Boulot, Métro...Hobo?

{Sunday, September 7}

Friday morning I awoke, well-rested and incredibly glad not to be jetlagged. I had a few slices of a fresh baguette for breakfast, along with some English tea {Melanie, aren’t you proud}. I showered without any big problems, got dressed, and hung around, enjoying my room and the apartment, until it was time to leave for orientation.

One of the restaurants I encounter on my way to the metro. I'm not sure what they were going for with this one, but I think they missed it.

Switching metro lines at Saint-Lazare was a piece of cake; the Parisian metro system, despite being in French, is ten times clearer and more straightforward than the T in Boston. I felt completely at ease in my new surroundings, which is rare for me.

At orientation, all of the students were speaking English, and they all seemed to already know each other and have formed cliques. I tried to sit down next to a girl who looked nice, asking her politely in French if it was okay; she dismissively replied, “Yeah, you can sit” and sent not another word in my direction. Fortunately, a guy named Julian came over, sat on my other side, and introduced himself, and we talked for a bit before the presentations started.

While semi-useful, two hours of orientation proved to be quite boring. Just by having a cellphone and understanding the metro, it seemed, I was way ahead of the game. When it was over, I reclaimed my passport {which they had taken to copy} and stepped outside to call Aurélie, my friend from Brest with whom I’d stayed two-and-a-half years ago when I came to France with the PHS choral groups. We planned to meet up Saturday at 2:30, as she was in Paris for the weekend. I saw Julian on my way out, and went with him to buy a SIM card for his phone. He was actually born here, but lives in Boston and lost all of his French over the years, so he’s back to recollect it. We stopped back at IES {Institute for the International Education of Students, our “school” building} where he’d forgotten his passports {dual citizenship}, then found a random café because we were both starving.

After eating a croquet-monsieur and a tarte de pomme, because they had nothing else, we went back to our respective places and planned to go out with some other IES kids that night. What actually ended up happening was that I hung around for a few hours, then went to bed, because Julian had fallen asleep. No worries; not to be deterred, I hung out with Aurélie on Saturday afternoon, proving that I can and will have fun in Paris {as if there was ever a doubt}. We sat at the Place de la République and caught up on each others’ lives, remarking how amazing it was that we could be so instantly comfortable together after not having seen each other for two-and-a-half years.

Later that night, I walked over to the apartment where Julian sometimes lives {long story}, and we took the metro to meet up with Samuel and Stephen, two other IES students, at Sacré-Coeur. On the way up the {very steep} hill, we stopped briefly and encountered Ludwig, a somewhat sketchy 50-something Frenchman who enjoys beer and innuendo {one of which he had in his left hand}. He showed us up the hill, where S & S were talking to three Russians who live in Paris. Samuel is pretty cool; he plays piano and loves jazz, and is good about avoiding speaking English, even though his French isn’t great {which I think is really brave, because I used to get too nervous to speak due to being extremely self-conscious about my speaking abilities}. Stephen, who goes to UMichigan, and I share tales from the Midwest {like Tales from the Crypt, but with more cheese}. A native New Yorker, he is also quite nice and tries to keep the conversation in French. Both are staying for the year.

After the Russians left and we realized it was getting a little late, we took the metro to Place de Clichy {even Ludwig – despite his apparent lack of concern regarding time and alcoholism, which one might attribute to a hobo, he has a metro pass and, we think, a home}. On the metro, there were some ladies around his age {and obviously drunk} who were offering a pair of underwear to the highest bidder. “Tu n’en veux pas?” {“You don’t want then?”} I teased Ludwig. “Si, si, tiens” {“Yes, yes, hold this”}, he responded, handing me his beer. Sure enough, we were shortly thereafter one pair of underwear and one very weird experience richer.

Stephen immediately spilled his expensive beer upon receiving it at the bar we all went to, and everyone agreed that it was time to go home, especially after seeing the look on the waiter’s face {if he didn’t hate Americans before, he does now}. Julian and I took the metro back to our homestays. “Quelle nuit!” {“What a night!”} we laughed.

Today mes garcons {my boys} and I hit the streets of Paris. On a day-long self-guided walking tour that my host brother would sarcastically describe as “original” {whaddaya know; it’s the same word!}, we walked the Champs-Élysées

and saw the Place de la Concorde, Arc de Triomphe,

and the Tour Eiffel.

The stars are from the EU flag - to celebrate France's current presidency thereof.

We figure we’re allowed to be tourists for the moment, and can concentrate on blending in later; Bénédicte says I already have the look down. Besides, what kind of friend/family member through whom you live vicariously would I be if I didn’t visit the tourist-y places and post bad pictures of them?

Finally, a special note on the Paris metro. There are advertisements absolutely everywhere, as you would expect them to be. Sometimes, however, they're not quite what you expect...


Shitz: War, Love, and Sausage.


This English language program's slogan is a double entendre, meaning both "Stop massacring English!" and "Stop massacring the Englishman!" Brilliant.

And finally, the coup de grâce...


Close-up on an ad for the Tower of Terror at Disneyland Paris. But look a little closer...


Two words: Poetic Mustache.