their ancestors, and write everything down. “Nothing gets passed down unless it’s in writing,” she said. She made me want to go home, print out all of my pictures, write about my life, and document everything. Sounds silly, but I do actually want my great grand children to know who I was—not for the sake of my name living on, but so they know where they came from. It made me think of my Grandmother and how lucky I am that I have her telling her life story on video; of how precious life is in simplicity; of how distracted I can be even by my phone or my stuff.

It made me appreciate just being.

Benoit drove Kim and I to his aunt, cousin, and mom’s individual country houses, showed us around those, and then we walked through the woods in rain boots. Here I was reminded of the hours I spent with my sisters and cousins in the “secret meadow” of Perry Lake, in the “swamps” with our walking sticks, and in my imaginary world in the woods.

Overall, it was refreshing to get in the fresh air and to slow down a bit from the Parisian life, where every minute of the day is go go go. Random detail—Benoit was wearing a button down shirt and khakis the whole time. Even while crawling under branches and. To each his own?

This past Thursday was the “Fête de la Musique” in Paris---and therefore the best evening of my whole trip so far. On this day, there are people all over Paris playing music on the side of the streets, in cafés and bars, and in big open squares next onlooking a breathtaking monument. NBD. I went with some of my friends (3 other EUSA Paris interns plus 3 of my church friends) to the Quartier Latin to wander around and listen to concerts. The Quartier Latin is an area on the Rive Gauche with a very young feeling to it—there are tons of students there, and small streets with lots of different kinds of cuisine to try. We went from corner to corner, and on every street there were plenty of different genres of music to enjoy together (and also plenty of crepe stands for our dessert!).

Padlocks on Pont des Arts

But possibly my favorite part of the night was when I was alone (surprise, right?) on the bridge Pont Des Arts. If you don’t know what it is, look it up right now. I mean it—stop and look it up right now. The wire sides of the bridge are covered with padlocks, on which lovers write their name before locking it and throwing the key in the river, symbolizing their eternal love. I didn’t get to look at them for more than a minute, but I heard that there are antique locks from 200 years ago attached to the bridge. With the sun setting, French ladies singing on the bridge, and lovers sneaking a kiss after throwing their key, I certainly took plenty of mental pictures.

Typical Paris.

Today is June 23. And I got here exactly 31 days ago. The time is passing very fast, and yet I already feel so much more comfortable in this city than I did when I arrived. It is nights like the Fête de la Musique that make me think I could stay in Paris for years on end and never fall out of love.

My friend Alissa and me at Fête de la Musique

I forgot one important story about a package I received yesterday!

I closed my eyes and felt like I was there with my family. I could almost hear Molly barking in the background, Eloise growling, and momma's kitchen TV with the news on. I could almost smell the guacamole, taco meat, and salsa. I opened my eyes and opened the box. Wow I can really smell this salsa, I feel so at home right now. Oh wait....oh no....oh goodness, why is there red chunky sauce all over this tape? Ohhhhh no...Stevia, mints, Taco seasoning--all with a delicious soaking of El Fenix picante sauce on the outside.

I guess glass jars don't travel well?

Fret not, the best part was salvaged: El Fenix's tortilla chips. Thanks to the best family I could ask for!

mercredi 20 juin 2012

This Monday was a hard day. At 9:30 am, my alarm went of—15 minutes after I normally have to leave my apartment to get to work on time. A frantic morning shook up my whole day, and even 4 cups of coffee didn’t help me perk back up to normal. It also just so happened that the iBook I had created and completed on Friday didn’t work when I showed it to my boss upon arriving to work yesterday morning. And, because I was so tired, I was having trouble finding the words in French to explain why it wasn’t working.

Rough.

Let’s hope that my extra short lunch break and staying at work late that evening showed my boss that I actually am responsible and hardworking.

But Tuesday was a new day! Getting up extra early gave my mind and body plenty of time to wake up before headed out. However, the day almost took a turn for the worst when I slipped on the sidewalk and on the way down, grabbed the arm of some Frenchman. He was frazzled. But I laughed. And the day was salvaged.

Overall, this past week has been harder for me. I have found myself feeling very incompetent. It’s much more of a challenge than I had expected—being able to express myself accurately while surrounded by people who have grown up in a different culture and speaking a different language than me. I can know the vocabulary, but that doesn’t necessarily allow real Jennifer shine through. That’s a different story.

Although it's sometimes tough, I am grateful, because this is the cultural experience that I had hoped to have this summer. What is more, I am intimately known and loved by the God who made me. I’m trying to repeat that to myself throughout my day.

In other news, I made a Swiss friend named Yvonne this weekend. And I had lots of fun with my friends over the weekend.

Here’s an Eiffel Tower picture: you’ve gotta appreciate the selfie. Everyone’s doing it.

On the way to work today, I listened to Revelation Song by Kari Jobe.

Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty. With all creation I sing praise to the King of Kings. Filled with wonder at the mention of Your Name. Jesus Your Name is Power, breath and living water, such a marvelous mystery.

            O, how it would it change my outlook on life if I began to praise God for who HE IS, not for what he can give me. Praise Him for being Holy, Lord Almighty, gracious, patient and worthy of praise. Peace, forgiveness, and joy, are all things that God allow me to experience as a result of His love. But am I only in this whole Christian thing to get joy in life? To feel “happy”? Happiness by itself on this earth is not lasting.

Instead I am to praise the Lord not only of my life for who HE is, regardless of what He gives me or doesn't give me. 

He owes me nothing. He IS. 

From Milton Vincent’s A Gospel Primer:

The gospel is not simply the story of “Christ and Him crucified”; it is also the story of my own crucifixion….My old self was slain there, and my love affair with the world was crucified there too.

When my flesh yearns for some prohibited thing, I must die.

When called to do something I don’t want to do, I must die.

When I wish to be selfish and serve no one, I must die.

When shattered by hardships that I despise, I must die.

When wanting to cling to wrongs done against me, I must die.

When enticed by allurements of the world, I must die.

When dreams that are good seemed shoved aside, I must die.

‘Not my will, but Yours be done,’ Christ trustingly prayed on the eve of His crucifixion. 

Is this real life?