Skinny-Fat

Today in French class, we talked about bread, the center of the French universe. Our professor said that French people considered bread as the most important part of a balanced diet, and that the American obsession of carb counting is what is making us such fatties. If we ate more bread, we wouldn't have to worry about the chub.

Yes, lots of Americans are overweight, and it's an issue, but I would argue that Americans are much healthier than the French.

The French may be thinner on average, but that doesn't mean they're fit, or healthy. No one I see on the street looks particularly toned, because no one does any physical exercise whatsoever. Running on the street will attract dirty looks, and gyms are few and far between. I was reading French ELLE in a café once, and had to laugh at the "fitness" advice they gave to petite women such as myself. In order to 'feminize' our figures by whittling ourselves some sort of a waist, just do some stretches that might have been considered a warm up in an American-style work out and call it a night.

My teacher also neglected to mention that French women are obsessed with staying thin. There is even a verb for "to get fat" (grossir), that's how serious they are. If they didn't have to go to great lengths to maintain their lean figures, they probably wouldn't make such a big deal.

The French are skinny-fat, I've decided. Skinny on the outside, but fat on the inside. If someone actually tested their cardio-vascular fitness, they'd do miserably. And have we forgotten about smoking? Lung capacity, ha! At least I can blow out all my birthday candles without wheezing, Frenchies. Then I'm gonna eat my cake too. And then regret it, because carbs = the devil.

Waffles in Brussels and Souflees in Paris

I'll be in Spain a week from now, which means it's almost Toussaint, which means it's almost December, which means I'm almost home. Time flies, I tell ya.

Welllll, let me give you a quick rundown on what's happening in Gay Payree and elsewhere.

Monday, a friend and I went to Père LaChaise, a large cemetery in East Paris filled with the bodies of the rich and famous. We hobnobbed with Oscar Wilde, Molière, and Jim Morrison. I'll try to get some pictures from her to put up so you can see my pretty face, as well as the beautiful fall colors. That day was so gorgeous, and the light in the cemetery was just perfect. Paris doesn't do fall very well in general, so that beautiful day soothed my ache for my favorite season back home. It's constantly rainy and cold here, and nobody jumps in piles of leaves, or carves pumpkins, or drinks hot apple cider, or goes apple picking, or goes for a hayride, or dresses up for Halloween. Thanksgiving is going to be ROUGH, you guys. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm supposed to embrace cultural differences with open arms, but when those differences mean I can't have Papou's cranberry sauce, naturally I get a bit rowdy.

Early Tuesday morning I took a truly amazing (technology we don't have at home (yet) blows my mind) 1.5 hour high speed train ride to Brussels, city of chocolate and waffles and capital of Europe. It was a cute city, nothing compared to Paris, but what can you do. Belgium is kind of the Canada of Europe. What are these Beligians all about? No one really knows. All we can tell about them is that they have 2 official languages, and make waffles (which coincidentally go along great with maple syrup).

To add to the oddness of the Belgians, one of the main attractions is a fountain of a little boy taking a whiz. It's called "Manneken Pis", or literally, little man piss in Dutch. I refused to go see it, because that is basically the silliest thing ever. Why would I go out of my way to watch a little pudgy baby pee? I don't need to go all the way to Belgium to see that! French parents don't change diapers, they just let their babies go to the bathroom on the sidewalk. I've seen it far too many times.

We visited the European Commission and the Council of Europe, gained some knowledge, and I got some free EU goodies. All in all a successful field trip, even if I ignored one of Belgium's national treasures.

Now I'm back in Paris, fresh off a visit to the Opera Garnier and a cooking class. The cooking class was fun times, y'all. My friend and I figured it would be us and a bunch of 50 year old ladies, and we were totally right. Our chef, Emmanuel, was laid-back and unpretentious and helped us make cheese and chocolate souffles along with a salad. There was also wine, so, score. Emmanuel clearly loved all the adoring attention he got from the ladies, but who can blame him. Everyone was moaning with pleasure or in the throws of ecstasy after tasting their chocolate souffle (***OMG LOL, There is just something *special* about chocolate, right ladiezzz??? ;-)***), so I guess he does have the right to be appreciated as well. Thanks, Emmanuel. You rock my world.

Oh yes, and everyone is on strike again! Which means lousy mail service, and a crowded sweaty metro, with only a few trains running. Blahhhh. My absentee ballot better get to the states in time!

Bon Week-End, everyone! Now off to start on my piles of papers....

Stuff French People Like.

This is a list. Sort of like "Stuff White People Like", but different.

1. English. Sometimes it's the writing on their shirt that gives it away: "Who are you and why are you reading my shirt?" or my personal favorite, "Cat". Sometimes it's their use of expletives. I wonder if they apologize by saying "Pardon my English"?

2. PDA. I know Paris is romantic and all that crap, but everyone is smooching everywhere. I can't escape it. People are even smooching at the next table over, 4 feet away from my face. I feel like the third wheel, and I don't even know these people!!!

3. Dogs. French people love dogs. Probably more than their children. I saw a French lady hit her child, but I've never seen a French person hit their dog. And that's, like, proof, right?

4. Baguettes. At any time, 8 out of 10 Parisians are carrying a baguette. True story.

5. This joke. I've heard it about 3 times on the metro: "What do you call a person who speaks 3 languages? Trilingual. What do you call a person who speaks 2 languages? Bilingual. What do you call a person who speaks 1 language? American."

6. Carbs. My meals at home are quite nutritious, but I worry about what I'm eating the rest of the day. All my options seem to involve cheese, bread, and chocolate. And all the mayo they put on every sandwich!! I don't understand how French women only eat terrible things, and they stay thin. Someone told me it's just because they eat richer ingredients, which fills them up, so they eat less overall. I'm not sure.

7. Correcting you. French people will tell you when you've butchered their language. Not in a rude way, but they'll make sure you know you've made a boo-boo.

8. Drinking in the streets. Any open container is okay in France. A very popular night activity is gathering wine, cheese, and bread for a picnic down by the Seine, or in the Louvre courtyards, or in the Tuileries, or wherever. Some friends and I did this on Friday evening, and it was great! On Saturday, a few of us went to a festival around Sacre Coeur in Northern Paris. There was music, creepy people in costumes, dancers, food and drink from France's different regions. And no fence! That so wouldn't fly in the U.S. But it was a lovely day with lovely weather and lovely people.

9. 16 euro hamburgers. I mean, really?

10. Sitting in a restaurant/café/coffee shop for hours on end. No one ever gives you dirty looks or asks you to clear out. It's glorious. You're paying a premium to occupy their space, so take your time! There is a hierarchy of prices: Sit on the patio>sit inside>stand at the bar>To-Go

Well, I'll be M.I.A for a few days since I'm going to Brussels to visit EU institutions on Tuesday and Wednesday. Think of all the waffles that are waiting there for me. Until then, Adieu.

Alexandra can't figure out how to buy a Navigo Pass

After spending a month stubbornly buying booklets of metro tickets, and killing a whole lotta rain forest, I finally decided it might be a good idea to get with the program and Al Gore by buying a Navigo pass. It's this plastic card that you buy and fill up every month, or every week, and ride unlimited. So, passport photo in hand (the French LOVE passport photos. They use them for everything. It's nuts.), I went to the Rue de Bac metro station after class and tried to buy a Navigo pass. But it didn't go so well.

Me: Hi, I need to buy a Navigo Pass! (Straightforward enough, I thought)
Metro Station Lady: Which one, dumb-ass*?
M: I beg your pardon?
MSL: There are 4 types, regular, student...yaddayaddayadda, whatdoyouwant?
M: Um, well, I'm a student, so that one I guess.
MSL: Shoves an student card application at me

End Scene

I read the application on the train home, and it was some sort of contract for 12 months, which wasn't what I was looking for. I figured I needed to buy a regular old Navigo pass.

So at the Victor Hugo station, I went to the booth and asked the gentleman there how I could purchase a monthly Navigo pass. He told me to go to the ticket machine to buy a voucher, and then bring it back to the booth. I went to the machine, and there was no option to buy any sort of Navigo voucher. I went back to the booth to ask about this, and he'd already locked up and left for the evening. Apparently actually helping me get what I needed was below him and his time.

Clearly the universe does not want me to save money or trees.

*ok, an embellishment. But it was implied!

J'ai un problème...

Tomorrow there will be a huge strike against pension age reform, with two million Frenchmen expecting to take part, and I have to find some way to make it to class at 10:15... Google tells me it's about a 50 minute walk, which is a little ridiculous. Trying to take the metro will be too risky, with only a 1/3 of trains in service. Apparently the buses will still be up and running, so we'll see if I can figure out a route.

It's a huge no-no to be late to class, especially if you have a French professor. All this trouble because they're planning to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62! My goodness. Can't the French be happy with their 35 hour work weeks and 7 weeks of paid vacation?


Agrandir le plan

Nervous for nothing, I'm sure.

I have no idea where the snooty Parisian stereotype comes from. So far, I've made lots of 'friendships' on my way to or in Paris, and I've found that Parisians are willing to go out of their way to help you and befriend you, as long as you are polite. I sat next to a fellow study-abroader and sorority girl from SMU on the airplane, who was incredibly kind and empathetic and made my 8 hours aboard Delta flight 44 as pain-free as possible. After having trouble finding my airport shuttle, because I was directed to the wrong terminal for pick up, a AirFrance staff member named Ralib took care of everything for me, got another shuttle lined up straight away, and even gave me his phone number in case I need anything during my stay in Paris. The shuttle driver and I bonded over rush-hour traffic, and he even told me I was 'hyper-cool' for dealing with the delay. At my host-apartment on Avenue Victor Hugo, i've enjoyed the company of my Turkish host-mother, Sonia, who should brag about keeping a virtual United Nations of host-children, with deux Japonais, un Brésilien, et moi, l'Américaine. That being said, the others are leaving, since they are summer students. This means I get a room with a sweet view of La Tour Eiffel, but it also reminds me that I'm starting my SciencesPo orientation with a blank slate tomorrow.

I'm looking forward to meeting my classmates, since it is difficult to enjoy and navigate a city (especially at night) without friends. Plus it's just a bit lonely. At the same time, I am extremely nervous, which is bizarre, if you think about it, since most are Americans, all are Northwestern students, and many are Poli Sci majors, like me...

I put a lot of weight on first impressions, and I know that forming these friendships will be important, for the rest of my stay in Paris, for the next 2 years at Northwestern, and beyond. I will be spending the next 3.5 months with these people, and it kind of freaks me out that I've never met any of them before.

But if all else fails, and I'm just too socially inept to get along with people who are exactly like me, I have Justine, my French friend, who will hopefully introduce me to her school friends and give me the inside scoop on the city.

Either way, I'm sure I have plenty of long-lasting friendships on the horizon.