Public Pools & Private Parties

Warning: This post starts off mundane and gets increasingly more exciting.

I knew from the day I got here that we had a public pool across the street. After two months of enough bread, butter, and cookies, running just wasn’t cutting it. I dragged my comfy bum outside and into the public pool (getting there took about 30 seconds).

The first shock came when I found myself in the men’s change room, and was alerted of this by a man in a very tiny bathing suit. I have no clue how this happened, as I actually do know the difference between homme and femme.

After entering the change room, looking around for quite some time, and reading all of the rules and regulations that in a normal instance I would never have bothered to read, I discovered the use of a swim cap is mandatory. I’d heard rumours about this, but didn’t realize that this nightmare could actually become a reality. There was a vending machine that sold swim caps out in the entrance, and I quickly chose the cheapest one they sold, for 1.50. Maybe not the best choice, because when I put in a 5, the machine gave me only 1.50 change. I asked the lady at the front desk about my missing change, and she claimed there was nothing she could do. Great, a 1.75 trip to the pool was getting more and more expensive!

In France, they are obsessed with hygiene. You have to walk through this foot bath that kills all the germs on your feet before even getting out to the pool deck. With all their vigilance, I was expecting to see multiple lifeguards on strict alert, especially since it was the school holidays. Instead, I saw one guy sitting at a desk doing a crossword. Later, an older man joined him, texting on his phone. I felt really safe. Neither of them were wearing bathing suits, although most men in the pool felt more than comfortable wearing barely anything at all. That was my first and so far last trip to the pool. I walk past it every day and hide my face in shame. I’ll go again, eventually.

On a more exciting note, this past weekend I got to celebrate the birthdays of two of my favourite people here! Saturday was my friend Katherine’s birthday, and I was not going to let this important day go uncelebrated. So we set off at ridiculous hours in the morning for a saturday and began our long journey to an amusement park outside of Paris called “Parc Asterix”, a made-in-France approach to Disneyland. This included 3 different trains to get to the airport, and then a shuttle bus from the airport to the park. The journey was well worth it. We spent an amazing day on roller coasters, watching a dolphin show, and grinning like crazy 10-year-olds the whole time. Saturday night I came home to a piece of birthday cake sitting on my desk, reminding of the other birthday celebration I had to come the next day– E’s.

With my host mom’s parents from Hungary nestled into our flat for the past week, things have been quite “cozy” with 6 people living here. It doesn’t help when two of those people do not speak a word of English or French. We had a fancy birthday lunch for E, which was rather silent and included lots of hand gestures. The highlight of the day for the birthday girl, and me as well was our trip to an Irish dancing show in Paris. It’s not your typical Dora the Explorer birthday show, but I’ve never seen eyes that big on a girl that small. She loved every moment of song and dance, and I appreciated how the family included me in their gift to her.

Finally, a huge shout-out to Peter for the setting up the amazing opportunity for me and a couple of friends to see Jason Mraz in concert monday night, and meet him and his band afterwards. After quickly meeting him with a handshake and a “Hi, I’m Jason from California,” we spoke for a while with the guitarist in his band who set up the tickets for us. Satisfied we’d had our fill of exclusivity and worried about missing the last train home, we left backstage for the bitter cold, where we were greeted by the envious stares and questions by French fans and American exchange students alike, waiting in the back parking lot for a glimpse of the singer. Realizing our mistake after leaving without a photo or a real conversation, I could already feel the regret dripping through my veins. “We’re going back in,” I announced. When we got back to the gathering, every one had pretty much left, leaving the band and a few friends hanging out around a table. They invited us to join them, filling up white plastic cups with red wine and offering us some Lindt, without having any clue as to who we were. Yes, eventually we got our pictures, and my autograph. Who would have thought I would ever be asked for recommendations on where to party in Paris by band members staying at the Crowne Plaza? We missed the last train, but the price of a taxi was well worth it.

Mondays can’t get much better.

A Tale of Two Cities

Don’t get all worked up if you like Charles Dickens. This post has nothing to do with him, it just so happens I know he wrote a book with this title about London and Paris (which I haven’t read) and this blog just so happens to be about London and Paris.

Last Wednesday, I made my first European venture outside of France, and took the train to London (that’s the way to do it, 2 and a half hours, and a 3-course meal with little bottles of wine!) A break from French and butter was definitely what I needed, replaced with tea, my native language and a lot of family. I was in London for 3 full days and 4 nights, and in this time managed to squeeze as much as possible into my mini-vacation.

BB in all his glory

Since the Olympics, the Queen’s Jubilee, and the Royal Wedding, the spirits of Londoners are at an all-time high. Big Ben looked especially shiny, and everyone seemed into the “rule britannia” spirit. Coming from Paris to London, I couldn’t help but compare these two metropolitan European cities, so close but worlds apart. For starters, London was cold. Not chilly like Paris in the fall, but with all of the Christmas decorations and promotions going strong in the department stores, it could have easily been December 23rd. The jolly-ness of some people there and the warmth of the stores made me want to curl up in front of a fire and open up some Christmas gifts, perhaps with tags from Fortnum & Mason.

Starting early in Covent Garden

Coming from Toronto, London felt much more like a “city” to me than Paris, with wider streets and office buildings and way more fast food. I guess I was also not the only person from France sejouring in the UK as everywhere was filled with French families, couples, and friends trying to de-code museum artifact descriptions, gallery explanations, and underground signage in a foreign language. I felt for them, but at the same time felt a glimmer of satisfaction; who’s struggling now?!

While in Paris, I use my Paris by Arrondissement guidebook discreetly, hiding in beneath my coat on the street so as not too appear like too much of a tourist. In London on the other hand, I had no shame in flaunting my giant street map, because I really was and felt like a tourist, which was no problem at all. That trusty guide helped me get from Buckingham Palace to Piccadilly Circus, from Shepherd’s Bush to Notting Hill, and from the Globe Theatre to Bank station. And let’s face it, London streets are about as easy to follow as Parisien ones. Read: not at all.

Notting Hill lived up to every expectation. Thanks Hugh Grant.

This trip was also a “best of both worlds” affair. I lived it up as a tourist during the day, but in the evening was welcomed back to a real home, where I stayed with my mom’s incredibly hospitable cousins. Also, spent from 2 straight days of sight-gazing-in-awe, shopping, and walking, walking, walking, I spent my last day in London visiting more cousins and relatives, some of whom I’d never met before. It was really cool to get to know better my family on the other side of the pond. I also had the opportunity to meet up with a friend from camp who lives in London, making it my first visit with a friend from home since I’ve been here!

Taking the cheaper and 500 X less convenient route, I spent just over 9 hours on a coach to get back to Paris yesterday. This journey was made even less pleasant by the 2 nauseating hours we spent on a ferry crossing the English channel on an extremely cold, windy and wavy day. But, it’s not like I had anything better to be doing. The beauty of not being in school– that Sunday-night-homework-dread has yet to take effect.

Saying tata (for now) to the UK from the ferry

Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite a cool feeling to come back from a holiday and realize that really, you’re still on a type of holiday. It’s another cool feeling to have your alarm go off the morning after getting back and having your host mom tell you to go back to sleep because your host dad would take E to school (true story).

No, I didn’t eat an “English breakfast” while in England, I didn’t try the fish & chips, and I took no pictures with the guys in the big furry hats. Instead, I drank tea every night before bed, spent quality time with family and friends, took several smooth trips on the tube, and can now cross another country off of my list (that’s not to say I won’t be back, there’s way too much I didn’t see).

 

Tongue Twisted

French immersion? Ya right. Thirteen years (and 9 of it in “immersion”) of painstakingly conjugating every French verb tense has prepared me very little for a life immersed in French language. If anyone amongst you ever does decide to make the voyage to the land of wine, long bread, cheese, and moutarde, like me start you off on the right foot. This French lesson is partially sponsored by my wonderful and eccentric French teacher, Etienne. 

Don’t know the actual word for something?

1. Don’t just point your finger at it in a fruitless attempt at making sense. DO NOT say um. Um is english, not universal. Euhh is French. Add in a little frown. 
2.  ‘Ce truc là’, ‘La truc sur sa tête’, ‘Le truc que j’ai mangé’… What do all of these phrases have in common?? Truc veut dire thing, thingy-ma-bobber, thingy, little thing, etc. It is perfectly normal and acceptable French. Hence the more you use it, the more you are accepted.

 

Les Gros Mots

When your host parents ask you what you learned in school that day, and you say you spent an hour learning gros mots, the shocked looks on their faces are not because you learned big words. The list of French swear words and derogatory phrases and their different conjugations in my notebook is one of my longest notes thus far, and also one of the most useful. It even includes a level of vulgarity scale, ranging from ‘peu vulgaire’: zut, merde, to vraiment vulgaire: google them.

 

The curse of the mumble

I’m getting more and more comfortable speaking in French, especially with my host parents. I try to use only words I know so I can speak in complete sentences and not just fade off at the end of a phrase and hope that they can guess what I’m referring to. My new strategy if I’m not exactly sure of how to conjugate that verb? Just mumble and hope they can’t tell if I’m wrong! I don’t suggest this strategy. After being asked what I learned that day, I responded that we learned the words ‘bite’ (pronounced ‘beet’) and ‘biton’, which I found funny because Eszter had just been talking about her Papa’s tummy (you’ll get it in a second). The parents also began to laugh… if a little uncomfortably. “Are you sure that’s what you learned?” They questioned. I soon realized my mistake, and thought they were just laughing at me for not remembering what I had learned, a little rude, I thought. I corrected myself, “I meant the difference between ‘bide’ and ‘bidon’. (Bide is the equivalent of a kid’s tummy, but is also slang that means pretty much ‘beer belly’, whereas ‘bidon’ is a  container that holds gasoline, but is also slang for phoney or bogus) Confusing, I know. Still don’t get why they were laughing? Google bite. 

 

Because it just makes more sense that way

-From a gander around Musée de l’Orangerie, I learned ‘nature morte’ (dead nature) means still life

-A short affair without emotional attachment? Une aventure, bien sûr!

-“She said all that was on her mind”= Elle a sorti tout ce qu’elle avait sur le coeur (She let out everything that was on her heart)

 

Now for some literal food for thought…

The 13th arrondissement is where to go for all varieties of south-east Asian food in Paris. Discovered delicious Pho at appropriate prices. The place with the line-up next to all the empty Viet restaurants was definitely a good call.

A modern Paris

This city is known for its sense of grandeur and elegance: old buildings, streets, and of course lots of history. This weekend resulted in a spontaneous exploration of the modern side of Paris.

What began as a visit to Le Marais (the area of Paris that somehow manages to house the Jewish quarter, the LGBT area, and some of the best new and vintage fashion, making it home to the best bars and of course food) for some vintage shopping (my second pilgrimage there in one week), began with my  immediate purchase and devouring of my first bagel since I’ve been here from one of the only Yiddish bakeries in the area open on a Saturday, finished with a lovely and hilarious visit to the Centre Pompidou with a fellow au pair from Norway, followed by our discovery of the cheapest beer in Paris (so far).

so thrilled with my first bagel purchase

They didn’t know what I was talking about when I referred to “crème du fromage”, so I settled for “fromage albanais” (whatever that is) on the most expensive and delicious bagel-wich

With its colourful exposed pipes and giant transparent tubes and air ducts, the building of the Centre Pompidou is quite controversial as it sticks out like a sore thumb amongst old brown brick buildings and cobblestone streets. As different as it is, I think it’s definitely necessary to change up the scenery, especially for the building which houses one of the best modern art museums in the world. This is just it’s reputation– I’m not one to talk as me and my friend spent the majority of our visit either trying to pretend to understand the famous and confusing or works, or taking photos with them where we did not even attempt to hide our giggles, much to the dismay of the mustachioed, beret-sporting visitors in yellow skinny jeans.

does this “art” really deserve a “do not cross” line?

Pompidou also boasts a pretty stellar view of the city from more than one angle, and we were fortunate enough to catch it as the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower (and storm clouds, of course).

October 14th had been a day I had been looking forward to ever since I got an email from my host mother during one of my first weeks here that we would be going to Disneyland. I even came back early from Paris Saturday night, knowing I had to be well-rested for the big day. I shamelessly flaunted my good fortune to fellow au pairs, all of them brimming with jealousy that I would get to visit what was for all of us a slot above the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre on our must-sees and do’s of Paris.

Instead, after waking up on Sunday with a bounce in my step, my dreams were dashed when I learned that we wouldn’t be going to Disneyland because it was supposed to rain all day (as per every day) and be very cold. To me, this seemed like a lame reason, as I still have fond memories of my own family’s rainy visit to Disney World in January 12 years ago, but I nodded along and threw in some sympathetic “d’accords” and agreed that the weather should be better for a visit to an outdoor amusement park. Instead, we visited Cité des Sciences et de l’Industrie, a giant science centre mainly oriented towards kids. I got to spend some time wandering through the exhibits by myself, as well as with the family. Only in France do you spend over an hour in the cafeteria of a science centre for lunch, as you can never be rushed while finishing a meal with your espresso and fromage frais.

Incomparable in every way to Disneyland (I can only assume; I’ve never been), it was still an interesting experience to see the hoards of parents chasing after young children, struggling to get strollers through small passageways, and yawning indiscreetly while kids watched baking soda-and-vinegar volcanoes erupt in awe. I don’t know what’s with this whole “French parenting” fad, kids will be kids and parents will be exhausted, no matter which side of the pond one might reside.

I’ll never cease to appreciate the beautiful parks and the evil tempting smells of bouglangeries, but a modern weekend in Paris was an appreciated change of scenery.

Wait, I live here?!

Today marks the month-a-versary of the day I left home, and I finally feel like I didn’t just leave home, but I moved into a new one. Subconsciously, I think these past few weeks I’ve been thinking of this more as some sort of distorted extended vacation. It wasn’t until recently that I wrapped my head around the fact that I actually live in France. Even before I left, I was telling myself, “I’m living in France for a few months,” not, more realistically, “I’m moving to France for nearly a year.”

There’s some tell-tale clues that prove that I’m really living here, and haven’t merely happened upon a wonderful opportunity while travelling. My host mother now sets out the pepper on the table at every meal for me, so as to avoid my awkwardly reaching above her for it at every dinner, much to her dismay. I’m trying to convince her that my mom at home also gets offended when I add hot sauce to everything she makes me, but she won’t have it. She was ecstatic when I didn’t add pepper to the mushroom soup we had tonight, because she’d already put some directly in my bowl…..I now plan out my weekends and free time a few days in advance with friends, just like I used to do at home…..Traffic lights don’t really apply here; do as you will in the streets and don’t get killed…..Although having to take the bus here is a nuisance, I thank god every day that I don’t have to drive here. Streets that your average person might assume could fit one lane of traffic manage to fit cars parked on both sides facing any which direction, as well as two lanes of traffic, bicycles, vespas, and motorcycles….Amongst other au pairs, we frequently refer to our host parents as “mom and dad”, our apartments/houses as “my place” and complain about hobos on the metro, pigeons at our picnics, and expensive clothing as if we wished we lived somewhere different (ya, right)…..I play with E in the kitchen while her mother is making dinner, but don’t even think of it as work…..When E names the members of her family, “(w)Rachel” or “Lachelle” (depending on the language) is always included…..My high school commencement was this week, and I told my host mother about the awards I received as soon as I found out. For dinner that night, we celebrated with cake and champagne.

…..Whether I have class that day or not, I make my lunch the night before, just in case I don’t come home for lunch. This could consist of pasta, or the makings for a baguette sandwich in a tupperware minus the baguette. You can buy a demi-baguette for .45 euros anywhere. Frugality is the name of the game.

Now that I’m truly settled and not constantly comparing what goes on here to what I’m used to, I’m just appreciating what’s here for what it is. There are also countless things I do now that I absolutely hated before I came here. –I spend my free time on buses and trains hungrily using the French-English dictionary app on my iPhone to look up any possible word I think might come in handy in future conversations during the day–I feverishly take notes and listen attentively during every one of my classes; I thoroughly enjoy school for the sake of learning useful information that can be applied immediately. –I read the Globe and Mail on my iPhone every day, lapping up news from Canada (especially the Life section). –In lieu of music, I listen greedily to strangers’ French conversations, just to see how much I understand, and how my comprehension is coming along.

The highlight of my week was visiting the Shakespeare & Co bookstore. It is a bookstore originally operated by Sylvia Beach, that functioned as a library and bookstore for English writers in Paris. These included Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, Ezra Pound, and Ford Madox Ford. The first floor of the store includes all new books now, and is swarming with tourists. But when you climb the well-worn stairs to the second floor, it’s as if no one even knows it exists. The second floor consists of a children’s corner, a nook with a typewriter and notes from visitors all over the world,  and various nooks and crannies for reading the countless old books that are for use in the store only, and cannot be bought or lent out. I spent hours curled up in a leather chair, reading and listening to two young girls play Adele songs on the piano that’s also located on the second floor. My favourite note in the bookstore:

The moments where I realize I have all the time in the world to do whatever I’d like (as long as it’s free), are the ones that remind me why I chose to take this year in the first place, and this is only the beginning.

P.S. No one here has ever heard of a mini-van, or canned pumpkin.

The Parisian F(e)ast

I spent my pre-fast dinner in a restaurant where I was the only customer, and my break-fast consisted of my saying the hamotzi to E before devouring a piece of baguette and a Baby Bel cheese. Despite this, throughout my Day of Atonement in France, my own physical hunger barely came to mind. Yes, it was emotional and a little lonely, but I was so occupied by the strange place I was in doing something I was so used to doing, that hunger was barely an issue. In fact, not having to worry about food (which for those following this blog know is a biggie) gave me more energy to focus on E, and my surroundings. This made for the easiest fast I’ve ever had.

Before leaving for France, I hadn’t really given much thought to spending the high holidays away from my family, and what that would entail. As soon as I got here however, my dad being King of the Googleverse, was already busy researching some options for me. He came across Kehilat Gesher, http://www.kehilatgesher.org/wp/?lang=en, a Bilingual American-French Reform/Conservative congregation based in Saint-Germain-en-Laye. After rushing to the nearest mall to buy the cheapest dress and tights I could find, I was ready for my first ever experience attending services alone. I went to both the Kol Nidre and morning service, and was totally blown away by the ease with which a service could be conducted so fluidly in both French and English, while weaving in prayers with tunes I was familiar with, and some which I was not. This even included the compulsory “Assoyez-vous s’il-vous-plait, please be seated” repeated about 30 times. The compulsory handshake or hug after a Torah chanting was replaced by the classic French bisous. I didn’t feel very alone in the small, new-ish rented church in the ritzy, residential area of Paris, surrounded by families, young people, and couples speaking an amalgamation of at least two languages.

White balloons covered what I could only assume was religious writings above the make-shift bimah, but what fascinated me the most was the transliteration in the siddurs. (Spot the American Rabbi wearing the backpack in the photo)

It never occurred to me that using the same alphabet for transliteration wouldn’t be sufficient, that the inflections, accents, and the way in which certain letter combinations make certain sounds change from language to language. I spent the majority of my time in services enthralled by the prayer books, which were entirely bilingual (trilingual?), with transliteration to French.

Finding this tiny pocket of familiarity to have all to myself here made for a pleasant time on a solemn day.

On another note, I can’t say I agree with the stereotype of French people being unfriendly. I find most people working in shops and restaurants to be incredibly helpful; always smiling and genuine. It’s especially appreciated when instead of switching to English when they notice my less-than-refined accent, they just slow down their French and use more actions, so I still get the chance to practice my French skills without feeling like a total idiot. Now that my classes have started, I’ve realized how important it is that I take every opportunity to learn French while I’m here. I now speak with the parents in my family almost exclusively in French, even though I still have to speak English to their daughter. Immersing myself in the language during the week prepares me better for the weekends, when I put on my tourist cap and once again venture  into the Paris streets as just another foreigner with a camera.

Paris from the top of Montmartre, my new favourite area in Paris. This city is so white.

What constitutes a comfort food

When bored, uncomfortable, scared, nervous, upset, or anxious, people eat (or they don’t– one or the other). When experiencing such feelings in France, beware.

Croissants, “petits fours”, baguettes, Nutella, and an abundance of cheese are most readily at your fingertips. And although these foods are great and delicious for a little while, they are not my kind of comfort food. I know I grew up privileged. My mommy’s an awesome cook, and France is also just not nearly as ethnically diverse as the Toronto area, so spotting falafel, Chinese, Indian, or Thai food is my kind of comfort. Being able to afford this food, on the other hand, is something else entirely. This is why for the most part I have resorted to chocolate, and the now-empty jar of peanut butter in my house.

The prices here are obscene, and for those of us living on “pocket money” from week to week, a dinner out can be nearly half a week’s cash. Struggling with this food business alone has been a bit of an issue, but after my school registration on Tuesday and an au pair get together at the agency I went through on Saturday, there are a surprising amount of picky eaters and vegetarian au pairs. On top of complaining about our kids, ranting about how early the metro closes, how poor we are, comparing how much sleep we get every night and our living arrangements, food is obviously a big topic for discussion. Turns out its not just my family that loves meat. But while many other au pairs who live in Paris live in their own studio apartments separate from their families, and cook for themselves, I am fully integrated into my family’s life. Although this can seem strange at times, I really enjoy feeling like I’m living in a real family, where I can help myself to what I’d like in the cupboards and get advice and help when I need it. People continue to tell me how brave I am, but it’s hard to think about the big concepts like that when I’m still wondering how long it will take my socks to dry on a clothesline (they have no dryer), how to heat up my food without a microwave, and what time I need to leave in the morning to get on the right bus.

I’m also really starting to get a feel for the balance that’s required in the life of an au pair. Being here for two weeks seems like nothing after talking to au pairs who’ve been here for a month or more. Every one agrees that the beginning is hard, but more say that after that the time just flies by. Feeling like an old, tired nanny during weekdays, a kid stuck in their room on weekday nights, a tourist on weekend days and another young foreigner on weekend nights can be tiring, but it really is an awesome way to live. Saturday’s “get together” consisted of around 50-75 (mainly) female and male au pairs from Germany, UK, Austria, Holland, US, Canada, Mexico, Australia, and Colombia (and more!) who were given the opportunity in the afternoon to stand around and talk, and eat what we’d like from the long table piled high with goodies from everybody’s place of origin; I brought Rice Krispie squares I had made with E on Wednesday. They were a little stale but our hour of baking definitely paid off. In a completely French country, in a garden filled with foreigners, of course the language most people were speaking was English.

Comparing stories and situations with so many other people was quite a surreal experience. Only when you’re travelling can you hit it off with someone just because you’re from the same (giant) country, or because you’re taking care of children who are approximately the same age. I don’t think I’ve ever met strangers who’ve become my good friends so quickly. With these same girls, this weekend we navigated the maze of metro lines like real Parisiennes, taking the train in the opposite direction of our end destination in order to avoid 4 line transfers.

We even took photos with real French men!

(just kidding mom and dad, gimmicky waiters on les Champs Élysées don’t count)

Who knew that in two weeks I would go from carrying around a map while walking through my tiny town to having two different groups of tourists ask me at the train station if I 1) spoke English (I guess I’m starting to look French?), and then b) Directions to the Louvre (where I’ve never even been but still managed to send the first group in the right direction), or directions to Versailles on the train. After my second encounter, I even got told that my English was very good. I guess there are some perks to suburban life that went right over my head living in a huge suburb at home. They include bigger grocery stores, no noise pollution keeping me up at night, and a stellar knowledge of every plane, train, and automobile map and schedule on Ile-de-France.

I start school tomorrow, fingers crossed I get some homework.

Lists on Lists

Having hours upon hours to myself provides plenty of time for self-reflection. I choose to spend this time walking… and making lists.

The oh-so-French:

1. Men and women in full business attire on manual scooters. Scooting around the city.

2. Eating dinner from 9:30-10:30. Yes, dinner takes an hour.

3. The buses smell like cheese.

4. Getting on the bus to go to the mall, but the bus just doesn’t go to the mall and goes all the way to Versailles. And by the time I get there I need to stay on the bus to go pick E up from school.

5. a) Men in scarves. Not just winter scarves. Men proudly flaunting their patterned, tasselled, professionally-tied scarves.

b) Men with purses.

6. A wrap at McDonald’s costs 7 euros. Cheese costs about 2.

7. Cigarette butts on the ground are more numerous than leaves.

8. Domino’s Pizza delivery boys on vespas.

9. Peanut butter can be found in the international section of your local supermarket.

The UnFrench:

1. A store dedicated to selling only frozen food items to make meals with? That’s Picard.

2. This restaurant: 

3. We’re not in Quebec anymore: The stop signs say STOP, not ARRÊTE.

Exhaustion, culture shock and a lot of free time have led to my final list of Little Things that make me happy:

1. Sriracha in my tomato soup and my peanut butter on a baguette.

2. The discovery that the smaller the bites of food, the longer it takes children to eat (which means less time watching chickens dance). Except on Busy Thursdays, when two schools in one day makes for some chaos at lunch.

3. Spotting a Honda CR-V.

4. Walking up the Eiffel tower costs less than taking the lift, and means you get a workout and a better view… so it’s a win-win: 

5. Discovering the chocolate pantry in my family’s kitchen… and wishing I never had. (There’s a reason it has a child lock).

6. I had been craving peanut butter all day and couldn’t find any, and in the vending machine at the gare they were selling Snickers in packs of 2. I bought one and at first it got stuck (an episode undeserving of a place on this list) but after a little shoving two came out. That’s four Snickers bars.

7. Finally took the canadian change and TTC tokens out of my wallet… makes searching for a 2-cent euro (same size and shape as a penny) much less of a hassle

8. Running along the Seine results in running through multiple beautiful parks, then parks with horses, then farms…

9. The first full-length mirror I see every morning being the one in the elevator, I’ve reverted to assuming I look acceptable, no matter the circumstances.

More to come on living in Parisian suburbia. It’s not dissimilar from living in Toronto suburbia, except for the numerous scarves.

???Quick Quiz??? How many times on this blog is peanut butter mentioned?

“You got very hungry whe…

“You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food” -Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

On Food…and The week that chugged along like a rickety metro train with many station stops

I would definitely be lying if I used the cliche “Wow, this first week really flew by!” In reality, it was probably one of the most draining, exhilarating, independent, terrifying and difficult weeks of my life. Through it all, knowing I could spend my free time enjoying getting lost in a place that grows more familiar by the hour, and finishing a tiring afternoon Skyping with family and friends made each day bearable and a little bit better than the one before.

Living with a family here who’s incredibly helpful and caring has been really great. But eating dinner at 10 o’clock (or, 22:00) has been less than ideal, and means I eat about 5 meals a day on average (Breakfast, lunch, E’s lunch, E’s snack, E’s dinner, dinner) Or 6 max… It hasn’t been too hard to limit myself so far though. My food options here consist of bread, cheese…and that’s about it. My family was incredibly confused when I told them no, I wouldn’t be eating any antelope or reindeer around Christmas time. I’ve already prepared E. enough various sausages ranging on a colour scale of murky-gray to dark-brown, and I’ve been here 7 days. Fresh vegetables and fruits are not as available compared to at home.

Monday was my first day working, and while E. was in school in the morning I wandered around Saint-Germain-en-Laye for 3 hours. A little long for a town you can walk in 15 minutes, especially considering all the boutique prices begin at about 70 euros for a scarf. It’s very nice though, and as it was the first true town I visited here, I felt the “european” vibe I’m growing accustomed to. Among the many vespas parked around town:As the week’s worn on, I’ve learned to really appreciate and make the most of every minute I have to myself. Monday afternoon consisted of seven hours alone with E., and me struggling to spontaneously come up with things to do. My first day taught me to plan ahead, both for my sake and E’s.

On Tuesday E.was in school all day, and I had the opportunity to go to Versailles with a German au pair living in a town nearby. It was a miserable rainy day, and the people lined up for tickets and entry could have been the cast of the “It’s a Small World After All” ride at Disney World. With both of our impeding time restraints as far as children go, we called it a day after lunch in the palace and a visit to the bookstore, and decided we might actually ENTER another day, probably a weekend. After this monumental visit, the highlight of my week was still setting up my phone on Tuesday. As crazy as it sounds, those first four days without a phone made me feel even more disconnected and alone when I was away from the house.

Representatives from every country approaching the palace: 

Yesterday and today I also had some time to myself, and spent it journeying farther and farther in to Paris by myself. Without even planning on it, I managed to visit two arches in two days. La Grande Arche, which is at Le Defense (the outskirts of Paris) is the exact same dimensions as L’Arc de Triomphe, and they are lined up so when standing in one you can see right through the other.

La Grande Arche from L’Arc de Triomphe:

L’Arc de Triomphe from La Grande Arche: 

Being able to visit Paris as often as I will is of course a treat, I just hope it never loses its splendour. Perhaps instead of it becoming dull, I will just become more comfortable there and therefore begin to experience it in a new way. Anyone with recommendations on places to go or experience, please let me know!

With my 4 maps of different areas, along with my 4 bus schedules, my Time Out Paris and RATP (public transport in Paris) apps on my phone, my Let’s Go Budget Paris guidebook, and wise words from both my family at home and my makeshift family here, maneuvering the 14 metro lines, plus the RER, the bus, the train and the tramway gets a little simpler each time I swipe my NaviGO pass (A monthly transport pass is definitely the most helpful thing my family has provided for me).

A typical dinner: An “entree” (appetizer, not main course), the main course where I can generally just eat around the compulsory pork, and bread and cheese after the meal, as well as salad on some days. Salad after the meal truly blows my mind.

On top of craving my food and eating schedule from home, a list of some things I miss:

• the smell of hockey arenas (it begins to waft around the neighbourhood at this time of year)
• hugs
• when lake ontario smells nasty after it rains (the seine doesn’t have the same smell)
• peanut butter

I would have added tea to that list, but I made two mugs of it for myself today and am feeling much happier.

This job and experience have already been so rewarding. I continue to remind myself that this IS an amazing opportunity and I really do have to appreciate all the time I have here. The slope of this learning curve increases every day, but it’s unbelievable how comfortable I am already in an area I just got to on a continent I’ve never been before. The wonders of knowing you are 100% responsible for another human being will do that to you.

There’s a spot between my shoulder blades that won’t stop aching, my stomach’s always full of bread, and even though this is the first time in 15 years I haven’t been in school in September, I’ve learned more every day and done more homework each night (with research on where I’m going and how I’m getting there) than ever in one or pre-school to grade 12. With all of that in mind, each day I find myself smiling more and more, and I keep telling myself it will just get better and better as I uncover more of this culture and this country. Ernest Hemingway is helping too.

On the Journey

After what feels like nearly a year of preparations, anxieties, frustrations and elations, I’m finally here! Flying on two separate flights through the middle of the night and arriving in Paris in the afternoon left me feeling like I had just entered The Twilight Zone, with the changes in time, space, language and overall culture. I was expecting this, though, so although it’s been shocking I know it will pass.

Shoutouts to Poppa, I got a window seat with no one next to me and extra leg room on both flights. My first seat mate reminded me of the Jojo character from Across the Universe, who raved about Paris, the wonders of Europe, and the life-changing adventure I was about to embark on. My second was a silent Icelandic woman. Also on my flight to Reykjavik was a “Senior Tours” group, consisting mainly of excited ladies with their photocopied pamphlets depicting   grainy views of Iceland yammering away at the gate. The most spectacular part of that flight was flying into the brilliant sunrise over the island while landing in Reykjavik:

Waiting at the gate in Iceland while the city woke up at 7 am was very surreal, as I was fighting to stay awake at 3 in the morning for me. After a quick 3 hour flight (too short for the amount of sleep my body demanded), I was suddenly in Paris, the tiny Eiffel Tower spotted through the mist out of my scratched-up plane window:

Meeting up with the family was no hassle at all, and they are incredibly kind and helpful. We made so many stops on the way home from the airport so they could show me all the places that I would need to know how to get to with their approaching-3-year-old daughter, E. By the time I got back to their apartment, I unpacked and got settled in my zombie state and tried to go straight to sleep, but not before appreciating the view from my own personal balcony. From it I can see  the castle in Saint-Germain-en-Laye (the bigger town beside this one), as well as a little view of Paris to the East. Le seine from my balcony:

These next few days will just be a matter of getting used to this new life, wandering aimlessly (especially today before  my obligations start), and fighting off the jet lag. At least I feel more human today, since yesterday I would say I was 80% zombie.