not a tourist anymore?

When I took a break from my exposé (more on this hellish academic toil later) to check my email, I realized something: I arrived almost exactly a month ago. How did I spend my one month anniversary? From midnight on: being out with friends, catching a cab late, working in the morning (15€ feels pretty nice, and cancels out cab-related guilt), eating pain-au-chocolat, doing extra babysitting at night, and writing my very first exposé. Honestly, it was so very normal that I didn't even think about the date (though I've been anticipating it), which is exactly how I wanted my life here to be at this point.

Do I understand everything here yet? No, but I can do things in French that would've seemed impossible exactly a month ago, when I was walking back to my hotel room dizzily after a glass of wine and a falafel-- give (accurate) directions to native speakers, sympathize with my fellow commuters when an accordion-player sneaks on board the metro, get additional work taking care of kids who don't speak any English, make small talk with drunk security guards, and of course, write and deliver an oral exposé (which is pretty foundational at Sciences Po).

A month! If I had known, I would've eaten something a little bit fancier than my (usual) tomato soup.

Journées du Patrimoine

Today and tomorrow are the annual "Days of the Patrimony" here in France and presumably other places in Europe as well-- the weekend, during which museums are free and government buildings are open to the visiting public, was made official by the European Council in 1991. I don't know how it's celebrated elsewhere, but here, it seems to be a big deal-- the streets and métro platforms were packed with French tourists, and everywhere from the National Archives to L'Elysée (the presidential residence) were free for visitors all day long, with President Sarkozy actually greeting guests at the latter.

It is easy to understand why these events are so popular here. For the French, the patrimoine is not just a set of monuments or institutions, but something to be discussed at length, and actively protected, whether that protection means keeping museums and monuments well-maintained, or trying to make every French student read certain famous patriotic texts, as Sarkozy wants to do with the famous letter of Guy Môquet (not-too-great English translation here)

I chose to celebrate my host country's culture not by (re)reading the letter of the killed resistance fighter, or even shaking Sarko's hand. Instead, I visited the Senate, which was less notable for all of its desk, tables, and microphones, than for its awful baroqueness. Awful is a strong word-- the whole building was magnificent, and quite lovely if you think that covering every possible surface with gilt and trompe-l'oeil marble painting is the height of taste.
I know, I know-- the only way to really judge a piece is in its cultural context. I appreciate the time and attention to detail it takes to ensure that every possible surface is painted, sculpted, and/or covered in gold, but on a personal level? I find this era of art kind of gross.

I haven't decided what to see tomorrow-- if I can get a group together, a picnic at Versailles would be really, really nice. I promise this time I'll bring my camera.

By the way

I will post more often from now on-- I have been writing entries (that always go unpublished) on paper and procrastinating in finishing them, but I think I will do more spontaneous things like the last post, as well as short posts on things like:

French slang
Odd things in advertisements/ Le Monde
Bizarre Metro performances
Sciences Po woes

Etcetera.

And of course, I will try to post some well thought out essay-like pieces, as well-- I have been trying to organize my thoughts, but it's been hard to find time.

À demain, je vous promets.

3 amis

What I've mainly been doing at night is going out with other Sciences Po students to Sciences Po-sponsored activities. During the day (i.e., during my class) (bien sûr), the Bureau des Elévès plans museum tours, guided visits of famous Parisian districts, and lunches in Belleville, but somewhat (ok, completely) unsurprisingly, the nighttime excursions are always bar nights and parties at clubs. So tonight my friends and I decided we would go see a movie. Our first choice, Paris je t'aime wasn't playing anywhere on the weekend, just during the week (France, come on), so instead we opted for a comedy we'd seen advertised: 3 amis .

It was really the only thing my 4 amis and I had seen advertised (absolutely everywhere). The taglines were pretty standard: What is this strange relation we call friendship? This story is of love without sleeping together. And of course, on the poster: A friend is priceless... but can cost a lot.

Surprisingly, that last line is not only a general, vague statement about l'amité, but perhaps a reference to the fact that one ami pawns his watch and steals from his job in order to pay a prostitute to date his recently divorced friend. Other than a few other touches like that that were strange enough to be unexpected, the whole thing was pretty predictable-- not terribly funny, but okay, and simple enough that even though I couldn't understand everything they were saying, I was able to follow the story without problems. Not bad for something watched on impulse, though maybe not quite worth 9 euro-- picking a theater on the Champs-Elysees was perhaps not the most cost-effective decision I've made since I've been here.

It was a fun place to meet up with my friends, though. It's definitely the most touristy place I've been in Paris so far-- everywhere there were tour buses, people wearing fakey berets (in the metro I saw about a dozen pepto-bismol colored ones on a group of Brits), and of course, hundreds and hundreds of cameras. I've never lived somewhere that attracts tourists before, so I'm still at the stage where my annoyance at them is mixed with amusement. On one hand, being surrounded by them is frustrating, and often causes delays-- they walk slowly, they stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures, and they uniformly ignore or are ignorant of the rule about escalators: if you want to stand still, keep to the right so that people who actually have somewhere to go can pass you. I can't blame people for not knowing these things, because I'm sure there are a lot of really impolite/ignorant things I do here, but it's still quite difficult not to sigh loudly or say some rude words.

Staying (seemingly) polite isn't too hard, though, as long as the tourists manage to make themselves hilarious, which pretty much happens without fail. The most common way is by photographing everything in sight. While I waited to meet a near the Arc de Triomphe, a bus pulled up, and every tourist who disembarked started taking pictures as soon as their feet hit the ground. Not of the Arc, mind you, or the Tour Eiffel glowing in the distance, but of metro signs, pigeons, and park benches. C'est comprehensible, mind you, but paired with shrieks of, "Omigod, take my picture by the Disney Store! A Disney Store in France!", c'est aussi pretty awful-- the only thing you can do is laugh.

Of course, this doesn't just happen on the Champs-Elysées-- anywhere where there are notable and interesting things to see, there will be tourists blocking the view and snapping pictures with their camera phones.


"There but for the grace of God..."

le santé

I went to the Bastille tonight with a whole Sciences Po crowd. Yeah, that Bastille-- though there's nothing left of the prison anymore. Instead, the whole area is dominated by bars and clubs of various degrees of sketchiness, from the classy to the not-so. More tomorrow, but before I go to bed, the two main questions I received in the course of many conversations tonight:

1. "Well, of course Americans don't like football [soccer] usually, but now that you've got Beckham, are people watching it a lot?"

2. "Oh, you're from the U.S.? ... Hey, have you seen that movie by Michael Moore?"

This usually refers to Sicko (though a German brought Bowling for Columbine up in a conversation about the relative safety of the US and Canada). I have seen it, and even if I hadn't, I could here, bien sûr. The posters are all up around my metro stop, and it's been playing at the nearest theater since I've been here.

The tagline is different than on the US poster-- "In the United States, to stay healthy... don't fall sick!" Which somehow sounds a little smug, which they're justified for.

When I saw it in the U.S., I had France on my mind anyway, and wondered just how idealized Moore's portrayal of this particular health system was. Not very much, it turns out-- the people I've talked to have confirmed that the information given is pretty accurate. I paid my 192 euros yesterday to get my social security number and enroll in the system, which means (since I have the insurance UNC made me buy, as well) that I am 100% covered medically. As soon as I get my insurance card and number, I'm planning on calling the dentist and dermatologist. Obviously, I need these services, but I have to admit that I am pretty curious to experience this health system from the inside.

More tomorrow.

Demain

Didn't have the courage to hit the flea markets on my own today, but tomorrow, I will brave the herds and be part of this crowd:

Disoriented and roaming in large packs: American tourists

I have really been trying to stay away from touristy places, but I can't resist: the first Sunday of the month means free entry to the city's museums. Le Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, Centre Pompidou? I don't know, really-- I guess I will figure that out on the metro when I have to. Either way, wish me bonne chance and bon courage; all of them will be packed.