Time for Paris

A brief introduction: After spending the last three (two? four?) days adjusting to the 7 hour time difference between Texas and France, I finally feel like something comparatively human! I am also getting tired of sending the same emails out over and over again, so I’ve decided to just dump everything (most things) here. Also, I’ve decided not to think about what I’m writing too much, since I’ve been suffering blog-paralysis for the last few days fretting over what to call this—if you have any suggestions, I’m open to them (I thought of a really good one and forgot it yesterday). Anyway, I decided to just start writing.

I was going to start this blog recounting the biblical floods in Houston on Monday that very nearly kept me from getting to my flight on time (but didn’t), or trying to navigate Charles de Gaulle jetlagged with a giant suitcase I couldn’t even lift. And then I thought about beginning with an account of my completely disoriented, tired, confused, and lonely first few days in the youth (although there seemed to be a lot more adults/people having business conventions then youths) hostel I was staying at until yesterday, sharing a room with seven strangers girls, where the food was free but questionable (ravioli filled with brown, amaretto-tasting meat paste?). Or maybe I should have started with how my French, which usually shows up pretty quickly when I’m in a Francophone environment (it did in Montreal and Marrakech!!) HAS COMPLETELY DISAPPEARED, and I can kind of understand most things but completely cannot think about how to respond to anything, making for an even more uncomfortable week of awkward, freshmen-style orientation introductions—All I can say is, oui, bonjour, bonsoir, pardon, ca va. French, please stop hiding like a pansy, I need you! But I’d rather talk about the spontaneous tango dance-off I saw last night.

My lovely roommate, Audrey, invited me to have dinner at her equally lovely friend Maya’s house (near the bastille) last night, who cooked a delicious (and much needed after a few days of baguette and onion soup) veggie-filled dinner—salad, split pea soup, and roasted squash, yum! And the dinner was only enhanced by great company and a few great/cheap-by-US-standards bottles of wine. Anyways, after hanging out for a bit, one of the girls suggested we try out this bar (whose name was like Chupito’s or something, which made me think of Houston’s Chapultepec, classy).

Chupito’s is in Oberkampf, and is known for having 2.50 euro shots, like creative ones not just tequila or whatever. This is what is written on the wall, with a list of probably more than 250 titles (Bang, Cartoon, Amigos) that had absolutely no descriptions. It was probably the most crowded place I’ve ever been in my life, but after wrestling to the bar with a new friend, Rebecca, and of course not remembering any of the names, she shouted, “Boyscout?” Which turned out to involve lighting the bar on fire, roasting a marshmallow on a stick, and dipping it into the shot glass before taking it. It tasted kind of like s’mores and kind of like apple juice?

Anyway, we all wanted to get away from the crowd so we went into the closest place we could find, a pretty low-key place with a fiddler. Naturally, there being a fiddler, a dancer and her post-middle-aged partner, a stout, completely bald man in a Harley Davidson shirt, started dancing—ballroom dancing. Another (younger, much more attractive) couple then started to tango, prompting the fiddler to begin again for a full-on tango tournament (completely limited to these two couples, mind you). It seemed pretty clear who was going to win, until the older man picked up the dancer and began swinging her around and around. It was very impressive, but I left pretty early so that I could take the metro home/ not mess up my newly acquired time shift.

Here are some photos of my place:

Just kidding:

My host mother is really nice: she does our laundry, cooks for us dimanche et lundi (so I haven’t had her cooking yet, and just showed me how to make toast (?) and where the nutella was, so good start). Maybe she’ll let me take her dogs (Jedi and Edgar) for a walk this week (once I remember what the verb is for “to walk” is).

OK, so one fun night down! Today: the last of my orientation, a walking tour starting at Hotel de ville. We’ll see if any of the awkwardness has thawed. Hopefully this week, with my jetlag pretty much gone (although Eric just told me it takes 7 days to adjust to a 7 hour time change), I’ll be able to check my email without tearing up, even if it’s just a link to an Onion article from my mom, or stop checking my several countdowns until my friends and family come visit. I miss everyone!