9 posts tagged “photos”
The other pictures are Paris with snow. Some were taken Monday as the snow was falling, others on Wednesday out my classroom window when it was around 10 degrees outside but the light was gorgeous.
10 days from today I'll be on my way home. Have I really been here for 3 months? Apparently.
Yesterday morning I got up early with a few other students to go to the catacombs of Paris. Something like 160 kilometers of tunnels beneath the city that were created when mining the stone used to build half the area. It's been both a substitute graveyard and a headquarters for military operations. Back in Napoleonic times, the cemeteries of Paris were overflowing (literally, one got so full that bodies burst out of the ground in a sort of landslide, spilling into a nearby apartment building—gross! Imagine coming home to that?) and even more bodies were just being buried in local parks (because the Edict of Nantes had been revoked and Protestants weren't allowed to be buried in cemeteries). So it was decreed that around 6 million bodies would be buried in the catacombs. I'm glad I didn't have the job of moving the bones and then arranging them inside these tunnels. Back then, candles were used to light the way, and sometimes the flame would go out. People got lost in the tunnels and died there.
Of course I loved the place. Historic and morbid. I did, however, find myself squeamish about touching any bones (no one else in the group was willing to touch them either, which is probably a good sign). Taking pictures for your viewing pleasure (or horror) was another story:
Classes are winding down, in other news, and I'm having exams interspersed with exposées. I feel like I'm in real school for the first time all semester. This weekend I head to Budapest for a few days, where I might be going caving. It depends on whether or not the hostel will arrange a special weekend tour for our group, because usually they only do caving during the week.
I know I'm not getting enough sleep, which is why tonight I've designated as going-to-bed-early night. In the morning I want to go by the Richard le Noir market that I missed Sunday for being too tired and in order to do that I have to get up at 8:30.
My list of Christmas presents-to-get is about halfway checked off. Some people are harder to shop for than others, but the market should have some cool things. If not, there's Budapest and a whole week left.
I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, but I'll miss the sight of the Eiffel Tower on my walk to school everyday. The ease of the metro, where I don't have to get in a car and drive (if I even remember how). I must start figuring out how to pack the things I'm bringing home into my suitcase. This semester has gone by so fast. If I weren't coming back this would be a lot harder
I have a test tomorrow in my French painting class, and here's a brief snippet from my notes that I'm studying (just for those who might be curious):
"La forme de la salle de bal ne se prête pas aisément à la décoration peinte. Commencée sous François Ier en 1540, elle fut achevée sous le règne de son fils Henri II. Conçue à l'origine comme une loggia à l'italienne, c'est-à-dire une galerie ouverte de part et d'autre, elle devait étre surmontée d'une voûte. A la mort de François Ier en 1547, un autre parti fut adopté et on décida de fermer la loggia, qui fut couverte d'un plafond à caisson et on commanda le décor au Primatice. Les fresques ornent les écoinçons qu se rejoignent au-dessus des arcs."
I've been studying today. Yesterday I went exploring in parts of Paris I had yet to see (Rue du Rivoli, le Marais, etc.) and went shopping without really buying much (some leggings and a shirt). I've been making a list of what to get people for Christmas so I can have it all ready and packed before I have to leave to go home on the 20th of December.
I took the first photo with my iPhone as I walked back to St. Michel last night across Pont Neuf. This is where I live. The second is one of the courtyards of the Louvre.
This is the bottom section of the cathedral:
The recreation of her cell:
The photos are crappy quality because I took them with my iPhone. My camera is a bit big to lug around all day and night. But the Palais Garnier was amazing. We just don't have the same kind of tasteful extravagance much in the States. Don't get me wrong, the Blumethal is nice, but it gets its doors blown off by this place. I sit there on the edge of the balcony (I had a great seat), looking out at what looks like the movie set for Phantom of the Opera, certain that this has got to be a dream; I'm not really in Paris, seeing a ballet at the old opera house.
This is my life right now. Like a dream. It's sometimes lonely because try as I might, I don't seem to click with anyone (or rather, they don't seem to want to click with me). But it's nice, too, to learn that I can live and function on my own, and that I don't need other people in order to survive. It's funny because I don't notice too many others who are willing to go and do stuff on their own; so many people have chosen a person or two and clung on so tightly that they're literally never without the other. If they have to separate for class, they do so reluctantly, and only at the last minute, then meet up again as soon as class is over. Maybe I'm trying to look for a silver-lining on this cloud of being excluded, but I'm happy with who I am, and if other people aren't going to like me, I can't worry about it.
GO VOTE FOR OBAMA!
There are a lot of things I don't understand about people. One of them is their habit of hanging out with, being nice to, playing friends with a person and then turning around when they're not there and talking about them behind their back. I've been taking the time to observe and listen to the people I've been spending time with, and I watch how they act like best friends with someone, then as soon as that someone is gone, they talk about how annoying/obnoxious/whiny that person is.
This makes no sense to me, and it seems counter-productive. If you are friends with people who do this sort of thing, what makes you think they won't do the exact thing to you when you're not around? And if you can't trust people not to go behind your back and talk about you, then how can you possibly be friends? What kind of friendship is that if you're constanting wondering what they're saying when you're not there?
I'm no saint. I talk about people behind their backs; the difference is I don't pretend to like them. I have no patience for playing friends with people who drive me nuts, and while I'm always polite and not-mean, I have no problem with people I don't like knowing I don't like them. It's mean to lie to a person's face by pretending to like them and, quite frankly, disrespectful. And while I certainly am well aware of my friends' faults, I would never go behind their back and gossip about them because part of friendship is having a modicum of respect for that person.
Yesterday, we took a bus ride out to Fontainebleau and Vaux-le-Vicomte. Unlike almost everyone else, I actually preferred Fontainebleau. It's much more extravagent, and has more significance to history. Vaux-le-Vicomte is famous for being the dream-home of Fouquet (Louis XIV's finance minster for a short time who earned the jealousy of the king and was arrested for it) and for being in the movie The Man in the Iron Mask. Other than that, it reminds me of a larger-scaled plantation home. Older, obviously, but still maintaining a "homey" feel as opposed to Fontainebleau, which is an enormous palace and in no way could be mistaken for a simple home. Vaux-le-Vicomte has paintings of sculptures and gilded frames while Fontainebleau actually has statues and gilded frames—on every available surface.
In fact, the best thing about both chateaux were the ceilings. Why doesn't anyone decorate their ceilings anymore? My favorite part was looking up.
But Fontainebleau. Home of French kings for 700 plus years. Favorite lodgings of François 1er. Every king spent time there in some fashion, and they still have the exact bed that both Louis XVI and Napoleon slept in. A mishmash of hundreds of years of French and Italian artistic and architectural styles. I could so live there (or Versailles. One or the other, I'm not picky). But looking at the extravagance of every. single. room. makes it really obvious why the French took their heads off.
It was only a day-trip though, so we got back to Paris around 5:30. Today was one girl's birthday, so last night we went out to celebrate and ended up at a fondue restaurant near St. Michel, where I encountered the first bit of rude-French people I've ever had to deal with. Our waiter was nothing less than an outright jackass. We even made the attempt to speak to him in French, and he just wouldn't stop making fun of us, screwing up our orders, and ignoring us for hours at a time. Dinner ended up taking way too long, and we ditched the idea of going to a discoteque afterwards. Instead we got bottles of wine from Monoprix and went to one girl's apartment, where we shared a bottle of champagne at midnight in honor of the birthday. I made it back home before the metro shut down for the night, and voila. My weekend. Today was, as usual, at day of rest and relaxation, with some studying thrown in for good measure. I have a test on Tuesday, and my tomorrow is going to be busy. Cours practique in the morning from noon til 2, then my painting class (at the Louvre!) from 3 to 6, then a ballet at the old opera house (Palais Garnier—where the phantom lives!) at 7:30. My life is cool, yes?
But I would kill for a Moe's burrito right about now. I miss Mexican food.
Two weeks and I'll be in Rome for Armstice Day weekend! Booked the hostel and everything.
I still have half a bottle of Sauternes sitting on my dresser that I didn't finish last night.
I'm taking what's called a 'cours practique', or literally translated, practical course. It's a French language course that I have everyday for two hours. Today was the first session, and we went around and took a tally of where everyone in the class was from: 2 Korea, 2 China, 2 Taiwan, 2 USA, 1 Bolivia, 1 Indonesia, 1 Venezeula, 1 Japan, 1 Sweden, 1 Germany, 1 Turkey, 1 Poland, 1 Saudi Arabia, 1 Iran. We all more or less speak French. That's pretty incredible; I'd never have that kind of diversity in a class in Columbia. Even at NYU, I doubt I'd find a class made up like that.
Every morning on the way to class, I walk up Boulevard Saint-Michael, cross Rue Soufflot and pass beside the Panthèon. There are tourists everywhere, looking at maps, taking photos, generally stalling the pedestrian traffic while I'm trying to hurry to get to class on time or buy textbooks and grab lunch before my next class. The fact that this is my life right now? Kind of makes me giddy.
And then the giddiness died temporarily. I went to my next class, La civilisation française, and was bored to tears for two and a half hours. It's a history of France course, and whoa is it dumbed down. We covered prehistory through the Hundred Years War in that time period, which would, if properly addressed, take an entire semester in and of itself. (The extent of our coverage of Clovis? "He was baptized to make his wife happy!" . . . Ugh) I'm a history major; I love history, and I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spoon just to make things a little more interesting. I don't know how people who hate history to begin with were dealing. And what makes it worse? I could've taught the class better. I know more than the professor; she was reading her info off of little study guides for students. The information given was basic at best, and mostly idiotic. Here's to hoping the rest of my classes aren't that bad.
But I'm in Paris. Saturday, early in the morning, I'll be heading out to Normandy and Brittany for the weekend. I'll stay the night in Saint-Malo and visit Mont-Saint-Michael. For all that I complain, life is really cool right now. Even though I could use more sleep.
My walk to class in the mornings:
And then the shots requested by my mom of the view out my window:
As today I was feeling significantly better (I can actually swallow again!), I went on the group daytrip to Chartres. It's a small town to the west and slightly south of Paris. By bus, it took us an hour and fifteen minutes to get there (two hours to get back—hooray traffic! Nice to know some things are universal), and though the weather was rainy, cold, and generally lousy, the trip was worthwhile. I won't say it was fun, because I spent a good hour wandering around the freezing rain by myself in Chartres. Worthwhile.
But we started off with a tour of the cathedral. It's the fifth one to be built on the site, and most of the current cathedral was built in the 12th century. The tourist guidebook will tell you it's one of the best preserved of the Medieval cathedrals anywhere in Europe, and it's probably true, although hard to tell what with all the scaffolding. Every face of the outside had scaffolding up somewhere, and inside a whole panel of stained glass windows had been removed for cleaning (they needed it). The rose windows were all beautiful, but unless you're a total nutso about these things, the cathedrals kind of look alike when you're looking up. Vaulted ceilings, colorful stained glass, ribbed columns, etc. And nothing wrong with that: it's always spectacular. Our tour guide also took the time to explain that in the stained glass, at the bottom, you can usually tell who donated the money for the particular window because they're images representing them. For instance, a noble family donated the money for a window, and their coat of arms is in the lower corners. Another window was paid for by a guild or brotherhood of cobblers, and in the bottom of their window were several scenes of people either cutting leather, trying on shoes, or sizing them. It's nifty to think that these people were real, they lived a completely different life from what we're used to, they'd never seen skyscrapers or photographs, and they donated money to building a church that's still around to this day, with their mark on it. This is why I love history.
You've got to think about what it was like back in the 12th century. No paved roads or cars, no New York city skylines or skyscrapers, and out of the trees and few short buildings rises this enormous towering structure jutting into the sky. It would've been visible for miles on a clear day. The fact that people spent a lifetime building these things, that they involved so much effort and money and time, but people did it anyway. To walk through a single doorway (and there are three main entrances), you pass under at least 100 or more meticulously carved statues of saints and symbols that would've been painted into vivid life. (Where they've gone in and cleaned the outside of the cathedral, you can see the underpaint they used that's still on the statures, and little splotches of actual color paint remain.) Inside are the stained glass windows from every direction, bringing in light and setting stories aglow. Each paneled square is 4 feet long and there are more than 20 panels in each window. They're bright, literally like looking at the inside of a kaleidoscope, and the colors aren't random. Every picture in every panel has a specific, intentional meaning. For instance, the cross is portrayed in the color green because it's believed to be made out of the Tree of Life, and living tree wood is green.
The problem with stained glass windows is that they're a royal pain to take pictures of. They turn out either way too blurry or with the rest of the photo in complete darkness. So what I have to show doesn't give detail, merely demostrates the colors present and intricacy of each panel. I'm also not a photographer; that's my dad's job. I may have a fancy camera, but really all I know how to do is point and click.
Ignore the people in the foreground of that first one; unfortunately, they exist over here too (I kid, I kid—partially). Look at those sculptures, the windows, and try to imagine how much work went into making these things. It's really incredible.
And now onward.
The biggest disappointment was the utter lack of spirituality to the place. For a Medieval cathedral, I had higher hopes. Alas, there were wooden school chairs set up everywhere and tour guides with huge groups filling them. On the floor of the cathedral, one of the things it's most famous for, is the labyrinth. But people were treating it like a game—no respect whatsoever to the fact that some people might be there for an actual spiritual journey (that's what walking the labyrinth represents). I tried walking it, seriously, and groups of tourists kept walking in my way or doubling back and giggling in groups as if there was something to figure out. There isn't. It's not a maze, which has choices and doesn't necessarily get you to an end. With a labyrinth, it's a single path that winds around a center point that is inevitably reached if the path is followed. It was mildly annoying. And while I've been to other cathedrals that were tourist stops, I could still find a quiet place to sit, light a candle, and feel like there was something there beyond me and the immediate world. From a spiritual standpoint, Chartres cathedral was somewhat of a let-down. If I were there during mass, I'm hoping it would be different.
Anyway, I was determined to stick to at least a few kids in our group while in Chartres, and I failed rather miserably (suited the weather nicely). When the tour of the cathedral was over, I turn around and everyone has disappeared. I explored (in the rain, in the cold) some of the city streets, shivering and munching on an apple, before finally heading back toward the bus and finding the majority of the kids sitting in a small deli-sort of place just around the corner from the bus. They were warm and sipping hot tea or coffee, and I'm a soaking popsicle.
Ah, well. On the way back, I decided to butt my way into a conversation and asked what a couple girls were doing for tomorrow night, October 4th. You see, in Paris, this night is something called "Nuit Blanche" or White Night. During this night, there are special activities all over Paris and lots of things stay open all night. The city is, in some parts, all lit up. And while I excel at the outcast, loner type, I don't really want to spend my entire year abroad alone. Social Anxiety Disorder? Pssssssh. I'll just ask if I can come along.
So I did ask. So I will be coming along. Progress, methinks. Mehopes.
Well, we drove back into Paris, and I came to the realisation that I have a fixation with the Effiel Tower. It's not exceptionally beautifully (I wouldn't, say, decorate my house with it), nor is it the most complicated structure around, nor is it the largest. The sight of it, the shape, is so familiar the world over you'd think we'd be used to it, right? Yet every time I come around a corner, and there it is, towering on the horizon or the top peeking over a building, it takes my breath away. I'm not sure I can tell you why, but I can't take my eyes off it when it's in view. And pictures? They don't come close to capturing it. It's like the structure itself has charisma, and more of it than Obama. I could honestly spend hours, days just looking at it. If only I could see it from my window.
If only it weren't so cold outside. Today, the weather was mid-winter-in-Charlotte-or-Columbia cold. I am very glad my heavy coats are about to be in transit. No wonder Dante thought Hell was frozen over.
I'm living in an apartment in the 16th arrondissement with an older woman and her cat. Occasionally, her granddaughter stays over and has a room just down the hall from mine. Looking on a map, the Effiel Tower is just across the river from my new neighborhood. If there weren't buildings in the way, I could probably see it from my room, which looks like this:
There is only one bathroom (literally that, a room with a bath/shower and a sink) in the apartment, and only one toilet room (literally that, a toilet and a mini-sink). But that I can deal with seeing as there's really only going to be two of us living here. I have a cabinet in the kitchen to myself, as well as a shelf in the refrigorator. And best of all, I have internet. In my room. Wireless.
Seriously, I couldn't have asked for that. I'm probably one of few students in our study abroad group who has this. I was hoping for it, but realistically expecting many treks to an internet cafe or buying a pass to their "Neuf Wi-fi" which is where there are hotspots in Paris, and you buy a membership or register with them, and wherever you can access their hotspots, you can be online. In my room, I have a little bit of signal from Neuf Wifi, so that was an option.
Unfortunately, I woke up this morning (Sunday) with a sore throat and general sick feeling. I hope it's just a one-day thing and not strep throat (which it feels like) because that would be . . . bad. I'd have to go to the doctor tomorrow, after an orientation meeting with AIFS, and I'd have to explain, in French, what is wrong. Which I can sort of do, but not very coherently and I'm not sure if I'm saying the right thing or not. I don't know how to say "I just feel icky". I can say my throat hurts, and I think I'm sick, and that's about it. If anyone asks me questions, well, I'd better hope they're simple.
I'm planning on spending the rest of the day laying low. I'll be going out briefly for my host to explain the key to me (to the entrance to the building itself and then the entrance to the apartment) and show me the metro station. I have to be across town at the Irish Cultural Center (where our orientation is) by 10 AM tomorrow. I might also see if there's a pharmacie open where I can buy some throat numbing spray or somesuch. Whatever they have here.
Yesterday was . . . frightening. I got off the train, was handed an envelop containing the address of my host family, stood in line for a taxi surrounded by kids from the program making plans to meet up the next day (not including me, of course, they talked right over my head and avoided looking at me), and then––poof. I'm sitting in the backseat of the taxi, listening to the driver chat rapidly in French on his cell phone, looking out the window at a foreign city, and completely alone. Most of the other students had a roommate, so they left in taxis together, found their host families together, figured out how to get into the building together, and then got to sit in their room, together, and have the realisation hit them that they're here. I had to drag my bags to the door of the building, look at the names listed, find the right one and push the button next to it, hoping my host family was expecting me and would just let me in, not having a clue how the button worked (did I need to talk to the people over an intercom? If so, do you hold the button in, or just press it once?). I manage to get inside, and look around, only knowing that the apartment is on the first floor (which in the US would be the second floor––the French count the "first floor" as the ground floor, then the first floor is above that). Carrying my two bags up a winding, narrow staircase, I reach the top where Mme Debroise is standing, waiting for me and holding the door open to her apartment. She welcomes me and asks if I speak French, because she doesn't speak English at all.
After a brief tour of the apartment (it's circular, with three bedrooms including mine which is tucked in a nice little corner, and a kitchen, living/sitting room, and entertainment room––this one had the TV, a couch, a table for eating meals, etc.), Mme made me waffles with Nutella, and I went back to my room where I ate them and sat rather stupified.
I'm in Paris, with strangers, alone, and communicating even the basics takes effort. I have no way of getting in touch with the other students in the program, and only a vague idea of how to get around. I don't know what I'm allowed to do, what I'm supposed to do, and what I'm not. Then I wake up the next morning, sick.
Rationally, I know how cool this is. I'm in Paris. I have an awesome room, internet, a nice host, I'm living in a high-priced part of town, there's a cat (which makes everything better), and how many people ever have this opportunity? I'm going to get really good at speaking French, and I'm completely immersed in their culture. It's just a little (a lot) freaky right now.
Hopefully I adjust soon. And hopefully, this isn't strep and will go away very quickly.
