Ennui.

A sleepy day in Paris. I woke up today at 8:00 a.m., the first time I have been up since before 11:00 since arriving in Paris. I packed myself onto the Metro with about a million other commuters and went to a job interview. I am trying to get a babysitting job at this point, seeing as most restaurant work in Paris requires a working visa and the ability to speak French under stress. Today I went and visited a family with a 6 month old girl and a 2 year old boy. They are nice children, if a little boring. How weird is that? I feel more active and exciting than a 2 year old. But I guess I can't really complain. Aren't most jobs in the world boring? At least, that's the impression I am beginning to get. Anyway, I went and played around with the baby today and now I'm sitting here waiting for the woman to call me to let me know if I've got the job for the next few months. Otherwise, I'll be beginning my job search anew.

Last night, Marc and I walked to the Lourve and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower. Then I went to Shakespeare and Co., met up with an American and a Canadian, and went and drank wine with very entertaining French students by the Seine. It seems as though most of my nights are spent drinking wine by the Seine. I hope that it never loses its charm.

Real life can be kind of boring sometimes. I mean, what do most people do with their days? They go to work, they come home, they figure out what they can cook for dinner, they eat, they sit around, and they go to bed. That's about it. All the time. And yes, I live in Paris, which is fabulous (and also fabulously expensive), but it is still real life. I still wake up, try to find a way to make some money, go grocery shopping, test the limits of my cooking abilities, drink some wine, and go to bed. I do get to see some awesome things in between all of that, like all of the beautiful parks and cathedrals of Paris, but like I said, it is still real life.

I feel like I spend a lot of time waiting for things to happen. Not that life is just passing me by as I sit here quietly, just that I spend a lot of time waiting for the things that I really want. I go out and do things and make some things happen, but the people that I really want to be with are still months away. So although I am actively doing things for myself, I am still waiting for those other people that I love to show up and add some color to my life. Oh, if only it were December already.

For something totally off-topic: it's so strange to be living in a foreign country at the moment. So many historic things are taking place in my own country right now, and I'm not living through them. Presidential debates that will be forever referenced in politics, an economic crisis that my children will study in textbooks at school, gas shortages affecting the lives of millions of people in the South...I only read about these things in newspapers. I don't know what it's like to be living through them. I can understand them, and my heart feels all of these things for my country. But I don't have to live with them everyday, I don't see first-hand what is happening and what people are thinking and how the country is reacting. It is an interesting time to be in America and yet somehow I find myself on the outside looking in.

Alright, I should go figure out what to eat for dinner tonight. I'm trying to live on 7 euros a day the whole time that I'm here. Now, that might sound easy, and it's not impossible to do, but it does require some careful planning and thinking. And nothing can go to waste. All the food we buy has to be used somehow, because we can't afford to throw things away. Poverty makes you very creative and resourceful. It's kind of nice.

Hard Times. (but not really).

It's quarter past 3 on Friday night (or is it Saturday morning?) and I'm sitting here in my little blue and yellow apartment in Paris in the middle of a bout of insomnia.

It's strange to know that all of my co-years are off at university already, growing up in a very different way than I am. I am not looking forward to university in many ways. Yes, I love meeting new people. Yes, I want to sit in a real philosophy class again. Yes, I want to walk around on a campus again (eventually). As for the other stuff that is generally a part of the university experience...thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to sit around while you all try to figure out how to cook dinner. I don't want to watch while you all test your limits of alcohol intake at some frat party. I don't want to deal with you all while you try to figure out how to live with other people, how to date like a normal person rather than just randomly fuck, how you figure out how to transition from whatever high school you're coming from into what you think is the "real world". I've done that. I'm doing it now. I don't want to do it again. Now, how pretentious is this of me? Very. But it's the truth, or at least the truth for my pessimistic self at the moment. I am dreading sitting through years of beer pong and awkward relationships until everyone figures out how to be themselves again.

You know, I was so anxious for "real life", for this time in Paris, that I thought I would relish a few hard times. I romanticized it. Now, why I ever thought that doing piles of dishes and paying bills would be fun, I don't know. It's not, if you didn't know. But at the very least, I wanted this time to change me. I wanted it to bring me that step closer to my full self. And it is doing that.

What have I learned so far? Hm.

Living with someone is hard. 30 sqm gets dirty very, very quickly. Not everyone is sincere. Cooking dinner every night is a pain in the ass. I'm a very stubborn person. Getting a job is difficult. Being the person that I want to be is difficult. It's easy to be bitter.

How is that for a superficial yet honest summary?

Before I word-vomit any more cynical rhetoric, I should go to sleep. Waking up to a sunny day in Paris will surely make things look a bit rosier.

Volunteering in Bookstores and Other Unuseful Things.

So, to be more concise than the last post (which I fear verged on the point of unreadable)...

Life is wonderful. I have probably never drank so much coffee and wine or eaten so many baguettes in my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've started to set down roots here in Paris and I've begun to make some connections. It is wonderful.

I've found Greek and Latin classes to attend for free at the American University in Paris, I've found courses in Eastern Philosophy (taught in French, though) just a few steps from my apartment, I've got a few volunteering options through the American Church in Paris...and now I've become quite comfortable at Shakespeare and Co., so much so that I think they'll just offer me a room there soon. Shakespeare and Co., for those who don't know, is a ridiculous bookstore in Paris, right across from Notre Dame, that is quite close to the most perfect place on Earth. It is an English bookstore, full of random new and used books. Travellers and poor writers alike often board in the lofts above the bookstore for any amount of time and the place is run entirely by volunteers. I've met other foreigners in Paris through the store and I have a feeling that my life in Paris will, in many ways, radiate from the bookshelves at that place.

I spent today having coffee with another American on a gap year spending some time lost in Paris like me. Then we went back to Shakespeare and Co. (where he's living for the moment) and met up with another American and the three of us ended up sharing a bottle of wine on the Seine as the sun set. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

I met an artist today on a bridge in Paris who quickly became obsessed with my blue eyes, telling me he was going to paint a picture using my "blue energy" and that I must come back and see it. I love Paris.

I also found a couple of restaurants I may try getting a job in. There are apparently many places in Paris run by English speakers that don't really care whether you have paperwork and a legal visa or not. I think it would be a good way to really feel like I was living in Paris, rather than just going to a few random classes and hanging around the bookstore. I want to connect to the city in some way, and working in a restaurant seems perfect.

Alright, so much for concise. I should stop now because in reality, I could ramble on about Paris forever and ever.

Observations in Paris.

Right now, I am procrastinating getting out of bed and getting dressed. I am meant to go and see the Pope at Notre Dame today but I am not looking forward to the 7 hours I will spend camping outside the cathedral just to see him. It is gray and looks like it may rain, which only makes matters worse. And to make matters even more worse, my eye is swelling shut from some allergic reaction to God knows what (I'm assuming a mosquito bite) and therefore it looks like I am the victim of domestic violence or a BDSM enthusiast. Seriously. Not exactly the face I want to have when meeting the Pope.

But enough about that and more about Paris.

Parisians are an entirely interesting bunch of people. You think that you all "escape the bubble" when you leave college but to be honest, the whole world is a bunch of bubbles. Yes, they are different than Flekke and no two bubbles are exactly alike, but every corner of the world is a little strange microcosm of being not found anywhere else. Paris is an enormous, enormous bubble, but still a bubble.

After a long trip that finally ended at Charles de Gaulle, I was sarcastically dealt with by customs officials (eh, americaine...) before being allowed to leave the airport and meet Marc. We carried my two bags, both the size and weight of dead cows, all the way through the city's metro system and off to our little corner of the world. When we exited at our Metro stop, I was amazed by how French the street was. Now, that might sound stupid, but seriously. It is just so French. Exactly what you see in high school textbooks. Bakeries everywhere and cobblestoned streets and everyone smoking at tables outside of cafes. Apparently, Parisians never carry lighters even though they all smoke like chimneys and they did not hesitate to ask us for lighters as we carted the two dead-cow-bags through the neighborhood. We finally got to our building, wrestled the bags up 3 stories of spiral staircases and into the apartment.

The apartment. It seemed small at first. Now it seems normal. We have a full kitchen, our own bathroom, an enormous bed and a pull-out couch...really, everything we need. We have lots of windows and they are always open. There is a primary school near my building so all day I hear screaming French children on the playground behind the apartment. The apartment only has one sink that is apparently supposed to double as the kitchen sink and the bathroom sink. At first it was a bit awkward to have to move dishes aside to brush your teeth, but we're used to it now. You have to light a fire in the oven to make it heat up (seriously) but it's kind of cool. We don't have a table to eat at yet, but the couch is working out just fine. We buy baguettes in the mornings for breakfast and eat them with goat cheese. We always have wine in the apartment. We don't have enough storage space for all of our clothes so there are random piles of things all over the place, but I'll sort that out soon enough. The apartment has white walls with yellow trim and doors and blue curtains. At first, I thought it was a little ugly but now I would say that it has a kind of retro charm about it. We have managed to put up one picture (Picasso's "Don Quixote", a birthday present from Pilar) but I'm working on doing a little more decorating. All in all, the place is really starting to feel like home.

I have done almost all of the touristy stuff already. Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc du Triomphe, blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong, it's all lovely and I will re-visit all of these places many times. But the most interesting insight into Paris has come from just walking around or sitting at cafes.

Parisians have yet to discover the wonders of air conditioning. I swear, it just does not exist in this country. Which really would be okay as open windows are nice, except for all the mosquitoes that fly in through those open windows.

Also, in Paris, anything can be a parking space. I have seen people park mo-peds in the tiny little spaces between cars parked along the curb. Yesterday, I even saw someone park their car next to a median in the middle of the road. As in, he just kind of turned his car off in the middle of driving and got out and went walking around. No one even bat an eye.

Parisian men are very good at staring and winking at any woman within eyesight, but I think that most of them would pee their pants if one of these women actually approached them to talk.

All Parisians smoke and they have absolutely no qualms about asking for a cigarette from a complete stranger.

Parisians will applaud equally as loudly whether they are watching an American ex-pat juggle flaming batons at the Centre Pompidou or whether they are listening to a German street musician make his way through a heavily-accented version of "Knocking on Heaven's Door" on the steps of the Sacre-Coeur.

Paris is a very normal city fashion-wise. The people who try the hardest with how they dress seem to be foreigners. Parisian women don't look like they think twice about what they throw on in the morning, but most of them still look fabulous even if they are just wearing jeans and a cut-out t-shirt.

There is an unofficial uniform for Parisian men. For one thing, a respectable Parisian man has long-ish hair that is a little messy. They always look like they have not shaved in a couple of days. They wear jeans and tweed blazers or jackets and always have a cigarette hanging out of their mouths. If they want you to notice them, they push their long-ish hair out of their face and smile, wink, or possibly even offer you a cigarette as well.

Alright, that is all about Paris right now as the Pope waits for no one, especially not me. I have finally gotten a French phone so if you ever feel like calling, I'd love to listen. +33 06 76 07 76 96.

In Paris, finally.

Life feels a bit like a dream. I am poor, I live in a small apartment, I only eat bread and cheese, and I spend my days walking along the Seine or perusing used bookstores. It is all, in fact, wonderful.

My address, in case you are interested, is:

Valerie Bondura
30 Rue Geoffroy St-Hilaire
75005 Paris
France

As I write, a French waiter is trying to kick me out of the cafe I am at because apparently I am abusing their free internet because all I ordered was a coffee. And seeing as I am not about to spend 10 euros on a salad so I can keep sitting here, I'll have to write a proper post some other time.

Going...going....gone.

The next sign of life will come from a cramped apartment on Rue Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire (or perhaps a Parisian internet cafe).

Until then, bisous d'une americaine perdu.

Indian Summer

The summer is winding down. The last days of summer are always my favorite, those heavy, hot days in August when everyone tries to squeeze the last ounce of perfect out of the summer. "Indian summer". All the things you meant to do all summer but never did are all crammed into August. Everyone goes out for ice cream, they spend their days running around in the parks, they spend their nights at rooftop bars with trendy cocktails enjoying the breeze as the sun sets.

In many ways, I feel like I could do this all the time. But it wouldn't be as sweet if it was permanent, would it?

I worked my last night at the restaurant on Saturday. It's funny, it is the job I loved to hate. But I really did love to hate it. It was addictive. And I cared about it, as stupid as it was. But leaving work really drove home the point that the summer was over. It brought me to tears, honestly. Everything about my life this summer has radiated from that restaurant. I have met some of the most entertaining people, some that I only spent a brief conversation on and some that I have come to care about in ways I did not expect. I grew up in a way I never had to at college, I got my first taste of what the "real" world is like from that restaurant. I learned about wine and learned to mix cocktails. I learned to appreciate things that I knew nothing about before. And now it's over.

On Sunday, I went to a new church. It was enormous, what we call a "megachurch". It is hard for any non-American to imagine such a thing, thousands of people all worshipping in a building with no alter, no crosses, no stained glass windows, no choir, not even a specific denomination. Instead, it had stadium seating and electric guitars. The church even had a Starbucks Cafe inside of it. To be honest, the whole thing kind of blew my mind as well. But it was nice to be at a church, it is something that I had not realized I missed so much until I went back to it. I'm quite looking forward to the cathedrals of Paris.

I've bought the Julieta Venegas CD (I know, at this point, it's already kind of old and I'm kind of out of it). But I love it. I mean, seriously? I always wrote off "Eres Para Mi" as pathetic Mexican pop sung by some Thalia-wannabe but now I can't stop singing it. And every other song on the CD. She's just so...happy.

I have been so happy lately with things that are so small. I love getting peach Italian cream sodas from a small cafe at the edge of a city park and just spending hours walking and reading and writing and enjoying. I love singing in the middle of the road in Buford when the entire town has already gone to sleep and chasing the train along the tracks each time it passes. I love spending the afternoon in bookstores, buying whatever I feel like or not buying anything at all. I love slow dancing at 3:00 am to songs from the jukebox at trashy 24-hour restaurants. I love all of it.

I only have a few more days of reddish-orange sunsets and cotton dresses and gelato and impromptu lullabies but I am betting that Parisians also know a thing or two about the wonders of Indian summer.