Ode to a Grecian Grandmother

Standing in the sultry gym of my middle school with one hundred other eighth graders and their families, I listened anxiously as one of my classmates played the "Star-Spangled Banner" on her flute, opening the graduation ceremony. About halfway through the song, I suddenly realized I could hear a single voice singing along to the music, just audible enough. The awkward, 13-year-old, diffident me froze in horror. My terrified ears widened my eyes. No. No... noooo. Turning to my neighbor - fortunately also a friend - I couldn't contain my panicked recognition. "That's my Yia Yia," I mouthed. 

A few months earlier, I had gone with her and my father to their church when my uncle, a priest, was visiting from New York with his youth group. Standing next to Yia Yia in the church's gymnasium, she hollered over to a group of young boys my age huddled in a corner across the court. Her bold but honest cry of, "YOO-HOO! BOYYYSSSS! COME MEET MY GRANDDAUGHTER DANIELLE, ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL?!" will forever be cringing-ly ingrained in my memory. It wasn't exactly a thrilling moment for a shy pre-teen girl, and as for my father, he couldn't steer me out of that gymnasium quickly enough.

The memories I have of my Yia Yia are almost endless. Perhaps they begin when I was three or four years old, with YiaYia singing the Greek national anthem as I paraded around her house, waving the Greek flag as directed. 

At every single birthday, whether it was my own or my younger sister Stacey's, there would be a pile of gifts for each of us to open, always clothes upon clothes, mismatched outfit upon babydoll dress. "What is it?" Yia Yia would crow after every box. "Hold it up so everyone can see it! Oh, look at thaaaat, isn't that nice? That's just beauuutiful," she would admire as Stacey reached the brink of throwing a tantrum from a combination of exhaustion and disinterest.

A couple of years ago we were sitting in my grandparents' living room when someone commented about "Motel 6 - the '9' fell off the sign." As the room broke into laughter, YiaYia looked around, smiled, and chirped in "Motel 69, haha, that's cute!" She wasn't always exactly on the same page as everyone else.

There were her compliments about the blue shirt I was wearing that was actually not blue but pink, her insistence that I go Greek dance with strangers at the annual church fairs and my older cousin's Sweet 16, her nonstop urging for me to eat and drink something, anything. 

But though nary a memory I have of my Yia Yia goes untinged by a bit of embarrassment, the most important truth I have come to know during my 20 years with her is that all of those moments of crimson cheeks have always resulted only because of Yia Yia's love. If Yia Yia was one thing, it was unapologetically proud. Proud of her sons, proud of her granddaughters, proud of her friends, proud of her homemade pastries, proud of her Greek heritage. (And her pride also rendered her constantly happy - I don't ever think I saw her truly angry or upset.)

She sang the along to our national anthem, a song intended to ignite a sense of pride in citizens, and YiaYia was proud of her granddaughter graduating middle school. Sitting in that church gymnasium with the youth group, she was proud to show off her then 13-year-old granddaughter whom she really did think was beautiful. She was proud of her Greek family as she marched me around her house. She was proud of the gifts she was able to spoil her granddaughters with.

It is in YiaYia's pride that her love for everyone, for everything (Greek), and for life is more than evident. Now, with an angel watching over me, I can only hope that I continue to make my crazy, Greek, loving, loved Yia Yia so proud.

Paris, je t'aime

Last night in Paris. Struggling with how to pack countless memories into two suitcases. Said goodbye to the host parents, took off back to my room crying, and three minutes later my host mom came to my room to take a picture of me. Life's a mess. À demain, America.

Grèce: Partie 1

Spring break is already here, and we kicked it off in Athens. Our flight was on Friday, April 13, but the only bad luck that met us was a €25 fine because we apparently didn't have the correct supplemental
metro passes to ride the RER train to the airport. Not such a fun way to start off a vacation.

We flew Air France, and it turned out to be the best experience flying that I've had. The attendants were incredibly nice, we got a not half-bad meal for the 3 1/2 hour flight, and we passed through the
friendly security with only minor complications (those hairbrushes are pretty suspicious, you know. They served fish on the plane, which I found surprising and a little skeptical. After a few months in Paris, I've taken to applying the old rule of thumb “don't eat anything the animals won't” (Little House on the Prairie had some valuable lessons, you know) to French people. If a French person won't eat it, neither will I; so, like my aeronautical neighbors, I stuck to the cheese, bread, and Greek salad.

We arrived in Athens around 17h, and followed the signs for the exit/ passport control. We walked through the final set of double doors to find out that passport control consisted of one disinterested security guard and a crowd of people facing us waiting to pick other travelers up.

It was cloudy when we landed but still beautiful. As we drove towards our hotel, we were surrounded by mountains. As if thrown back hundreds of years, I could easily picture Spartan soldiers flooding down the slopes to invade the city; that is, until I spotted the Ikea down the road from the airport, anyway.

We got off the bus one stop too early because apparently that stop hasn't been added to the listed route on the bus. But there was conveniently a taxi there and it was only a short ride to our hotel. Neither Devan nor I speak or know any Greek. I did take ancient Greek during my senior year of high school and although it is very different than modern Greek and I've forgotten most of it anyway, it did actually help when I was able to read the bus stop names and match them to the names on our map. The Greek alphabet is different than the English alphabet, and it would be more difficult to read the street signs, even if I don't know what they actually mean, if I wasn't familiar with it. This is especially true for the places we were looking for for which we only had the English transliteration of the Greek name. I wish I knew Greek, but at the same time there is a certain beauty in the language that I think I can better appreciate
because I don't understand it.

We stayed just outside of Athens, in the port of Piraeus. We settled into our hotel, Hotel Noufara, and took the bus to Athens (Santygma, last stop on line 40, in front of Parliament) for dinner. We headed
toward Plaka, a section of the city known for its shops and eateries. We both got chicken souvlaki at a chic little cafe, and afterwards strolled the narrow streets. Because it was Easter weekend, I was surprised to see how lively everything was. As we later learned, everything opens up as people celebrate after church at night.

We had passed by one small jewelry shop where we saw rings that we really liked but the shopkeeper was no where to be found. We returned 10 minutes later around 23h and decided to step inside so someone would see us and come over. Sure enough, a minute later a woman hurried in and, looking embarrassed, greeted us with, “I hope you can't smell the ouzo, I've been taking shots.” Can't say I've ever been greeted like that by a Wal-Mart greeter or anyone else in the states.

I got a ring with the Greek eye, just 10 euro, and after taking some pictures of the illuminated acropolis we decided to try to find the bus stop. An equally lost couple from Egypt asked us for directions. This is one of the things I love most about studying and living abroad. When else am I going to randomly meet someone from across the globe? Egyptians aren't exactly common frequenters of New Hampshire.

We eventually made it back to our hotel a little after midnight and slept well to prepare to walk up the Acropolis the next day...

Grèce

Pictures from Greece are now posted! Please let me know if the link is broken or anything.

Je suis rentrée

Back home in Paris safe and sound, slightly tanner (I like to think) and in one piece after almost three weeks of traveling. It went by unbelievably quickly, but it feels so good to be back in Paris. Paris me manquait! 


I'm uploading photos now, a long process with the amount I took! I ran out of room on my memory card so I even had to delete some, too. I'll be posting about pieces of the trip in separate entries, starting with a post I wrote back in Athens. I thought I'd be able to post it using wi-fi from my phone, but Blogspot apparently doesn't like my Blackberry browser and wouldn't let me post anything. I will probably not have them all up today, but hopefully within the next couple of days I will finish the posts about spring break.

Londres

There's so much to tell about London but not enough time. I would've posted already but we only returned Tuesday night and I had two papers and a presentation to finish for today, then tonight I went to meet a friend from Fairfield for dinner because she was visiting Paris. I am writing everything down though, and I will post it as soon as I am able to. Tomorrow morning, we are leaving for our spring break escapade spanning six cities in three countries over 18 days, and I anticipate that I will not have frequent access to internet. I probably won't be able to post a long entry until I come back to Paris (I was going to say "home" but then realized it might sound confusing), but I will sure have plenty to post when I finally get the chance. For now, you can take a peek at my Facebook photo album of Easter weekend in London!

La rap, la censure

For my French conversation class I had to make a really embarrassing video of myself speaking out against censoring rap. For my mother who always begs me to say something in French, I'm posting this for you. Just filmed this at 2 in the morning so it's not at all my best French, but I wanted to get it over with before Easter break. Also, I spoke extremely slowly (and that just made me keep forgetting what I was going to say) because the video was supposed to be 8-10 minutes but I didn't know what else to say. We were also supposed to just talk and not have a script. Yeah, like that was happening. Oh well!

The general English translation of what I said is:


For hundreds of years, music has been an integral part of cultures all over the world.
From the chants of African tribes, to the sweet lullabies of a mother, music is a means of expression. Rap is not any different than this.

Like other forms of music, rap is a way to communicate, a way to send a message. The audience might be small, or it might be large. Traditionally, rap has been used by those who live in the suburbs, where life is not so easy.

Rap allows them to express their feelings and their observations about their lives. Often, rap is explicit. Many people, unfortunately, think that rap should be censored.
But why?

Rap is a reflection of the state the artist lives in. The rough words are used to recreate the experience of living in the suburbs. The controversial words, like life in the suburbs, make people uncomfortable. In the suburbs, it can be difficult to live. In rap, the words can be difficult to listen to.

Explicit words are also used to capture the attention of other people. The artists have stories to tell, and they want people to listen. Often, because they live in the suburbs, they are silenced and no one hears their stories. Explicit lyrics capture the attention of other people so that the artists can tell their stories.

One of the UMP deputies, Michel Raison, wants to censor the rap. Monsieur Raison is not making sense. The government should not be able to censor rap, or videos on Youtube. It especially seems that immigrants would be a target of any law that would censor rap.

Some people argue that rap perpetuates racial discrimination. I think that rap can change racist or discriminatory opinions. If one listens carefully to a rap song, one can realize that the song is a commentary on social structure. One can learn a lot about culture and different opinions.

For example, one can look at Kanye West, an american artist. In his song « Jesus Walks » there are many swears. But the song provides both a personal insight and a commentary on life in the ghetto. Several of his songs also invoke religious references. While some may find the songs offensive, the songs are not unintelligent.

Surely, there are some rap artists whose songs are especially violent and seemingly unnecessary. But who are we to decide what should be said and what should not be said? It is a human right to express your opinions, and if we limit those natural rights, we are no better than the artists who choose to say horrible things.

Nice, encore

...And I forgot, this link will bring you to my entire album for Nice, Eze, and Monte Carlo, Monaco, since I wasn't able to upload them all here.

le 2 avril

Another weekend gone. Last week we had individual meetings with one of the program directors to talk about how our semester has gone now that we’re more than halfway done, and I almost cried because I don’t want to leave.

Our weekend in Brittany was very enjoyable. We took a train to Rennes, just under two hours from Paris. Our hotel was a 10 minute walk from the train station. The area we stayed in wasn’t the nicest but it wasn't dangerous and the hotel was great. Another part of the town within walking distance had the same French charm that I’m used to now: windy cobblestone paths, slightly slanted buildings, half-opened shutters.

On Friday we had free time after we settled into the hotel until we met for dinner at 19h00. We went to a creperie. The crepes were okay – goat cheese and walnut for dinner and chocolate for dessert – but everyone was a little disappointed.

Saturday morning, we took a bus to Mont Saint Michel (I didn't get great pictures of it from a distance myself), a little over an hour from Rennes. It’s a large, steep rocky hill upon which looms a large abbey. Built into the banks of the all are smaller residences, now shops and restaurants. Mont Saint Michel is particularly striking when you approach it because it is surrounded entirely by flatlands.

The little island village dates back to the 6^th century. It was naturally a perfect fortress because of its height and isolation. It is surrounded by quicksand – not so fun if you’re a 15^th century knight trying to invade, wearing pounds of metal armor.

 We picnicked at Mont Saint Michel, then climbed back on the bus to drive to Saint-Malo, a port city on the coast of Brittany. We walked the beach, and I touched the Atlantic Ocean from the eastern side. The city was completely destroyed during the bombings of World War II, and the buildings standing today are reconstructions. There is a castle full of small shops and eateries, where we walked around and got tea and waffles.

Saturday night, we went to dinner as a group to a restaurant called Paix where we had roasted duck and potatoes. Amazing. Afterward, we went to the hotel and I went to bed fairly early because Devan, our friend Anthony, and I were getting up early to go to Palm Sunday mass with Julie, one of the girls who work for our program.

There turned out to be a bit of chaos with the bud schedule Sunday morning, and we didn’t end up making it to the church we were supposed to go to, but we found another one in Rennes, where we got our palms then walked with the parish members through the town in a procession to another church for mass 10 minutes away. We almost got trampled by some cute little old French nuns, but the whole experience was very nice.

If you read my blog from the beginning, you might remember me mentioning how the sun didn’t rise here until close to 9h00 our first days in Paris. Well, this is flipped now. It doesn’t get dark until close to 21h00. Someone told me that in the summer, it’s still light out at 22h30. I love it, but I think it’s going to throw me off in two months when I go back to the states and it gets darker two hours earlier.

I still haven’t figured out how to add space to my Blogspot account for pictures, so here is the link to my Brittany photo album on Facebook: Bretagne

Please, someone let me know if it doesn't work. It’s frustrating, I wish I could post them directly on this page, but the link will have to do for now. 

Bretagne

Here are some photos from my trip to Nice! 

I love the laundry! 

So, I am a bit frustrated with Blogspot (this website, a Google company) because it is telling me that I have filled my allotted space for pictures. I can purchase more space than I will ever need for only $5 but the page for the purchase options won’t load on my account. If this continues, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I might just post the link to them when I upload them in Facebook albums. You wouldn’t have to have a Facebook account to view the pictures with any link I post; it should just take you directly to the photos. For now, I uploaded as many pictures from Nice as I could and I’ll see what I can do after this weekend. 

This week, I thought one of the girls in my class was asking me if I like Omaha, then realized she was trying to ask me if I like Obama. A few French people have now asked me this. France’s entire political spectrum is a bit more leftist than the United States, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if a larger percentage of French people supported him, but I don’t think the girl’s question was political. The students are curious if I like him not because of his political basis, but because of who he is as a person. And from what I’ve seen, the French really seem to like and respect him. 

We saw the same thing to an even greater extent in Ireland. The Irish love President Obama. His picture is everywhere, from t-shirts to postcards to restaurants – especially, unsurprisingly, the photo of him drinking a Guinness. 

Regardless of President Obama’s politics, I think that anyone would have to acknowledge that he is generally well-respected as a person. I think this is incredibly important. I have heard stories about how difficult it was for Americans to travel during the end of the Bush administration. Many people of other nations disliked President Bush, and this opinion was reflected in the way they treated visiting Americans. I have come to realize how lucky I am to travel under a well-diplomatically regarded president because fair for the citizen or not, the international opinion of a leader truly does reflect on the treatment of his or her traveling citizens. It's actually not a horrible time for Americans to travel, at least in this part of the world. I have heard differently about Australia, and obviously I can only imagine what the Middle East would be like. 

For our second two classes, since the students are preparing to take their exams soon, the teacher had certain specific exercises planned. Part of their exam will require them to explain in English a picture given to them. Maria and I each took half of the students and guided them through analyzing the picture. Here was this week's photo:

(Source: http://www.todayandtomorrow.net/2009/09/02/operation-supermarket/)


It was really frustrating. Above this photo read "What makes a good society?" As an English speaker, I wasn't even sure how to explain the possibilities? Was the photo trying to make a connection between the chemicals and a good society, i.e. a good society uses environmentally safe chemicals? Was the photo trying to say something about a good society being an American society, because of the words on the bottle? Was the photo saying a good society is a clean American society? None of the possible explanations even seemed logical to me. But above all, it's especially difficult because these students have an extremely limited vocabulary except, for two or three. How are they supposed to analyze a difficult photo when many of them can't introduce themselves?

More and more tourists are appearing with the nice weather. I’ve heard that April is a big month for tourism (though August is by far the biggest, and I’m not sorry I’m going to miss it). The more I experience large crowds of tourists, the more annoyed I am. I have nothing against a tourist as a tourist – I am a tourist; I only have a vice against obnoxious tourists.

After being in another country for almost three months, I feel like I can understand to a certain extent the sentiments of the locals. Paris is a beautiful city. Obnoxious tourists are annoying. Not because they are simply visiting, but because of what they do when they visit. They are loud, self-entitled, impatient, and physically pushy. I’m embarrassed for my fellow tourists every time I see this. I’m not only speaking of Americans, either. People across all cultures, I’ve come to find, can be obnoxious tourists. I absolutely love traveling. I hope that having the experience of watching other people traveling in Paris has made me a wiser traveler because it has certainly made me consider my own actions more.

I think I’ve mentioned that one of the only cultural differences in France that has been difficult for me is how little water they drink. Even when you go to a restaurant, they only give you a little bit of tap water and do not come back frequently to refill it. I found out why Parisians don’t carry water bottles or drink much water. At least for women, apparently, it is considered crude to use the restroom in public, so to avoid this situation, they refrain from drinking a lot.

This past weekend, after we got back from Nice, I went to meet one of my best friends from home near the Eiffel Tower for dinner. He was visiting with a bunch of his friends, who all go to WPI and have internships in London until the end of April. I was so happy to see him and it was great meeting his friends and spend time with some other Americans. It was especially great to see Jared because it was nice to be able to share a little bit of my experience here with someone from home.

I found out my host family has a cleaning lady this week when I scared the hell out of her. Normally, I have class all day until 18h30 on Monday, but my three hour class in the middle of the day was cancelled so I went home to have some lunch and take a nap (tough life, I know). My door is next to the bathroom door, and there was a vacuum blocking both of them when I walked down the hallway. The bathroom door was open and a lady was backing out of it, so I was able to see her but it wasn’t until she was right in front of me that she turned around and yelped. Nice to meet you, too, madame.

This weekend, we are in Brittany, Bretagne, on a trip with our program. Like Nice, Brittany is on the coast, but this time it’s the Atlantic Ocean instead of the Mediterranean Sea. I think we are close to Normandy, but I’m not sure if we are going there or not. The weather in France has been beautiful for the past few weeks, and unseasonably warm, and I am hoping that this holds true for our trip.

Time for dinner now, post tomorrow!

Oops!

I can't believe it's been a week since my last post! Time to get on top of things. Currently writing about my weekend in Bretagne, but for now, here's a list of seven things the United States should borrow from Europe. (<< for those of you - aka my mother - who might not realize it, the blue text is a link! Click on it and it will bring you to the article. If there are ever any differently colored words in my blog it means you can click on it and it will be a link like this one.)

mercredi, le 21 mars

     For my French conversation class, we have to give presentations on different neighborhoods, quartiers, of the city that we have been assigned. My assigned metro stop is Cour Saint Émilion, next to an area of little shops and restaurants known as Bercy Village in the 12th arrondissement. After class, Devan and I went to walk around, so I could take some pictures and get some information for my project. We found a few shops I loved full of trinkets and odds and ends. I actually bought myself a pencil case. On one side, it reads Il se maria, meubla sa maison, acheta un bureau, un carnet et un stylo mais il s'aperçut qu'il n'avait rien à écrire. On the other side is the English translation: "He got married, furnished a house, bought a writing table and stationary, but found he had nothing to write."I love this quote. Yesterday, we found another boutique with an adorable, random inventory and a super friendly shopkeeper, called La Chaise Longue; I plan on going back, probably to get the macaron timer. Yes, ovens have built-in timers but I'll use this instead, and for everything, simply because it's a macaron. That alone justifies its purchase, in my mind.

     Devan's parents are coming tomorrow and they are very generously taking me with them to Nice in the south of France this weekend, where Devan's cousin studies. We actually met some of her cousin's friends by chance in the bathroom at Sensation over the weekend. I think I also forgot to mention that when we were at the train station waiting for the metro in Brussels early Sunday morning, I ran into someone I went to high school with. I hadn't seen him in three years, but we happen to cross paths in another country. Talk about a small world.

     Last night I found out that one of my best friends from high school, Jared, is coming to Paris this weekend. Devan and I have are going to be visiting him in London for Easter, so I would have seen him soon anyway but I am so excited to see him even sooner`. It works out that our train is supposed to get back from Nice just a few hours before his bus leaves for London, so I am going to be able to catch him before he heads back. I'm absolutely thrilled he'll be in Paris!

     Work is piling up, which is frustrating because I just want to be able to enjoy being here and time is slipping away. I also don't even have my carte de sejour yet. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before; the consulate gave me not necessarily the wrong visa, but a different visa than most of the other students in the program. I have a sort of "supervisa" in the sense that I would be able to lengthen it past the 6 month validation period without having to return to the states and reapply, and I can also legally work here, which are great benefits but it's not like I will be able to take advantage of either of them. Also, in turn for these benefits, to legally complete my visa at all I must go for a physical exam and chest X-rays and bring in even more documents. One of our program directors likened it to someone immigrating to the  United States who would have been required to have a physical examination and the proper documents, to ensure they weren't going to bring any unwanted diseases or anything into the country. After my rendez-vous medecin, I will hopefully be finally given my final portion of my visa provided I pass the physical. This takes place next Wednesday, which I simply find funny because my time here is already halfway gone.

     For now, I have to go and finish my history midterm due tomorrow.

Bonne nuit!

mardi, le 20 mars

     I can't think of a better way to start out a day than by spending it with my French students.

     The first class, as usual, was quiet and cooperative. Maria and I gave a Powerpoint presentation on a little bit about life in the United States - we each talked a little bit about our lives at home, then gave a simple overview of the American high school system, as it is quite different than the French lycée. We had a discussion with the students on what they see as the differences, and a little bit about what they think works for each. For the second two terminal classes, we gave the same presentation, but simplified because their level of English is not as strong. Our third class is a particularly difficult to handle at moments because they just talk and don't listen to their teacher. It was very interesting, though; one of the girls in the class made an observant remark about the treatment of people our age in society. As she pointed out, in France, people are considered jeune (literally, "young;" not adults) until they are 25. She and another male student got into an argument over how people in this age group should be treated and considered. Yet while they pointedly and loudly argued on the subject, they didn't revert to name-calling or making immature remarks like I would expect (of high schoolers in the United States); they instead continued to debate, coming up with more and more points to validate each of their positions. It was completely fascinating.

      It seems as though the students fascination, though, lies in the social life of Americans. The students have a strong curiosity about how we spend our free time and what we do with our friends, and an absolute obsession with portrayals of American life in movies, particularly "American Pie." It seems that every young French person I meet has seen "American Pie" and wants to know if it is an accurate depiction. When the students saw the picture of my house, and then also on Google maps, they were in awe. Un château, "a castle," one of them said. Then they asked if they could come visit me. And then asked if we could have a "Project X" party. "Project X" is a new movie, kind of similar to "American Pie" in the sense that it is about a giant party that some high schoolers throw for their friend's birthday and the chaos that ensues (it's from the same people who worked on "Hangover" and "Old School")... I went and saw the film this afternoon with Maria and Devan (there was a special in many Parisian movie theaters for the annual three day spring cinema celebration, and movie tickets were 3.50 euro), and I'm glad I didn't agree to their demands of hosting such a party. It's so interesting. I'm certain French kids have more of a mental image of American culture than Americans do. I never realized how much American films influence the perception and expectations that other countries have of our culture.

     Today, by the way, is also officially macaron day, so we of course went to Paul and I got un macaron à la vanille. I think there was actually a store in New York City that was giving away free macarons as well, in celebration. I plan on hunting down this store next semester when I'm mourning for Paris.

Ai Se Eu Te Pego

     Almost all of the music everyone listens to hear is American. Even French artists themselves often write in English because it is easier to rhyme and create smoother-sounding and lyrics. The American songs they listen to are a bit behind what Americans are currently listening to, usually by 6 months to a year. This song (and its choreographed dance that everyone seems to know), however, is not English - or French - but is Portuguese, and is hugely popular across Europe right now. I thought I'd share it with you.

Printemps, peut-être

     Like I've heard about the weather in the states, we got a nice preview of spring at the end of last week. I don't know the temperature exactly, but it must have been in the late 60's - 70's (fahrenheit) in my estimation. As we didn't leave for Belgium until early Saturday morning and we do not have classes on Friday, Devan and I took advantage of the weather and set out to do exactly the one thing I have been waiting for: picnicking on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower.

     We started the day out by grabbing lunch at a great little Greek restaurant near Rue Montorgueil, one of my favorite streets in Paris. It's so full of pedestrians and shoppers that it's easy to forget cars can actually drive down the cobblestone path. After getting some pita, we took the metro to Père Lachaise Cemetery, the resting grounds of many famous individuals, both French and foreign. Not only is it one of the most enormous cemeteries I have ever seen, but there is also no space in between the graves, so it can be difficult to navigate when you are trying to find a specific headstone. It took us a solid hour to find Jim Morrison, and maybe half of that to walk and find Oscar Wilde (we decided to conclude our visit for the day after that). The cemetery is nonetheless beautiful, and I haven't always exactly been a fan of cemeteries (then again, I suppose who is?), but there is something particularly peaceful and even soothing about Père Lachaise.

     Afterward, we went over to the Luxembourg Gardens to sit out in the sun. When we got off the metro, Starbucks was in front of us and we took it as a sign. At Fairfield we went maybe once a week last semester, or at least that's how often I'd go with Devan to get my passion tea, but because it's even more expensive in Paris (as if it isn't overpriced enough in the states), we only went once here when it was bitterly cold and we were desperate for something warm. So, we treated ourselves to tea-smoothie drinks - which they don't even make in the states - and walked to Luxembourg, where we had also spent Thursday afternoon after class until it closed at 18h15. At the gardens, they have hundreds of chairs for people to sit out on around the giant fountain. Every chair is filled. The sun was absolutely wonderful.

     We spent maybe over an hour there, and then began to walk towards the Eiffel Tower. We didn't realize it was a feat that would require quite some time to complete, and when we found ourselves sweating and not 1/3 of the way there after 25 minutes, we stopped at a boulangerie to buy a baguette and hopped on the metro.

     So we spent the rest of our afternoon laying out in the sun on the lawn next to the Eiffel Tower. I would do it every day if I could.

     Saturday morning, we left early for Belgium. Brussels is only a very short, easy 1 hour 20 minute train ride from Paris. Devan and I met up with our friends Jamie (also from Fairfield) and Ariela, who had arrived the day before. The first thing we did was go on what was supposed to be a chocolate tour, but turned out to be a small room crammed full of people where a man basically explained in 10 minutes that chocolate is made from cacao and that to make truffles you put together two molds of chocolate. It wasn't worth the money, but we did get to sample chocolate which completely made up for it. Belgian chocolate is completely everything it is built up to be. Ariela told us how she went on a tour of the Hershey factory, and learned that American chocolate is made not with cream but with sour milk (because it was cheaper) and is compensated for with cranked up sugar content and thus is not as rich as European chocolate, which is made with cream. This is also why Europeans think our chocolate is disgusting, but Americans think the both taste good. The one other thing I read at the chocolate museum is that Americans eat half of the amount of chocolate in a year that many European countries do. I found this amusing because the United States is still the country in an obesity epidemic. I really do believe that there is something to be said about the European diet and lifestyle.

     I hadn't eaten breakfast, but after the chocolate museum we got Belgian waffles, which despite what many of the other students in my program told us, were absolutely delicious. Also, apparently, the only topping true Belgians put on their waffles is chocolate ("only" chocolate, ha), and the other toppings they offer - ice cream, whipped cream, fruit, etc. - are to appeal to the tourists. I had mine with powdered sugar and it was grand. Every year when I was younger, for Christmas breakfast with our grandparents we would have Belgium waffles, which I think we could buy at Sam's or something. They disappeared for a long time, but this year, my Memere, who seems to have a knack for finding nifty and nostalgic things (for example, I'm thinking also of when she found "Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific"), found them in a magazine and ordered them for us. And it turns out they taste very close to the ones you get right in Belgium!

     We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around, looking in shops and sightseeing. I bought a present for someone in a cute, unexpected shop with the nicest shopkeeper. Belgium has three official languages - French, German, and Dutch - and Brussels speaks primarily French, though everything is also written in Dutch (I don't believe it was German). This was great for us, and it was a really cool experience traveling to a country outside of France where we could still use our French. The people of Belgium, like in Heidelberg, Germany, were so friendly. I didn't bring my camera because I didn't want to lose it, and I was going to bring my old, smaller one but I forgot it, so I unfortunately have no pictures of my own from Belgium, which I really am disappointed about. :(

     Saturday night was the big event - a concert event called "Sensation" located in Hasselt, another 1 1/2 hour train ride from Brussels. There are two versions of Sensation, white and black, and because we went to White Sensation, we had to wear white. When we got to the train station, we realized we were among many others headed for the same place. We sat next to some other kids on some stairs while we waited for the train to arrive, and it turned out that two of the guys who are currently studying in London are actually from New Hampshire. This almost never happens, even at school in the states, and I get absurdly excited when it does. When one of them, who I think actually lives in Vermont, told me that he goes to UNH, I couldn't even remember that I know people who go there. The other one lives north in NH and goes to Plymouth. I also couldn't remember that I know people who go there as well. I don't care who you are, tell me from NH and I'm on cloud nine. I may want to live in the city, but I've got my 603 pride stamped on my soul.

     Getting on the train was an absolute madhouse. Because there were so many people and they oversold the seats on the train, people plowed their way through without regard for their own friends. Yet still, we managed to grab seats and I sat next to Devan and across from Jamie; a man from Spain who barely spoke English sat next to her. He was very friendly, and tried to teach us some Spanish, none of which I remember. All I know is that I thought that "Me amo" meant "My name is" but it apparently means "I love." Oops.

     The train ride was one of the most ridiculous experiences of my life. There was a moment when I realized I was surrounded by hundreds of people my age from literally all across the globe, all dressed similarly, and all excitedly headed for the same destination; this feeling was surreal. I've never had such a sense of camaraderie with people I don't know.

     Sensation was only more of this. As I said, although there were many American students, there were many international students and we met some kids from Paris; we are going to get coffee with them this Wednesday midday after class. The sold-out concert of 40,000 people lasted until 6h. We left around 5h30 to catch the 6h01 train back to Brussels. Because it was such a big event, the concert provided free transportation between the arena and the train station. Also, because Sensation-ers swarmed the train, no one checked our tickets. In retrospect, we shouldn't even have bought any, but we couldn't have known this before.

     We got back to Brussels around 7h30, and headed back to Jamie and Ariela's hostel, where our passports were locked up safely. I was so paranoid about losing something or having something stolen, but we had no problems (and I hope it stays that way, knock on wood). Devan and I collected our things - not that we had brought much - and left to get some breakfast and go to mass. We were going to get waffles, but the cafe was closed, so we found a Paul (the French chain with our favorite macarons) and just got some bread and walked over to the cathedral. We were half an hour early so we sat there trying not to pass out. This is also how I spent the following hour during mass, which was in an interesting mix of Dutch and French, and I think even some English, though I might have just been delirious at that point. We left at 11 because we had to catch our train to Paris, but mass was barely halfway over.

     At the train station, we got pizza (who knew they had Sbarro's in Belgium?). This was also very strange and reminiscent of our first day in Paris because it was about our 5th meal since the last time we slept. I think I kind of slept on the train ride home, but I don't really know. I was supposed to go to a political rally for the Communist presidential candidate for my history class (well, it really was optional but I actually wanted to go) but I slept instead before waking up to finish my homework, study for my exam, and go back to sleep. It was a great weekend.

     Tomorrow is another day at the lycée with my French friends. I can't remember if I posted about the last session - it was again great in a way that is difficult to explain. It's simply awesome how curious and engaged the students are. I can't really say "kids" because some of them are my age. The first class (the class that is better at English) is so attentive; Maria and I gave a Powerpoint presentation on a little bit about our states (she lives in New York) to give them and idea of what our lives are like and started to present on the high school system of American education, which we will finish tomorrow. During the second two classes (the terminale classes), we worked with the students broken up into two smaller groups. Each group had a text they had to read, comprehend, and then present to the class at the end. This was difficult. In the first terminale class, my group had a longer text entitled "Staying Safe Online," underneath with read the word "SMART" vertically, with another word and corresponding paragraph for each letter. It was difficult for the students to comprehend, because it was very much above their level of English, but two of the members of the group who speak English a little bit better than the others were able to help the others to understand it. I was a little frustrated because I was very happy with the summary the students were able to produce and give to the class, but the professor wanted them to talk more about the relation of "SMART" to the rest of the text. It didn't really make much sense to me (why she was placing importance on this), and I actually felt like it might have been the language gap for the professor herself. One of the problems in French schools, as we have discussed in my education class, is that many of the professors are not native or truly fluent in English, so there is a sort of disconnect or lack of authenticity in the English that the students learn. I realized that this week when I discovered it is much easier to communicate to the professors in French; their English accents are for the most part fairly good, but I would compare it, not intendedly offensive, to a parrot. They mimic the words and can communicate in basic phrases, but they can't express more than what they teach.

    In the second terminale class, we had a shorter comic with the same picture four times of a person at a computer with the words "Sleep, Study, Work, Play." This was easier for the students to comprehend, and they were better able to discuss it, but there was a very odd dichotomy in the classroom; while they were incredibly engaged and willing to work, the students' physical behavior was uncontrolled and disruptive. Once of the girls stood on the table for five minutes until the professor suggested she move to space in the center of the desks, which were set up in a circle. One of the boys from my group was teasingly stroking the back of another student in Maria's group. It was entertaining but surprising, given their age. I am told that this is extremely unusual for a French high school classroom, and I believe it, especially given the stories of my fellow student teachers. I think we just got a rough batch, but the students are fun and amusing and interested nonetheless and I wouldn't trade this experience for the world.

     Below are my pictures from Friday, of the cemetery and the Eiffel Tower. For now, I'm off to bed because I have a very early day and I'm going to need all the energy I can muster for these kids.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite new French expressions, which my host mother used to describe my relationship with Paris:
To say "I know it like the back of my hand" : "Je le connais comme ma poche."
     ---->It literally means, "I know it like my pocket." :) Très mignon, n'est-ce pas?!

France te souvient - "France remembers you"

Jim Morrison

Oscar Wilde

Dream come true.