Remember how I got bumped from my flight from France to Berlin last weekend and was rewarded with a €350 AirFrance voucher for my trouble? Well:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/30/business/30bump.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5087%0A&em&en=cb453ca4b2d9ed62&ex=1180670400
Speaking of the voucher, though, Harry and I are going to use it for a long weekend somewhere. We've narrowed our options down to Vienna, Turin, Lisbon, Barcelona, and Copenhagen. Any suggestions?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
career ambitions
So I'm considering going to culinary school after I graduate from Columbia.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Seriously.
I want to become a professional patissière. (Translation: pastry cook.)
What's that? You want to know why? Well, okay then!
I love to bake. You know this about me. Or you don't, and are therefore not really my friend at all. Anyway, I've been baking for AmCath - for rehearsals and brunches and stuff - since February. A few weeks ago, Kate, one of our altos, approached me and asked me to bake for her retirement party. Of course, she said, she would pay for the ingredients and labor. Excellent! I gave her a list of about 8 different cakes and pastries that would go well with the ice cream and champagne she was planning on serving; unfortunately, she decided to only have 4 of them. So. I spent all of Saturday afternoon and evening grocery shopping and baking. It was AMAZING - I had so much fun doing it! Okay, after the 6th batch my arm was starting to hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feel-the-burn kind of hurt.
The following was served at the party, which nearly 70 people attended: chocolate cake (with a chocolate glaze, duh), chocolate chip cake, vanilla sponge cake with cream and strawberries, and lemon poppyseed bread. (I had also suggested some sort of fruit pie or crumble, scones, banana bread, and pistachio cake, but she wasn't interested.) I hovered by the foood table for an hour, greedily watching people eat, until Harry told me I was creeping out the guests and tore me away. I couldn't help it, though: it was so satisfying to see people enjoying what I had made!
Anyway, the point is, I walked away from the party with €30 and the desire to learn how to bake, properly, and to do it all the time. So there.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
happy [belated] mother's day.
[Warning: introspective post. Do not read if you're anti-introspection.]
I used to be a lot like Dad. When I was younger, people used to comment in equal numbers that I looked like either Mom or Dad; my temperament, however, was absolutely Dad. We were both stubborn in the same way, driven in the same way, and angry in the same way.
I'm not sure when or why this changed, but I've been realizing recently how much like Mom I've become. I don't mean physically, although once I hit puberty everyone agreed that I looked like Mom (and not just because of the boobs and hips thing). You know the expression "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" I'm not entirely sure this apple has actually fallen from the Mommy tree.
From the way I react to people and situations, through my values and morals, to my habits and rituals, I am my mother. I'm writing about this now because, although my awakening has been happening for the past few months, it was thrown into relief over the past week; primarily because Harry and I have been dogsitting for the past week, but also because I just moved into a new apartment. The dog thing is pretty simple. Even though it's technically Harry who's dogsitting, and he's wonderful about it, when I've been there I've been the one who gets up in the morning to take her out for a walk, the one who defends her when she's been bad, the one who has a hard time not feeding her people food, the one who calls her pet names, etc. Moving into the apartment has been another eye-opening thing; specifically, this morning I had to stop myself from taking my cup of coffee (black, obviously, because that's how Mom drinks it) into the bathroom and leaving it on the counter to get cold while I showered, which is what Mom does. These two examples fall into the "habits and rituals" category, and as children learn from their parents, I suppose it's not surprising that I am copying what my mother would do in these situations. However, it's not just in this area that I look to my mother for what to do. I'm not entirely comfortable giving examples of the other two categories, because that's way too personal to put online, but if you know me and Mom, you know that there's a good chance we would deal with a problem the same way, we would give to our friends and family the same way, and we would value the same things in the people around us.
Even though I can no longer call my mom ever day (damn international phone rates!), she's absolutely here with me, in Paris, all the time. She's not looking down on me, like someone who has died; she's HERE here, inside me. I can't escape her.
I'm so glad.
I used to be a lot like Dad. When I was younger, people used to comment in equal numbers that I looked like either Mom or Dad; my temperament, however, was absolutely Dad. We were both stubborn in the same way, driven in the same way, and angry in the same way.
I'm not sure when or why this changed, but I've been realizing recently how much like Mom I've become. I don't mean physically, although once I hit puberty everyone agreed that I looked like Mom (and not just because of the boobs and hips thing). You know the expression "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" I'm not entirely sure this apple has actually fallen from the Mommy tree.
From the way I react to people and situations, through my values and morals, to my habits and rituals, I am my mother. I'm writing about this now because, although my awakening has been happening for the past few months, it was thrown into relief over the past week; primarily because Harry and I have been dogsitting for the past week, but also because I just moved into a new apartment. The dog thing is pretty simple. Even though it's technically Harry who's dogsitting, and he's wonderful about it, when I've been there I've been the one who gets up in the morning to take her out for a walk, the one who defends her when she's been bad, the one who has a hard time not feeding her people food, the one who calls her pet names, etc. Moving into the apartment has been another eye-opening thing; specifically, this morning I had to stop myself from taking my cup of coffee (black, obviously, because that's how Mom drinks it) into the bathroom and leaving it on the counter to get cold while I showered, which is what Mom does. These two examples fall into the "habits and rituals" category, and as children learn from their parents, I suppose it's not surprising that I am copying what my mother would do in these situations. However, it's not just in this area that I look to my mother for what to do. I'm not entirely comfortable giving examples of the other two categories, because that's way too personal to put online, but if you know me and Mom, you know that there's a good chance we would deal with a problem the same way, we would give to our friends and family the same way, and we would value the same things in the people around us.
Even though I can no longer call my mom ever day (damn international phone rates!), she's absolutely here with me, in Paris, all the time. She's not looking down on me, like someone who has died; she's HERE here, inside me. I can't escape her.
I'm so glad.
Monday, May 21, 2007
pendrer la crémaillère
ATTN: only read if you love me. And by "love" I mean "send me things through the post."
Since I'm moving on Thursday (woohoo!) I have a new mailing address. It is:
Betsy Remes chez Mme Dubreucque
10, rue Saulnier
75009 Paris, FRANCE
Since I'm moving on Thursday (woohoo!) I have a new mailing address. It is:
Betsy Remes chez Mme Dubreucque
10, rue Saulnier
75009 Paris, FRANCE
the Pee-er
There's a new baby in my life. Her name is Olympia. I call her the Pee-er.
I bet everyone but Mom is totally confused. "The Pee-er? A baby? What?"
She's a dog, silly! Harry is housesitting for some friends while they're out of town, and they have a 10month old puppy that they're still housebreaking. Hence the nickname "the Pee-er." She's a total sweetheart. They don't know what breed she is; she's black and looks like a lab except that shes a little smaller and a lot skinnier. (She was sitting on my lap - okay, trying to sit on my lap by spilling off - but is now curled up between the small of my back and the back of the armchair. She's making it pretty difficult to type, so any errors are her fault.) Harry and I have already fallen into playing good cop/bad cop: he yelled at her when she tried to jump up to the table to steal breakfast and she ran between my legs to hide. Obviously, I told him off for yelling at her, but I have a funny feeling this is the way it's going be be for the next week, especially as I only work part-time while he's full, so I'll see her more often. She really is a sweetheart. She makes me miss my other baby - the Grunter!
I bet everyone but Mom is totally confused. "The Pee-er? A baby? What?"
She's a dog, silly! Harry is housesitting for some friends while they're out of town, and they have a 10month old puppy that they're still housebreaking. Hence the nickname "the Pee-er." She's a total sweetheart. They don't know what breed she is; she's black and looks like a lab except that shes a little smaller and a lot skinnier. (She was sitting on my lap - okay, trying to sit on my lap by spilling off - but is now curled up between the small of my back and the back of the armchair. She's making it pretty difficult to type, so any errors are her fault.) Harry and I have already fallen into playing good cop/bad cop: he yelled at her when she tried to jump up to the table to steal breakfast and she ran between my legs to hide. Obviously, I told him off for yelling at her, but I have a funny feeling this is the way it's going be be for the next week, especially as I only work part-time while he's full, so I'll see her more often. She really is a sweetheart. She makes me miss my other baby - the Grunter!
ach ja
Last night I got back from a weekend in Berlin with the grand Rosenblums. It was an adventure from start to finish.
I left my house at the buttcrack of dawn (okay, 8am) to take the RER to Charles de Gaulle. Realized 15 minutes into the train ride that I had forgotten my passport. Had to bribe Nellie, who was asleep, to bring it to the station so I wouldn't miss my flight. I ended up making to to the airport with an hour to spare - only to discover that they had overbooked my flight by 20 seats. I was bumped to a flight that was taking off at the same time for Stuttgart. Okay, not so bad, right? I mean, at least I didn't have to connect through Cairo to get to Berlin. The layover in Stuttgart was 2.5 hours, but everything was smooth and I assumed the adventure was over when we finally landed in Berlin, 4 hours after I was originally scheduled to. Not so much - my luggage had been left in Paris. So that was a bummer. (It all ended well, though; my luggage arrived at the hotel a couple hours later, and Air France gave me a flight voucher. Biarriz, here I come!)
I missed the day's activities with Nana and Pappy (that's Dr. and Mrs. Rosenblum to you), but managed to join them for the opera that night. We saw Der Rosenkavalier at the Komische Opera. It was... unconventional. Musically, it was superb; I'm not a huge fan of Strauss (or the Romantics in general), but the singers were all excellent. The last duet between Sophia and Octavian was so beautiful it made my heart melt. The director made some interesting staging decisions: each act took place in a different century, with different period costumes, and the set in the last act was completely turned upside down. Interesting.
On Saturday we breakfasted together, and then, as Nana and Pappy had been in Berlin since Tuesday and had done all the museums already, split up. I think they just wandered around; I went to Museum Island. Spent nearly two hours in the Bode Museum, which houses medieval and renaissance art. It was incredible. It felt really good, too, to be able to analyze everything properly after having taken this medieval art class; I loved passing a sculpture and immediately noticing the contrapostal position of the figures or the style of the folds in a robe. I felt terribly educated. I then triped over to the Pergamonmuseum, where I just went through their three-room highlights tour. Then, while waiting for Nana and Pappy to meet me for lunch, I went through a street fair next to the river and bought a lovely menorah for 10 euros. In the afternoon, Nana and I did a little shopping (note: H&M is different in every city!). Before dinner, the three of us walked to the Brandenburg Gate and the Holocaust Memorial. It was incredibly moving; theres a stretch of land covered with gray stelea, over 2000 of them, all of different hights. It's so stark and bleak and beautiful. I had a little trouble with some of the underground exhibits. The museum beneath the stelea began with a timeline of WWII's genocide, and moved onto diary entries from victims and a room with artifact from different families that were killed in concentration camps. Tha hardest bit was the next room, where a voice read the names and dates of murdered Jews as their information flashed on the walls. It takes over 6 years to get through everyone.
Obviously, we went to dinner - right next to the Brandenburg Gate - rather somberly. The restaurant was really good, though; it was in Max Lieberman's old house, which was cool, and the food was delish.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we all went to the Jewish museum. I found it pretty disappointing. Every piece of every collection led to the Holocaust. I'm not saying we should forget what happened, but it's kind of irresponsible for a museum to focus exhibits on a specific goal; German Jewry existed for 2000 years before the genocide of World War II, and we need to learn about it's triumps and glories as well as the persecutions it withstood. After that, Pappy and I hit a roadside stand for some curryworst, sausage covered with ketchup and curry powder. The stands are everywhere, and I was told I HAD to try it, but it was pretty uneventful. As I had to finish a paper for a class, I headed to a Starbucks to work in the sun for a few hours before going to the airport.
(I love museums and sightseeing and everything, but my favorite part about a new city is just wandering and then people-watching at a cafe.)
The adventure ended with an unexciting flight that was delayed for 30 minutes. Woohoo. It was really wonderful to see the grand Rosenblums, though (really; I'm not just saying that because I know you're reading this, Nana); I practically live with them while I'm at school, so it was lovely to catch up.
I left my house at the buttcrack of dawn (okay, 8am) to take the RER to Charles de Gaulle. Realized 15 minutes into the train ride that I had forgotten my passport. Had to bribe Nellie, who was asleep, to bring it to the station so I wouldn't miss my flight. I ended up making to to the airport with an hour to spare - only to discover that they had overbooked my flight by 20 seats. I was bumped to a flight that was taking off at the same time for Stuttgart. Okay, not so bad, right? I mean, at least I didn't have to connect through Cairo to get to Berlin. The layover in Stuttgart was 2.5 hours, but everything was smooth and I assumed the adventure was over when we finally landed in Berlin, 4 hours after I was originally scheduled to. Not so much - my luggage had been left in Paris. So that was a bummer. (It all ended well, though; my luggage arrived at the hotel a couple hours later, and Air France gave me a flight voucher. Biarriz, here I come!)
I missed the day's activities with Nana and Pappy (that's Dr. and Mrs. Rosenblum to you), but managed to join them for the opera that night. We saw Der Rosenkavalier at the Komische Opera. It was... unconventional. Musically, it was superb; I'm not a huge fan of Strauss (or the Romantics in general), but the singers were all excellent. The last duet between Sophia and Octavian was so beautiful it made my heart melt. The director made some interesting staging decisions: each act took place in a different century, with different period costumes, and the set in the last act was completely turned upside down. Interesting.
On Saturday we breakfasted together, and then, as Nana and Pappy had been in Berlin since Tuesday and had done all the museums already, split up. I think they just wandered around; I went to Museum Island. Spent nearly two hours in the Bode Museum, which houses medieval and renaissance art. It was incredible. It felt really good, too, to be able to analyze everything properly after having taken this medieval art class; I loved passing a sculpture and immediately noticing the contrapostal position of the figures or the style of the folds in a robe. I felt terribly educated. I then triped over to the Pergamonmuseum, where I just went through their three-room highlights tour. Then, while waiting for Nana and Pappy to meet me for lunch, I went through a street fair next to the river and bought a lovely menorah for 10 euros. In the afternoon, Nana and I did a little shopping (note: H&M is different in every city!). Before dinner, the three of us walked to the Brandenburg Gate and the Holocaust Memorial. It was incredibly moving; theres a stretch of land covered with gray stelea, over 2000 of them, all of different hights. It's so stark and bleak and beautiful. I had a little trouble with some of the underground exhibits. The museum beneath the stelea began with a timeline of WWII's genocide, and moved onto diary entries from victims and a room with artifact from different families that were killed in concentration camps. Tha hardest bit was the next room, where a voice read the names and dates of murdered Jews as their information flashed on the walls. It takes over 6 years to get through everyone.
Obviously, we went to dinner - right next to the Brandenburg Gate - rather somberly. The restaurant was really good, though; it was in Max Lieberman's old house, which was cool, and the food was delish.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we all went to the Jewish museum. I found it pretty disappointing. Every piece of every collection led to the Holocaust. I'm not saying we should forget what happened, but it's kind of irresponsible for a museum to focus exhibits on a specific goal; German Jewry existed for 2000 years before the genocide of World War II, and we need to learn about it's triumps and glories as well as the persecutions it withstood. After that, Pappy and I hit a roadside stand for some curryworst, sausage covered with ketchup and curry powder. The stands are everywhere, and I was told I HAD to try it, but it was pretty uneventful. As I had to finish a paper for a class, I headed to a Starbucks to work in the sun for a few hours before going to the airport.
(I love museums and sightseeing and everything, but my favorite part about a new city is just wandering and then people-watching at a cafe.)
The adventure ended with an unexciting flight that was delayed for 30 minutes. Woohoo. It was really wonderful to see the grand Rosenblums, though (really; I'm not just saying that because I know you're reading this, Nana); I practically live with them while I'm at school, so it was lovely to catch up.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
mi casa es su casa!
I mean that sincerely, but in the broadest sense of the phrase. Like, my casa is my casa, and I'm not going to share it, but COME TO PARIS AND VISIT ME from May 24-July 17! I have, in fact, an extra bed. Très exciting.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Anyway, here's a map of my new area: http://www10.ratp.info/Proxi/proxi.php?exec=proxi&cmd=LexicoAdresse&Profil=RATP
Please note that there are six (6) synagogues in the quartier. Also, rue Cadet (the bit between rue Lafayette and rue Faubourg Montmartre) is an open air market, pretty much. ALSO, there are tons of ethnic restaurants around that I discovered while getting lost after meeting with my landlady last week. Très exciting.
I went to the Paris Choral Society's performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis last night. Apparently, by just emailing Ned for an audition when I first arrived, I missed out on the fact that there's a whole world out there of Parisian musicmaking. Don't get me wrong, I love AmCath and I don't want to sing in the PCS (I don't like rehearsing one piece for months and months and months, performing it once, and then putting it away), but... who knew? Anyway, it's Ned's group, and some of the AmCath kids - inluding Harry - are in it, so I played the supportive girl/friend, and went. Ho no, I didn't pay for my ticket; I volunteered to usher, and so got in for free. It was a good performance. It was, really. It's an exhausting work to do, and most of the PCS are amateur singers, but they gave it their all and so woohoo to them. Afterwards a bunch of us went out to some swanky 8th arrondissement bar, drank way too expensive martinis, and gossiped. I love choir people.
Monday, May 14, 2007
more editing
I just deleted one of the posts I put up yesterday afteroon. If you didn't read it, you didn't miss much; basically, my apartment has lost power, sprung leaks, and been denied hot water, all in the last three weeks. If you did, sorry to have subjected you to my ranting.
The whole thing pretty much should have been summed up as such: I can't wait until May 24th, when I move into my new place.
The whole thing pretty much should have been summed up as such: I can't wait until May 24th, when I move into my new place.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
editing
I said we were doing the Mathias "God is gone up." I was wrong, duh; it's the Finzi "God is gone up," and we did the Mathias "Let the people praise thee." Oops.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Speaking of AmCath, though, I was like a microtone flat throughout the entire service, which wouldn't be that bad except that I was standing in front of Edmund, who's an amazing musician and probably absolutely noticed. I tried to think of a way to joke about it too him - " Oh, I hate having flat days, don't you?" - but didn't think I could pull it off. Of course he's forgotten about it by now, but I'm stil embarassed. Poo.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Armelle, Art History, and Americans
a) Armelle. She's the little girl I tutor in English. I'm kind of obsessed with her. She's seven, and smart and very playful. We don't get as much done as her father would like, but we have a really good time. (I think she's kind of obsessed with me, too.) Today we spent quite a bit of time talking about what it means to be part of a global community. She told me that she thinks the world should be linguistically divided in two: half the world should speak French, the other half English, and that the two sides should never trespass on each other. I tried to explain to her that it was important for countries and regions and whatever to keep their languages because language is tied to culture and tradition, and that if we didn't share our cultures and traditions we'd all be the same. She replied that we'd all get along better if we were the same, and then said that when she's president, she's going to make a law that says that you can only speak French in France. "All the Americans who don't speak French - poof! - out!" She said. "This is OUR country. Poof! But you can stay, Betsie." (She spells my name like that.) "Your French gets better every time we have a lesson, so you can stay." Aw. Thanks.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
b) If you need proof that I'm a baller, here it is: I had this huge medieval art dossier due on Thursday, and I really needed an extra day or two to finish it. After the exam on Wednesday, I went up to the professor and pointed out that the syllabus says it's due Friday. She asked if I needed the day, and I replied that it would absolutely help. She looked slightly taken aback (Betsy? Needing extra time? Not being on top of her game? Impossible!), but told me that she'd rather an excellent paper than one that was merely finished, and that I could take the week. Excellent!
c) No Finzi next week - the soprano exodus kind of xnayed that. But tomorrow we'll be doing the Mathais "God has gone up" and a really really pretty Nestor chant thing. In other singing news, though, I just got the music for this summer's tour with Bruce. Good stuff - a lot of Howells and Sowerby and Neswick (duh) and some Darke. Holla! Can't wait to look over it all.
laïque, my left foot
Okay, I guess I get that even an avowedly secular country like France makes Easter monday a bank holiday. I get that.
But Ascension and Pentecost? Are you kidding me?
But Ascension and Pentecost? Are you kidding me?
Monday, May 7, 2007
in-laws
Harry's parents loved me, by the way. He was totally freaking out about me meeting them (he almost cried when I joked about wearing a miniskirt and a see-through top to dinner), but I was a smooth criminal and charmed my way into the fam. Well, I definitely charmed his father; we had arguments about the relative merits of historical fiction and had several very civil discussions about politics. He was a doll. The Mrs was a little harder to crack, but I don't think that has anything to do with me. We did have a lot of fun ganging up on Harry at lunch after AmCath on Sunday, though, so that's something.
first step toward adulthood:
the apartment search!
I have to be out of my apartment, which I share with two other girls from my program, by June 1, and so I attacked my apartment search with gusto. I was very cute, actually; I poured over craigslist.com/paris and circled listings in the English-language classifieds magazine with a red pen. I wrote up a list of questions to ask potential landlords, like, "How far is the nearest laundromat?" and "Does this include utilities?"
(Déjà vu, by the way - if I've already written about this, sorry; if I haven't, let's just chalk it up to my delirium.)
I made four appointments. The first was for a room in an apartment just on the other side of the Pantheon from me. I really wanted my own apartment or studio, but was willing to trade off for location and a lower price. It was a beautiful apartment, and had great views (including the one from my would-be-future balcony). More importantly, it had a washer/dryer and an actual bathtub. The couple was really nice, too, and I must have made a good impression, because although I need somewhere for less time than their other interviewees, they offered the room to me.
The second appointment was for an apartment in the 9th, an area I don't know very well. The place is actually a full apartment, split in two; the front half has a tiny bedroom, a livingroom/diningroom room, a full kitchen (with dishwasher [!!!], oven, microwave, and 4 top range), a big bathroom, and decent closet space. The second half, in the back, is the landlady's private suite of rooms. She'll be in the states this summer, but usually shares her apartment with a student during the school year. The place was really pretty and very cute. Kind of smallish, but more than sufficient. AND it's only on the 1st floor (that's the second to you Americans) and gets tons of sun and faces the courtyard and there are flowers everywhere. I was entranced. I took it. I'm siked. I'll put photos up when I move in.
(The third apartment was more expensive than I wanted, and the fourth was far out, so I don't think I jumped the gun by not seeing them.)
I'll actually be moving in on the 24th of May, nearly a week before I have to, but Operation Let's See If Betsy Maintains Her Sanity With A Flatmate She Can't Stand has failed spectacularly, and so I want to be out asap, wasted rent money be damned.
(Funny story about my new hood: I was walking around a bit after looking at the apartment, and I ran across two butcher shops and a flower shop in a row that were closed. "Strange," thought I, "things don't usually close on Saturdays in Paris." I walked a little further, and passed two bearded, dark-suited men. "Strange," thought I, "it's the middle of the day. I wonder where they're going?" I walked a little further... and tumbled on a synagogue. "Aha!" thought I.)
I have to be out of my apartment, which I share with two other girls from my program, by June 1, and so I attacked my apartment search with gusto. I was very cute, actually; I poured over craigslist.com/paris and circled listings in the English-language classifieds magazine with a red pen. I wrote up a list of questions to ask potential landlords, like, "How far is the nearest laundromat?" and "Does this include utilities?"
(Déjà vu, by the way - if I've already written about this, sorry; if I haven't, let's just chalk it up to my delirium.)
I made four appointments. The first was for a room in an apartment just on the other side of the Pantheon from me. I really wanted my own apartment or studio, but was willing to trade off for location and a lower price. It was a beautiful apartment, and had great views (including the one from my would-be-future balcony). More importantly, it had a washer/dryer and an actual bathtub. The couple was really nice, too, and I must have made a good impression, because although I need somewhere for less time than their other interviewees, they offered the room to me.
The second appointment was for an apartment in the 9th, an area I don't know very well. The place is actually a full apartment, split in two; the front half has a tiny bedroom, a livingroom/diningroom room, a full kitchen (with dishwasher [!!!], oven, microwave, and 4 top range), a big bathroom, and decent closet space. The second half, in the back, is the landlady's private suite of rooms. She'll be in the states this summer, but usually shares her apartment with a student during the school year. The place was really pretty and very cute. Kind of smallish, but more than sufficient. AND it's only on the 1st floor (that's the second to you Americans) and gets tons of sun and faces the courtyard and there are flowers everywhere. I was entranced. I took it. I'm siked. I'll put photos up when I move in.
(The third apartment was more expensive than I wanted, and the fourth was far out, so I don't think I jumped the gun by not seeing them.)
I'll actually be moving in on the 24th of May, nearly a week before I have to, but Operation Let's See If Betsy Maintains Her Sanity With A Flatmate She Can't Stand has failed spectacularly, and so I want to be out asap, wasted rent money be damned.
(Funny story about my new hood: I was walking around a bit after looking at the apartment, and I ran across two butcher shops and a flower shop in a row that were closed. "Strange," thought I, "things don't usually close on Saturdays in Paris." I walked a little further, and passed two bearded, dark-suited men. "Strange," thought I, "it's the middle of the day. I wonder where they're going?" I walked a little further... and tumbled on a synagogue. "Aha!" thought I.)
lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
(It seems I have used this as a blog post title before. That's either amazing or really, really sad.)
lions = allergies. France is crazy with pollen, kind if like DC, but with pollen that my body can't deal with. I've developed these super Nana sneezes that scare me with their violence.
tigers = finding a new apartment and finalizing my summer jobs. (More like a big, stuffed, fuzzy tiger from FAO Schwartz; I've both bound a new apartment and finalized my summer jobs. Details later.)
bears = the last week of Reid Hall classes.
It may seem kind of counter-intuitive, but every time the end of the semester rolls around, and I'm staring down freedom, I start wishing I had taken the semester off and swearing that I'm going to run away to the circus. Why? This is why:
Monday: grammar paper #4 rewrite, grammar paper #5 final, med. history paper, grammar exam.
Tuesday: bank holiday woohoo!
Wednesday: med. art exam
Thursday: med. art dossier, history of paris exam
Friday: death and destruction
I'd greatly appreciate emails and stuff in my time of travail. I'm starting to think that only Kate Chieco, Christine, and Nana still love me.
lions = allergies. France is crazy with pollen, kind if like DC, but with pollen that my body can't deal with. I've developed these super Nana sneezes that scare me with their violence.
tigers = finding a new apartment and finalizing my summer jobs. (More like a big, stuffed, fuzzy tiger from FAO Schwartz; I've both bound a new apartment and finalized my summer jobs. Details later.)
bears = the last week of Reid Hall classes.
It may seem kind of counter-intuitive, but every time the end of the semester rolls around, and I'm staring down freedom, I start wishing I had taken the semester off and swearing that I'm going to run away to the circus. Why? This is why:
Monday: grammar paper #4 rewrite, grammar paper #5 final, med. history paper, grammar exam.
Tuesday: bank holiday woohoo!
Wednesday: med. art exam
Thursday: med. art dossier, history of paris exam
Friday: death and destruction
I'd greatly appreciate emails and stuff in my time of travail. I'm starting to think that only Kate Chieco, Christine, and Nana still love me.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/05/us/politics/05darwin.html?hp
Can you even imagine this being an issue in an election in France? France, a country where religious influence on the government is so feared that officials are doing their best to curb religion entirely, would never debate the relative merits of Darwin's theories.
I wish someone had assigned these 10 Republicans "Inherit the Wind" when they were in the eighth grade.
I wish someone had assigned these 10 Republicans "Inherit the Wind" when they were in the eighth grade.
olfactory Paris
There are a couple smells that I absolutely love here in Paris. The first, the eggy waft of crepes on the wind, is pretty indigenous to France, so it's not surprising that I've never smelled it in the states. The second and third, though, are more or less banal, but I've only noticed them here.
Bakeries. Boulangeries. You always know that you're coming up to one by the yeast in the air. No matter which way the wind is blowing, the boulangerie smell always entices you forward.
Cologne. Men. Most mecs smell amazing here, and the scent always lingers after you've passed them in the street. Always. Doesn't matter how attractive - or not - the guy is; I almost always do a double take just because of his aftershave/cologne/whatever it is that men wear.
Yummm.
Bakeries. Boulangeries. You always know that you're coming up to one by the yeast in the air. No matter which way the wind is blowing, the boulangerie smell always entices you forward.
Cologne. Men. Most mecs smell amazing here, and the scent always lingers after you've passed them in the street. Always. Doesn't matter how attractive - or not - the guy is; I almost always do a double take just because of his aftershave/cologne/whatever it is that men wear.
Yummm.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
le débat
(K met Maureen Dowd last night at the Times' Paris bureau. He's got the hookup. I am jealous.)
So the debate watching party went well. We started out with 18 people, of whom maybe 66.67% spoke French, and by 10pm, an hour into the debate, were down to 9 people, all but one of whom spoke French. There was food and wine and the company was, of course, stellar, but I've never seen people concentrate so hard on a TV before. (Except maybe during Grey's Anatomy, but that's a whole other level of viewing.)
I think I understood most of it. Ludo, a French friend of Harry's and the only eligible voter in the room, explained some of the more obsure things to me, like the 15 minute argument about nuclear power, which I still don't really get but put on a convincing show of nodding my head and murmuring, "Ah, oui, oui, je vois."
As "Matin Plus," the morning métro paper, says, Royale was on the offensive for most of the evening, and Sarkozy displayed a capability and collectiveness (as well as an ability not to speak like a robot) that his opponent just couldn't match. It was, as expected a heated debate: at one point, Royale accused Sarkozy of "political immorality" and told him he lacked "credibility." Sarkozy, on the other hand, delivered some zingers at socialist Royale, such as, "Calm down. If you want to be President, you have to be able to be calm." It was kind of amazing.
Anyway, after the debate, Ludo, Acha, and Henri, our French delagation, discussed the hot points. I contributed by asking stupid questions, Rob jumped in with poli sci and IR awesomeness (I was very proud of him; he really knew what he was talking about), and Harry pledged everlasting love to Sarkozy (I can't believe I'm dating another conservative! This is bad.).
So the debate watching party went well. We started out with 18 people, of whom maybe 66.67% spoke French, and by 10pm, an hour into the debate, were down to 9 people, all but one of whom spoke French. There was food and wine and the company was, of course, stellar, but I've never seen people concentrate so hard on a TV before. (Except maybe during Grey's Anatomy, but that's a whole other level of viewing.)
I think I understood most of it. Ludo, a French friend of Harry's and the only eligible voter in the room, explained some of the more obsure things to me, like the 15 minute argument about nuclear power, which I still don't really get but put on a convincing show of nodding my head and murmuring, "Ah, oui, oui, je vois."
As "Matin Plus," the morning métro paper, says, Royale was on the offensive for most of the evening, and Sarkozy displayed a capability and collectiveness (as well as an ability not to speak like a robot) that his opponent just couldn't match. It was, as expected a heated debate: at one point, Royale accused Sarkozy of "political immorality" and told him he lacked "credibility." Sarkozy, on the other hand, delivered some zingers at socialist Royale, such as, "Calm down. If you want to be President, you have to be able to be calm." It was kind of amazing.
Anyway, after the debate, Ludo, Acha, and Henri, our French delagation, discussed the hot points. I contributed by asking stupid questions, Rob jumped in with poli sci and IR awesomeness (I was very proud of him; he really knew what he was talking about), and Harry pledged everlasting love to Sarkozy (I can't believe I'm dating another conservative! This is bad.).
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
elections
Everyone keeps asking me what I think of this year's elections in France, and I usually crib a line or three from my French friends, creating my own learnèd persona. I think, however, that it's time for a confession: I have no idea whom I'd vote for, were I eligible.
I don't think foreigners, even those who have lived in France for decades or those who have a comprehensive knowledge of French history, can fully understand the importance of this election or everything that has led up to it. We understand immigration struggles, anguish over unemployment, and questions about national identity, but we cannot understand these issues as the French do; we can only study them objectively, rather than internalizing them subjectively.
That being said, I'm having people over tonight to watch the Sarkozy/Royale debate (there will be wine and dessert, too, obviously; you know how I do). Mostly my guests will be American, but there will be a strong French showing, so, together, we'll maybe kind of hopefully get what's going on.
I don't think foreigners, even those who have lived in France for decades or those who have a comprehensive knowledge of French history, can fully understand the importance of this election or everything that has led up to it. We understand immigration struggles, anguish over unemployment, and questions about national identity, but we cannot understand these issues as the French do; we can only study them objectively, rather than internalizing them subjectively.
That being said, I'm having people over tonight to watch the Sarkozy/Royale debate (there will be wine and dessert, too, obviously; you know how I do). Mostly my guests will be American, but there will be a strong French showing, so, together, we'll maybe kind of hopefully get what's going on.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
le 1è mai
So the first of May is a huge holiday here in France; to celebrate and honor the workers (sorry, Workers), we have a day off from work. (Have I mentioned how I love France?) There are also people selling muguets on every street corner - it's the official flower of the day. Anyway the weather is phenomenal, and I think every Parisian must be outdoors today. I picnicked in the Luxembourg Gardens today with K and his friend Wendy, and it took me a good 5 minutes to find them in the mass of humanity on the lawns. I must have walked past three seperate brass bands while walking through the park, as well as some sort of show in the gazeebo. Such festivities! Labor Day has nothing on this.
I was supposed to tutor this afternoon, but got stuck waiting for a tram at Cité Universitaire, at the south end of the city. (European cities are rediscoving the utility and eco-friendliness of electrical trams; this one rings the city at the periphery.) As Armelle's father told me when I called to tell him we'd have to reschedule or I'd be 45 minutes late, "Nothing functions on the first of May.) Glad I went down there, though, because I got to see France's Socialist movement in action! Okay, not exactly in action, but en masse nevertheless; Segolène Royale, the Socialist candidate for president, had a "meeting" at the Stade this afternoon. According to a guy on the street, the Stade was packed, but you couldn't even get within half a mile of the thing for the hundreds of people gathered outside. Everyone was walking around with pins and stickers and posters. It was a pretty young crowd, lots of students, I think. (Voter turnout for the first round of elections was 85% this year, a record for France. Can you imagine where our country would be today if 85% of Americans had voted in 2004?)
While I was down there, though I walked around the Cité Universitaire and fell in love. It's an international student housing complex - kind of - that was founded just after the Great War to foster international understanding. (I think the idea was to get them when they are young... muahaha.) There are about 20 houses for different countries, and an international house for all the others. It's mostly residential and cultural; students who attend the various universites in and around Paris can live there, and they have tons of events. It looks like a college campus, with lawns and trees and things - not like the Parisian Universites at all. I'm going to call and see what kind of hoops you have to jump through to live there.
Why, you ask, would I want to live there? Well. Let me tell you. I got rejected (no soft language here, I was rejected, and [expletive] the waiting list they put me on) from the summer program on medieval churches I wanted to do. I have to be in Dublin on July 24th, though, and I really wanted to stay in Paris, so... I'm staying in Paris. I'll be babysitting and tutoring and working on my thesis. I've been trolling FUSAC, the English classified magazine, as well as Craigslist and various bulletin boards for babysitting gigs and apartments. This is my first apartment search - it's scary! I feel terribly grown up when I call people and ask them questions about their apartments, though. "Excuse me, but is the 650€/month all inclusive? How close is the nearest laundomat?" I've got it down! First appointment to see a place is tomorrow night... wish me luck!
I was supposed to tutor this afternoon, but got stuck waiting for a tram at Cité Universitaire, at the south end of the city. (European cities are rediscoving the utility and eco-friendliness of electrical trams; this one rings the city at the periphery.) As Armelle's father told me when I called to tell him we'd have to reschedule or I'd be 45 minutes late, "Nothing functions on the first of May.) Glad I went down there, though, because I got to see France's Socialist movement in action! Okay, not exactly in action, but en masse nevertheless; Segolène Royale, the Socialist candidate for president, had a "meeting" at the Stade this afternoon. According to a guy on the street, the Stade was packed, but you couldn't even get within half a mile of the thing for the hundreds of people gathered outside. Everyone was walking around with pins and stickers and posters. It was a pretty young crowd, lots of students, I think. (Voter turnout for the first round of elections was 85% this year, a record for France. Can you imagine where our country would be today if 85% of Americans had voted in 2004?)
While I was down there, though I walked around the Cité Universitaire and fell in love. It's an international student housing complex - kind of - that was founded just after the Great War to foster international understanding. (I think the idea was to get them when they are young... muahaha.) There are about 20 houses for different countries, and an international house for all the others. It's mostly residential and cultural; students who attend the various universites in and around Paris can live there, and they have tons of events. It looks like a college campus, with lawns and trees and things - not like the Parisian Universites at all. I'm going to call and see what kind of hoops you have to jump through to live there.
Why, you ask, would I want to live there? Well. Let me tell you. I got rejected (no soft language here, I was rejected, and [expletive] the waiting list they put me on) from the summer program on medieval churches I wanted to do. I have to be in Dublin on July 24th, though, and I really wanted to stay in Paris, so... I'm staying in Paris. I'll be babysitting and tutoring and working on my thesis. I've been trolling FUSAC, the English classified magazine, as well as Craigslist and various bulletin boards for babysitting gigs and apartments. This is my first apartment search - it's scary! I feel terribly grown up when I call people and ask them questions about their apartments, though. "Excuse me, but is the 650€/month all inclusive? How close is the nearest laundomat?" I've got it down! First appointment to see a place is tomorrow night... wish me luck!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
