Money, Prison, and a Near-Death Experience

As my friend Katlyn said in her recent letter (Katlyn!  I got your letter!), small things add up to big adventures, so here are a couple small things from this week:

At the beginning of October, I purchased a month's worth of Navigo (public transport pass), knowing that I would receive my year-long card in the mail within a couple weeks but having been advised that, upon reception of my permanent card, I would be reimbursed for what I did not use of the month's pass.  You might need to read that a few times.

...Make sense?
Anyway, turns out the advice was bad, because after I got the imagine R (year) card, I searched in vain for an RATP agent who would reimburse me for at least 35 euros worth of un-used NAVIGO.  A few days later I met Parvine, who told me about a friend of hers who is always sending letters when she's dissatisfied with something, usually with good results.  Well, email is cheaper and faster than a letter, so I sent one to RATP.  I was expecting the same snotty response I'd gotten at the info booths, so you can imagine my surprise when an agent emailed me back within a couple days, apologizing for the delay (!) and asking me to send receipts from my purchases. I did so but didn't hear anything for a couple weeks.  I figured the battle had been lost from the beginning.
Low-and-behold, a check showed up on our doorstep Tuesday, for no less than 40.16 euros! Almost as awesome as the check, however, was the letter which accompanied it.  Allow me to translate...

Mademoiselle,


In your letter which reached us the 13th of October, you asked us for a reimbursement of a month-long NAVIGO pass bought during the wait for your imagine R card.
However, we note that we received your imagine R contract the 2nd of October, and that we sent you your imagine R pass the 7th of October.
We remind you that the General Conditions of Sales (articles 1-7)  state that no temporary transport pass bought between the date of the reception of your contract and the date of the posting of the imagine R will be reimbursed.
Nevertheless, we will reimburse you, on an exception, for the days during which your monthly pass overlapped your use of the imagine R.
We have, therefore, the pleasure of addressing the attached check of 40,16 euros.
The imagine R team remains at your disposition for any additional information and we thank you for your patronage.

HA!  I love to see "however" and "nevertheless" in such close succession.  I'll bet it was a "pleasure" to write me that check!  Lest this be another too-good-to-be-true story, I deposited the money before this post, and so far, so good!

And now for a not-so-small thing: remember that scholarship application I turned in at the last minute in mid-October?  I remember predicting that it would probably come to nothing, just like every other UT scholarship I've applied for.  Voilà a situation in which I was glad to be proven wrong.  I got a nice little congratulatory message on Monday.  It was a great way to start the week!
Thanks, UT!  :)

These last few days have consisted of lots of modified and/or cancelled plans as friends fell ill (not seriously), became overwhelmed with schoolwork (ahem, not me), and I forgot to take into account the duration of a typical French repas (meal).  This afternoon I made a last-ditch effort to see a ballet at the Opéra Garnier.  I began to see ads for  Amoveo/Répliques/Genus a few weeks ago; a program of three contemporary dance pieces performed by the Ballet de l'Opéra de Paris, I knew immediately that I would like it.  The show ran for at least two weeks and I kept putting it off (or failing to get rush tickets, when Marco and I tried one night) until today, when I returned to the almost-indiscernible box office (it's under construction) with fingers crossed that the ballet would be an unpopular attraction today.  Well, I was wrong: it turns out some other people in Paris figured out that this was the last performance.  In the end, I decided against buying limited-visibility tickets, especially after the guy behind the glass informed another student and I that we would see "rien" - nothing!  Cosa ci serve, questo?!
I have to admit I was pretty disappointed to have missed the show, but this was a learning experience, and I know that there will be plenty of other wonderful ballets.

The most dramatic experience of the week was definitely Wednesday night, when Pauline invited me to her place to watch France play Ireland in soccer for a place in the World Cup championship in South Africa.  The thing is that Pauline and Mamadou live literally next door to the Stade de France, where the game was being played.  So while I was just trying to get to a friend's house with some stuff to cook for dinner, everyone else in Paris -- including 20,000 Irish visitors -- was making his/her way to the Stade de France to watch the game live via one of two metro lines.  I joined literally thousands of others catching the 13 at St. Lazarre, where the cars pulled into the station completely full and left even fuller.  Things were uncomfortable, but tolerable, until we got to Place de Clichy, where probably 300 fired up (and drunk) Irish and French fans were screaming "soccer-songs" (for lack of a better term...a bizarre mix of drinking songs, national anthems, and cheers), stomping, clapping, shouting, and jumping around.  The spectacle was funny to observe but it got downright terrifying as the metro doors opened and dozens of drunk Irishmen attempted to climb into the car.  Everyone inside was shouting "no room!", but it did no good.  Our new fellow-travelers pushed those at the doors back into everyone else, and I felt like I was in a trash compactor.  A woman behind me started shouting that this was her stop.  I propelled myself through the crowd in front of me, stepping out of the car to let her exit.  I was definitely in "fight-or-flight" mode, and as I turned back to the car to see a woman bitching out the guy behind her, who was probably utilizing the situation to get a little too close, I chose flight.  I called Pauline and Mamadou, spouting off (in French, though!) about how ridiculous it all was and asking if there was any way I could walk to their place from Place de Clichy.  Mamadou said it would be much too far to walk, and there was too much traffic to come get my in their car, but that I should wait a few minutes for the crowds to die down.  I only had to wait about ten to see a significant wane in intoxicated, screaming fans, although the atmosphere in the metro was still a little tense as the towering Irishmen hammered on the walls and the roof, to the disdain of many French fans (and to people who were just trying to get home).  The electricity went out at least twice while we were in the tunnels, and at one station, the conductor had to try five times to close the doors.  The last time, she came over the  P/A to announce that this was the "last try".  I'm not sure what she would have done if they didn't close, but, just like with children (ahem), the threat worked.  I breathed a sigh of relief when she came on again to announce we were one station away, and I made a beeline for the Guinness tent outside the stadium as soon as I exited.  I plan to never put myself in that situation again, but I might try to go to the metro to get some pictures next time there's a big event like that.  Quintessential completely over-crowded Paris!!
Anyway, France won in "overtime", so we're qualified, although it turns out that the ball was handed just before the winning goal.  The Irish PM asked FIFA for a re-match, but they wont get it, since according to the FIFA rulebook, game results are final.  I would sure hate to be that referee.  It's a hard job!

Alright, I should get to sleep, seeing as how I have class in seven hours.  I might get that Italian test back at that time, so keep your fingers crossed for me!!

With love and pictures (see below),
Alina :)

Oh yea, go the the end of this album to see just a few shots of my tourism this week - I visited the Conciegerie, which, like many public monuments, used to be a prison.  The prison, to be more exact, in which Marie Antoinette stayed for five weeks awaiting her execution.  I also made it to Saint Chapelle, but was actually disappointed, possibly due to all the hype but more probably due to the rude woman at the ticket window who, contrary to what her colleague told me a couple weeks ago, insisted that my carte de séjour is no different from a tourist's visa.  Seriously, is it always necessary to be as rude as possible, particularly when you're wrong?  I think another letter might be in order...

4 days later...

Not much to report since 4 days ago, unless you consider a French grammar test interesting!  I can offer you the following, though:

Centre Pompidou, mid-day Thursday

Same spot, less shadow.  It is okay if I refer to these sculptures as "cute"?

Because they are.

I think this is my favorite Paris picture so far.  This little guy hangs out in a drapery shop just down the street from me.  A real-live doggie in the window -- but he always looks so worried! :/

Through the MICEFA, I've met some students who will be studying at UT next semester.  Yay Texas!

On Friday I went back to ParisTech (you might -- but probably don't -- remember them as the engineering school which hosted the English workshop a couple months ago) to visit James' English class.  It was pretty chaotic and sort of reminded me of a few courses I took in high school.  For at least the second time, I got the whole "you're from Texas?  Are you the daughter of President Bush?" thing.  WHEN are people going to get over that?  Regardless of my political beliefs, this question is unoriginal, dated (umhello, we have a new President now!), annoying...and statistically, highly unlikely.

I later informed the student that we Texans easily tire of hearing this reaction to our...nationality, let's say ;)

His response: "But it was a joke.  I just wanted to see your reaction."  Okay, so when you first meet someone, do you always start the conversation with a potentially-insulting "joke"?  If that's the only thing you know about Texas...ferme ta gueule!

Thanks.

But the bigger issue here, and the problem I've noticed in general, is that I am sometimes seen as an English-speaking object and not a person.  I'm not here to be talked at.  Just because you CAN say something in English, doesn't mean you should.  At ParisTech's workshop, some of the students were conducting interviews with English-speaking tourists.  The question they kept coming back to was "if you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?"  I don't know about you, but if I were vacationing in Paris and agreed to participate in an on-camera interview for some rowdy French students, I would consider that question a little  invasive.

Learning a language isn't just about learning the grammar and the vocabulary.  You need to think about what you're saying.

Okay, I'm done! :)

Italian literature test tomorrow; I'll be happy in approximately 22 hours.  Even if the test goes badly, at least it will be over!

Wish me luck,

Alina :)

Une Bonne Continuation

It's Wednesday and I'm finally getting around to a new post.  This probably still would not be happening (because I'd be studying and yoga-ing at school) except that it's Armistice Day, so school is cancelled and most people aren't at work.

Somewhat fittingly, I saw Inglorious Basterds last night.  I think that was my first Tarantino-directed film (!) and I found it quite enjoyable (and also quite gory, of course...).  Brad Pitt and Christopher Waltz (Hans Landa) were amazing!
I also saw two French films last week, Les Herbes Folles and Le Petit Nicolas.  Le Petit Nicolas is the movie version of the popular French children's stories written by René Goscinny and illustrated by Jean-Jacques Sempé.  I think Nicolas is the equivalent of our Eloise.  Anyway you can't go into any school supply store without seeing him all over the children's notebooks, etc.  The movie was so cute!  The stories were all new to me, of course, so I was lol-ing pretty much the whole time.  If that movie happens to come to the States, or if it goes on Netflix someday, I recommend it for some good laughs!

I finally made it to the Louvre last week!  You can see a few pictures starting on page 4 of this album (click here).  I went alone, because I prefer going to museums alone.  Later that day my friend Josh said that he doesn't like going to museums alone because then you have no one to talk about the art with, therefore you don't appreciate the art as much.  What do you think?
Admittedly, I know next to nothing about art, so in a museum as huge and intimidating as the Louvre, I relied partially on my guide book to tell me which are the not-to-be-missed pieces.  Ironically, two of them - The Astronomer and Le Tricheur - are on loan to a museum in Minneapolis!  Paris to Minneapolis: if I were The Astronomer, I'd consider that a downgrade.  But they'll be back at the Louvre in January, as will I...
For most of my visit, I was on the top floor (4 or 5?), so as I walked around, I found fabulous views of all parts of the city, as well as a literally breathtaking sunset (the pictures don't really capture it, but you can have a look).

On another promenade last week, I made stops at the Holocaust memorial on Ile-de-la-Cité,  and Notre Dame (finally!).  The memorial is an artistic, cell-like structure filled with references to the triangles that Jews had to wear to identify themselves and with quotes etched into the stone walls.  I visited on a rainy, overcast day which only contributed to the sobering experience of going there.  Notre Dame is Notre Dame, huge and touristy.  I find the history just as impressive as the structure itself; it was once the site of a Roman temple to Jupiter, used for marriage ceremonies of French royalty, the site of Joan of Arc's heresy trial in 1455, renamed the Temple of Reason by revolutionaries, and was actually used to shelter livestock in the early 1800s, until Hugo's novel came out and brought ol' ND back into the public eye.  De Gaulle and Mitterand's funeral masses were held here.  There are a few pictures on page 3 of this album, as well as pictures from last Friday on page 5: Friday was kind of sunny, so I went back (with Claire and Dominika) to make the 422-step climb up the towers.

The weekend flew by thanks to a walk down Champs Elysées with my Austrian friend Sandra, another dinner at the apartment (at which Athina made another appearance),

a trip to the Musée d'Orsay with Parvine,

 a tennis match at Parc Bercy,

and a Chopin concert at St. Julien le Pauvre.

Other recent developments are work- and volunteer-related:  I "taught" my first English lessons Monday night to two boys (13 and 16) who live just down the street - found this job thanks to flyers I put up in the quartier a few weeks ago.  When I first wrote the flyer, I tried to use a French translation of the word "tutor" to convey what I had in mind.  I asked Laurence to proofread my flyer and, little by little, she reworded the entire thing, so in the end the announcement offered my services as an american student who "gives english courses" since there actually isn't a French word for tutor.  This made me more than a little nervous since I am by no means qualified or prepared to teach actual English lessons.  It seems to have worked out, though; the boys already take English lessons at school, so it looks like I will just be helping them with their homework, conversation, and pronunciation.  My very first French class almost 2 years ago was firmly rooted in conversation and I think in most cases it's the most efficient way to learn.  Especially when you're dealing with two languages as phonetically different as English and French, it's good to just get the words in your mouth.

Today I'll be starting work with another family who I'll see 4-6 hours a week.  They have three daughters; 5,8, and 10, and the girls totally blew me away with their English last time I was at the house.  It helps that the family lived in London for 3 years, so the 10 year old especially benefitted from that.  They go some American school here once a week and whatever they do over there, it's working.  The parents just want me to keep them talking in English.

In a couple weeks I'll start volunteer work for AFEV, an organization here that helps under-privileged children.  I'll be giving once-a-week workshops with one or two other volunteers to kids living in the Cité Rouge, the Parisian version of a "project" (although it's probably nicer and safer than whatever you're imagining right now).  We talked about giving workshops on the history of the Cité Rouge, dance, yoga, America (that would be me), and some other topics that the kids can help choose.  Of course, I'm nervous about my French level, since kids use so much slang and speak so quickly, but I'm hoping it will be a learning experience for all involved.

I guess that's it for now.  The weeks are flying by and I'm really excited for my upcoming Madrid and Strasbourg/Stuttgart trips.  But before that, I've gotta get through the first round of exams.  Wish me luck!

xoxo,

Alina :)

Not much to talk about, plenty to say.

Probably a boring post this week; just a lot of administrative/academic stuff, and I got a little lethargic with the rainy weather.  After Pittsburgh I told myself I'd never live in a climate like that again.  But here I am!  Oh well, I think Paris is worth it.  And it actually shouldn't be nearly as bad.  I think?

Two weeks ago I was raving about Wednesdays as my happy day.  I think that was some kind of jinx.  Last week I was forced out of my phonetics class, and this past week I decided to drop my dance class.  I love love love modern dance, but that class...let's just say it wasn't my thing.  It was frustrating to have to drop the class but I knew I'd just get more frustrated if I forced myself to go every week.  If anyone happens to know of good studios here, lemme know!
Later that night I realized that my emails from my fancy French address hadn't been forwarding to my trusty yahoo account.  I should have known not to trust my university here with my email address; they've only had a website for a year.

Uh-huh.
As the punk high school kids my friend Matteo teaches tell him: "Bienvenue en France" - "Welcome to France"!  It's endearing, really.

The email thing shouldn't have been stressful except that I was waiting for confirmation on a couple upcoming trips.  Oh yeah, I've got tickets to Germany (near Stuttgart, I'm going with my German friend Anja to her house) by way of Strasbourg (2 hour train layover = 2 hour tour of the city).  But before that, Madrid for Thanksgiving to visit my American friend Anthony who is doing an exchange there this year.  How do you say YAY in Spanish?  Arriba?

Anyway at the end of this album (click here) are some pictures of my trip to the museum Quai Branly this past Sunday with some french amigos.  Laurence - host-mom - works there!  I gather that she's in charge of works that the museum lends out.  So she travels occasionally.  The museum houses art from Africa, The Americas, Asia, and Oceania.  So, non-European art.  It's a new museum, apparently the brain-child (or at least a project of) Chirac, and when Laurence started working there the museum didn't exist - it was a gallery with a staff of 5 people.  Now, Musée Quai Branly is huge, and sits practically underneath the Eiffel Tower.  Wouldn't it be awesome if we could all work for an organization that saw its dream realized like that?
The permanent collection seemed impressive to me; I was surprised by the span of it.  They had stuff from 4 or 5 centuries BC but also lots of recent stuff (up to the later 20th century).  This museum would be (and probably is) any anthropologist's paradise. I enjoyed wandering the permanent collection but I have to say that I strongly preferred the exhibition of Iranian photographs.  Iran has a photographic history dating from the late 19th century, although virtually none of those photos exist today.  Photographic scrapbooks were apparently a popular gift for the Shah in the late 1800s/early 1900s.  Later, photographs became required for official documents and families started getting annual photos taken.  At first people were positioned on benches, surrounded by pots of geraniums, but in the mid-1900s Iranians started to imitate European portraits, using baroque-style furniture.  I guess I've just always thought of Iran as something so separate from Europe that I was surprised to read about their emulation of certain European traditions.  I bet there are some grown-ups out their rolling their eyes.  I'm sure I'm hitting all sorts of historical soft-spots here.  Forgive me; I've never been good at history!
Anyway Iranian photographers got their big break documenting political/social conflict and the medium is still primarily used as a commentary on Iranian society (although it's often subtle).   You can read a little bit more about the exhibition - and see more photos - by clicking here.
To learn more about Quai Branly in general, click here.

That album up there (here it is again) has also got some Halloween pictures.  On Saturday I took a tour of the Chinese quarter - Chinatown in Paris!  It was interesting although as usual I had a hard time paying attention to the guide (I think this is linked to my inaptitude for history) but it was nice to just walk around.  We got to go into a couple temples, which was the best part.  Besides the yummy food, of course!
About 30 minutes into the tour I noticed Zina and Catherine (Italian and English, respectively) had joined the group.  They're even more chronically late than I am so they were rushing up to us, all flustered, but as soon as we recognized each other it was all smiles.  Quite a chance happening, I think...especially since they ended up convincing me to go to this Halloween party later that night.  I went as a cowgirl; not original, but I've had things besides a costume on my mind lately.  PLUS, though it would have been a complete cop-out in Texas, my denim jumper/dress with newly-purchased black heeled-boots and long pigtails actually somewhat passed as a costume here.  I definitely got weird looks on the metro, anyway.  I think long blonde pigtails are just too much for Parisians.  I felt like everyone was looking at me, thinking, "but where are all her black clothes?"
The party felt like any "college experience" in the States -- it was a house party, insanely crowded, cigarettes being one of many fire hazards, about 120 degrees fahrenheit, an equal number of bottles of alcohol, AND the police came.  Yeehaw!
The only difference was the lack of English.  I met even more Italians (who upheld the standard of being the most easy-going and fun-loving people at the party - see pictures) and my very first real-live Swedish friend (who spoke english with a prominent American accent thanks to many episodes of Sex and the City.  Most people you encounter here speak British English so it was a surprise for me).

Well, I've somehow managed to drag this out; thanks for reading!

A la prochaine,
Alina :)