But I’m le tired…well have a nap THEN FIRE ZE MISSILES

General Update: Sooo it’s been another two weeks since I’ve written, despite my claim that I was splitting my last post in two….but that’s okay! The French have no perception of time and therefore I’m showing you that I’ve actually become even more acclimated to the culture. You want your French friend to meet  up with you at 12:00? They’re guaranteed to stroll in 45 minutes or so later. The course horaire (schedule) may say class starts at 10 in the morning, but the professor comes and goes as he or she pleases…if they even come to class at all. I’ve just been assimilating; I went from being sheepishly slow and lazy and tired to proudly slow and lazy and tired.

End of the World

I’m now the living embodiment of the “I’m le tired” lady in End of the World

So this week and last week make up a Parisian congé (vacation/break) for high schools and many offices. Unbeknownst to everyone on the program, this actually would affect our lives…and subsequently produced a cataclysmic #firstworldparisianproblems phenomenon. The many shops that we all depend on were closed last week, and something like the following have frequently come out of our mouths:

“I can’t get a baguette from across the street …FOR A WEEK?!”

“My favorite boulangerie isn’t open for 5 days? No pain au chocolat??” (This person clearly has no reason to live.)

“There’s a LINE to get into some of the most famous museums in the world because high school kids are off? Screw that I’m going home.”

“All three cobblers on this street are on vacation? But I need my shoes to be cobbled!” (I’ll admit that this one was pretty much just me being silly and making up verbs in the process. And don’t you worry, I did find a ready and willing cobbler on my fourth try and my shoes are good as new. Whew that was a close one, amIright?)


However, I did manage to stuff my face with more fondue back at Le Refuge Des Fondues with a bunch of lovely friends. It was amazingly fun the deuxième fois. Yet it’s amazing how quickly I forgot to be wary of the unlimited cheese fondue my second time around. My stomach can only handle so much cheesy awesomeness. So we went from this:

Le Refuges des Fondues

Say cheese! Ugh I’m awful ignore me I didn’t just write that. (Oh, and Laura's face. Ignore that too.) Reluctant photo credit: Katie Pappas


To becoming victims of this:


Comic Credit: Flavors of Heartache by Jessica Hagy on Indexed

Where I went (and how I ruined it):

 1. The Catacombs:

So I actually went here a while back, but it’s totally worth noting. The Catacombs are basically several kilometers of underground tunnels stacked with the skeletal remains of over six million dead (duh) Parisians. Many centuries ago there was overcrowding in the church cemeteries, so little by little the French ceremoniously moved the dead underground into these tunnels and caverns. Little did I know that these stacks o’ bones were just a short walk from school. So one sunny day after class when I was casually asked if I’d like to tag along to The Catacombs, I didn’t really realize I was actually being asked, “Hey, care to ponder your mortality for the rest of the day?”


I see dead people. Wait, you too?

The whole experience was both fantastic and eerie at the same time. I was greeted with huge stacks of bones lined up in a way that neatly separated the skulls from the rest of the bodies’ bones. Incredibly old signs that discussed the transient nature of life popped up every now and then. Needless to say, this is pretty much what went down. I went from this:

strutting leo

…to this:

sad keanu

2. Rugby Game at Stade de France:

This was AMAZING. I won free tickets to a Paris vs. Toulon game with four other people from my program. It was incredible – we had great seats, the teams were evenly matched, and in the last three seconds of the game the team that was behind scored a try and then made their conversion kick to tie up the game. Afterwards, there was a spectacle pyrotechnique, aka fireworks, just to conclude my day in complete Hollywood-ending fashion. To top it all off, since I was the only one of my friends who played rugby, I had the opportunity to happily explain a sport I’m actually knowledgeable about to people…when’s that ever going to happen again?

Stade de France

Amazing. A tackle is just a hug on the ground!

Although I wish the TWRFC girls had been there…

It never ceases to amaze me when the slight cultural differences you were never previously cognizant about become apparent. The stadium had given out free Paris Rugby flags for the fans to wave during the game. After, the five of us desperately wanted ones of our own as souvenirs. As Americans, we figured the girls could flirt their way into getting some flags and the boys would just have to steal them, and if three of us were successful we’d be lucky. I mean, that’s how it’d go down in Yankee stadium if they gave out free paraphernalia to only some people. Not the case for the French! You just ask politely, and the flag is yours. We were all astounded to have procured flags in less than five minutes.

The Parisian team's home uniforms are pink because real men wear pink. Or Frenchmen. Whatever.

The odd part is, if you accidently slightly graze the same person on the metro, they will probably curse you off with a huffed Merde!  and think about shanking your eyes out. Do that in NY, a mere “sorry” will have you covered. I’m still trying to figure this one out. They’re like friggen living Sour Patch Kids.

Sour Patch Kid

Seriously, I think the French are Sour Patch Kids: First they’re sour, then they’re sweet.

Observation of the Post:

 In honor of the “Shit X Say” YouTube phenomenon, I now present to you my own version: Shit French People Say to Me Because I’m American:

1. “Wait, you don’t like McDonalds?”

That’s right! I don’t eat fast food, save some glorious Chipotle burritos (Side note: Paris is supposed to open its first Chipotle in a couple of weeks. Right by my house. Ohhh boy.) McDonalds is ridiculously popular here, but for all the wrong reasons. It’s expensive (like 5-7 euro for a meal,) it isn’t opened almost 24/7, and the French are so obsessed with preserving their fine food culture that they sometimes make sure to tell you what exquisitely fresh farms the meat and produce came from. They simply like it because it’s American food. I shouldn’t be surprised about the recent news about the introduction of the McBaguette. Globalization at its finest.

2. “You pay HOW much for college?!”

They only pay about 3,000/year for college here, so it’s mindboggling when I tell French people what I pay to go to Tufts. I just like talking about it to see their faces contort into a weird mix of shock and pity and slight fear because someday this could happen to them. Oh no wait, socialist country jk lol.

3. “You’re American, so aren’t you like really religious?”

This one gets me every time. I do not understand how a country that was based so heavily on Christianity came to preach secularity to such an obsessive degree. I mean it’s not actually true in terms of France being completely secular, just like it isn’t true in the United States (a discussion for another time perhaps) but to assume that every American is another Rick Santorum is a pretty painful assumption. The French newspapers cover the Republican primaries so heavily though, one can hardly blame them. In my class at Paris VIII, my teacher was making some bible references and literally said, “Oh, our exchange students can help us, they know a lot about the bible because they’re American. Rebecca and Abigail – those are biblical names.”

not Rick Santorum

Look, it’s me. No wait sorry that’s Rick Santorum, my bad.

On that note, I’ve got an EU midterm to study for. Next week, I hope to post about my upcoming trip to London… if the laziness doesn’t get to me again.


It isn’t surprising that “etiquette” is a French word…

It’s been a while, so I think I’ma split this post in deux.

General Update: In the time since I posted last, I have not only visited every museum in Paris, but I’ve managed to master the French language as well as the art of French cuisine. Just kidding … the only thing that makes me any more French than before is my lack of shaving (Hey! It’s freezing cold here, alright? It serves both a cultural and a practical purpose…)  It’s usually about -3 degrees Celsius according to the 14th arrondissement’s La Mairie (town hall) I see every day on my way to school. Oh, you want that in Fahrenheit? Yeah, me too, but to be honest it’s become much easier to say things like, “It’s so cold I just want some wine just to keep warm,” or “Today, I only had to wear two pairs of socks instead of three!”  (These are things that people on my program commonly do say, by the way). Boston is statistically colder on average, but Europe is experiencing a particularly frigid winter, and I stay outside much more frequently here. Plus, my favorite articles of clothing – sweatpants and hoodies – are “not allowed” in Paris. Apparently, the ability to wear comfy, bulky clothing was left out of Le Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen (The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen), and they take this whole republicanism/democracy thing pretty damn seriously here.

The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen taken at Le Musée Carnavalet. Freedom of speech? Check. Freedom of bulky comfort? Nooo sir.

On a completely different note, I’m learning a lot about the French election process. They’re having as much trouble determining the likely front runner against Sarkozy as the Republicans are for Obama, but the systems, processes, and strategies are all extremely different. For example, religious rhetoric is frowned upon despite France’s deeply Catholic history because they truly see themselves as a secular state. Weirdly enough, America is just the opposite in terms of history and current political circumstance. C’est un peu bizarre. Anywho, I’ll explique more about it some other time, but it’s pretty cool to compare France’s multiparty system to our American two-party one. You’d think because they have more parties they’d have more fun, but honestly how many Bros, Babes, and Baguettes themed frat parties can Sarkozy go to?

Sometimes Sarkozy invites Obama to all these parties as well, where he attempts to properly fist bump other foreign leaders.

More importantly, about a week ago I had ma meilleure amie from London come visit.

Here we are clearly falling in love by The Seine.

She may have made me do a bunch of touristy things, but in return she never once tried to use her (“different”) British accent on me. For this, I thank her.  And this brings me to:

Where I went (and how I/London Rebecca ruined it):

1. L’Institut Catholique:

I’m starting at The Sorbonne when their winter session ends next week, but originally I enrolled in a history course at L’Institut Catholique. Firstly, let me paraphrase the general thought process of any American student on their first day of a French class… with French students… at a French university: “All I want is to not get lost and to not be picked out as the stupid American. Please. Pretty, pretty please.” Frankly, the language barrier makes you feel like your IQ has suddenly dropped Flowers for Algernon-style, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I think we can all guess what happened to me. I studied the map, like I always do before going out. Aaand I went in the exact opposite direction of my university. Fine, the bête Américaine took the wrong metro exit. Merde.

But then, I did not realize that although I was taking a semester course, it was common for a class to stay together for a year. So when I walked in the first day, I get bombarded with, “WHO ARE YOU?? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” by other students (and by the teacher), to which I awkwardly responded “I’m an American exchange student. I’d like to try out your class.” The teacher rolled his eyes yet somehow remained oddly indifferent, and the entire class of fifty students turned around for a little gawking session. I know what you’re thinking – they were really impressed by my stellar accent and crazy New Joisey good looks, bien sûr. In the end though, it was actually a great experience. The other students were really friendly, and I’m pretty excited to start my next class on Wednesday.

2. The Louvre:

I’ve been to The Louvre several times by now. Unfortunately, the first was the day after my 21st birthday soirée. Let’s just say that while I may have been at an exquisite museum with some of the most famous artwork in the world, the porcelain I wanted to be looking at wasn’t that of ancient Grecian statues…yeah…

On my second and much more successful visit, Rebecca and I became well acquainted with great works of art.

I believe this one is aptly named "Swag"

During that visit and ones since, I learned that one of the defining characteristics of the Neoclassical period is that artists based their paintings on heroic and patriotic themes. Mythology and Greek antiquity were common painting topics as well. Plus, artists had not yet learned how to draw boobs correctly, and a fella coppin’ a feel was also a pretty standard topic of choice.

I think I've seen these two around Tufts before. She clearly didn't go to In the Sack.

I’m so cultured!

3. Le Refuge Des Fondues (thanks to BP for the recommendation):

Go here, this place is fantastique! The meal is service compris, meaning all inclusive. For 21 euros, you get an aperitif, appetizers, unlimited and amazingly buttery cheese fondue, and dessert. Oh, and the most entertaining part? Everyone also receives a baby bottle filled with either red or white wine. I don’t care if it’s gimmicky, I now get to cross “drink wine out of a baby bottle” off of my Paris bucket list. It’s right in between “go bungee jumping off of the Eiffel Tower” and “Find a Nutella eating contest and win said contest.”

The grown up version of Baby Bottle Pops.

I’ve been to pleeenty of other places, but I shall discuss those some other time. I’m attempting to go in order.

Observation of the Post: Basic French Dining Etiquette

There’s quite a bit I can say here, so I’m just going to stick to the very basics.

1. Don’t get handsy.

When I’m having a proper meal here, my brain automatically goes into “Polite Mode,” and before I know it my napkin is on my lap, my posture is completely straight, and my hands are folded under the table. Unfortunately, in France it is impoli to eat with your hands on your lap under the table…yes, the exact opposite of what we were taught growing up in America. Your arms are supposed to rest on the table when they aren’t doing anything. Why? It may be a mere difference in dining culture, but I’m about 95% sure it’s to prevent that dinner scene from Wedding Crashers from occurring. Here’s a refresher of what happens when hands stay under the table:

2.  Hold your fork and knife correctly.  If you’re ambidextrous, then this is the country for you! You’re supposed to keep your fork in your left hand with the prongs faced downwards while your knife remains in your right hand. That’s right – you never switch hands after you’re done cutting your food. While this does seem more practical, it’s very difficult to use a downward-facing fork with your non-dominant hand for a four course meal. Sometimes I play a fun game with myself to see how long I can keep up the French way of eating. Other times I just play The Princess Bride Inigo Montoya and Wesley sword fight scene in my head with new dialogue:

“Then why are you smiling?” “Because I know something you don’t know…I am not left handed.” “You would do very well if you dined in Paris!” “Why thank you.” - The Princess Bride

3.  Finish your meal. This is a big one. It is extremely important to make sure you clean your plate here, otherwise the person who served you will think you don’t like what they gave you. And when I say clean your plate, I mean polish it until you can see your newly-pudgy face in it. I’m talking “eat the fatty parts of the meat and find some way to hide the bones under the couch until you can throw them out later” caliber clean. A helpful tip is to take the bread and sop up all of the extra sauce.

Hey, and if you do a good enough job, you don’t have to put the plate in the dish washer! And if my host mom is reading this, I’m totally kidding!

C’est tout for now. A bientôt!