And of course, my beach vacation included beachy cocktails

Mojitos à la Bodeguita del Medio in Havana, Cuba
Fresh Mint Sprigs
1 oz. Lime juice
2 oz. Light rum
¾ oz. Simple syrup (see how to make simple syrup below)


Crush the mint sprigs at the bottom of a chilled highball glass. Fill the glass with crushed ice cubes. Add the simple syrup, lime juice, and rum and stir. I have found that a splash of Perrier (as it is lime-flavoured) is a nice addition to finish the cocktail off.

Simple Syrup
½ cup water
½ cup sugar

Stir together in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, remove from heat, and wait until sugar is completely dissolved. Chill.

A fresh wave of reality

Now, I have never been a beach person. While some people would love nothing more than recumbently roasting on a beach for the rest of their lives, I take sand and surf in limited doses, not in the least on account of the fact that I have an aversion to the sun. Once every year, however, even I—the translucently pale girl who wears SPF 50 on cloudy days—venture to the seashore.


All of my direct family (which is tiny to begin with) lives in Europe, and so, each summer, we go to spend time with them in the family's former house, where they lived during the Second World War before emigrating to the States. Located on the Côte Sauvage in southern Brittany, Saint Marc sur Mer holds a special place in all of our hearts: it's the place where, since the end of the war, the family—then very large, and living all over Europe and the States—would come to reunite. This tradition of our “family reunion” extends right up to today, though the house is now unoccupied for 10 months of the year, and the family is now limited to the four or five of us who can still make it. I have been going there and loving it since before I could walk.

One of the best parts of Saint Marc is the seashore—not your stereotypical, boring beach, but, a savagely beautiful seascape: a pristine beach flanked by rugged cliffs. Every day that I'm there, usually anywhere from a week to ten days, I will make it a point to swim each day. Now, I may not like hanging around on the beach, but I love the seashore, the smell of it, the way it sounds, the way it looks, the sensation of the wind beating across your face. That I could do for the rest of my life. In addition, I love swimming, not in pools, but in the ocean, where the waves toss you around a bit, and where you could keep swimming if you kept going. No boundaries, just open skyline and water. I could swim in the ocean for hours, like my grandmother and namesake (notice similarities? For example, we could both smother people with our hair.) who was a champion swimmer here in the 30s. I have also apparently inherited her love for frigid water, which Saint Marc has a lot of. It's not for the weak; if you're looking for the water to embrace you as you step in, this is not the place for you. But, for me, nothing feels better than plunging into the cold, choppy waves straight away. Maybe I'm crazy. It wouldn't surprise me.

Can you say, "Surprise!"?

After having seen Julia & Julia, and having learned about and fallen in love with Julia and her flair for French cooking, I knew that this year, I would have to take a look at Julia's Paris. The Cordon Bleu cooking school is still open and offers classes to aspiring chefs, the French still baste their food in butter, and Paris is still amazing. We knew all this. I was curious, however, as to what had become of Julia Child's house in Paris. Where was it? What was it now? Was there an itty bitty plaque?

This called for an expedition. After my adventure at the Musee d'Orsay, and having googled the address before going, I set off to find 81 Rue de l'Universite in the chic 7ieme arrondissement. It was pretty tricky to find; Google had been grossly mistaken of its location, and Paris is very easy to get lost in, mainly because the streets are not arranged in a handy-dandy grid system. But sure enough, I found it after a long walk in extreme heat.

The house is located in a very quiet neighbourhood just beyond the Boulevard Saint Germain. I was the only person on the street, aside from a bus load of French Gendarmes who looked at me with suspicion when I started taking pictures. I found the house, however, and was pleased. I'm also pretty sure that the movie was filmed there, as well. This fact, however, needs to be verified.

Sur les ponts de Paris

The other day, I was walking along the Pont des Arts, when I saw a collection of padlocks chained to the railings. Upon closer inspection, I saw that each was engraved with the names of a couple. When I got home, I looked it up: it is apparently a recent tradition (one of Paris' many) for couples who visit the city to take a padlock with their names either written or engraved on it, to attach it to the railings, and to throw the key into the Seine river running below. Being a helpless romantic, I was really charmed by this new tradition. I took pictures of some of the most interesting locks. Enjoy:

What would *you* do? [Caution: This post is not for the faint of heart]

Situation: It's a hot day in Paris and you have nothing to do. You decide that after taking a walk, you're going to take advantage of your student pass and go do things for free. Today, you have decided to visit the Musee d'Orsay, Paris' museum of impressionism. They have some form of air-conditioning and, heck, it's free. Why not.

So, you're wandering through the galleries, looking at all the pretty pastels and watercolours--Monet, Manet, Cezanne, van Gough, Degas, the whole lot of them. Everything is so pretty, you don't feel your skin burning off your body any more, you have the satisfaction of free admission, and everything is generally delightful.

You make a turn to the left into a room with purple walls, which is generally non-threatening, and you see this:

WWYD? (What would you do?)

"The Origin of the World" is one of the master-works of French realist, Gustave Courbet. I had first seen the painting at a Courbet exhibit a few years ago at the Met. I believe I has stared at it trying to not look awkward, and hence looking more awkward. (Also, another amusing sidenote: Whereas in the States, the painting was hidden behind a wall in an isolated corner of the exhibit, in France, it's the first thing you see when you enter the room. Something to think about.)

I thought it would be a fun activity to stay in the room for thirty minutes or so and watch people's reactions(a la flaneuse, I suppose. You know, stalking people in museums.)

This is what I wrote down:

--A man enters the room, see the tableau. He glimpses at it, turns around, and leaves the room.

--A young girl walks up to the tableau and looks at it intently. Her father whisks her away. She looks over her shoulder.

--A young man starts smirking as soon as he enters the room. He giggles to himself, walks up to the tableau. He leaves to get his friend, who reacts in the same way.

--A woman passes without looking.

--A woman walks up and smirks to herself.

--A father and son approach, pass without interest.

--Two elderly English men walk up quickly and excitedly. "Well this isn't like the rest," one exclaims.

--A young man looks at the tableau and then at the placquard. His girlfriend approaches, they look on in silence. He leaves. She stays.

--A group of young Asian girls enters with an older Asian man. All the girls act as if they haven't seen it and quickly leave. The man stays and smiles.

--A couple passes, he looks on intently.

--An older American couple enters, and the woman exclaims, "Oh my gosh. In your face." She reads the placquard, he shows no interest.

--A young woman looks on with ennui, passes, and leaves.

It's interesting. How would you react? What does it reveal about you?

I just stare at it and smile. What about you?

The Arrival of the Masses

I knew it was coming.

Every year on the first of July, France and Europe undergo a dramatic change; not only is it the commencement of the French's beloved "vacances," but it is also the day that signals the arrival of fifty million tourists. Now, I am the first to admit that I am a tourist, and that I, too, am taking up space. (There's nothing that irks me more than obnoxious tourists who wander into a crowded place and say, "God, what are all these people *doing* here??" For your information, o gentle tourist, you too are there, and you probably came there for the same inscrutable reason as the people you're ogling.) I also like to think (perhaps incorrectly and pompously), however, that I am not a pesky tourist--after all, I *am* a French citizen, I speak the language rather well, and, as a human being, I'm not obnoxious. I also do not travel in herds of 100s. This is crucial.

The past month that I've been here has been blissfully quiet, aside from some occasional romps associated with festivals or the World Cup. Yesterday, as my parents and I attempted to walk around the area of the Place de la Madeleine, we were hit with the unpleasant realization that we were in the midst of Eurocrush--a term coined by my family that truly captures the spirit of Europe in the summer months.

Eurocrush = A phenomenon that occurs in Europe during the summer months (particularly July and August), in which swarms of foreign tourists flock to the same place and all try to do the same thing at the same time. This generally results in feelings of claustrophobia, frustration, anger, and fear. Side effects include hiding in isolated rooms, and swearing to never visit Europe during the summer again.

I made the poor decision of walking down the Boulevard Haussmann and trying to buy stockings in an H&M during the notorious French "soldes" period. It was soon abundantly clear that the Cinquanta Cavones, Jabbering Japanese, and Abundant Arabs had me beat.

From now on I'm sticking to side-streets and coming out at night.


'Sup guys.

Gelato on the Fourth of July

There is a magical gelato chain in Paris that was evidently created when God sprinkled magic on the city. You enter the place, which displays before you 20 vats of sugar and love and happiness, filled with twisty glops of deliciousness. You then make your pick of cup or cone, and the servers ask you want you want. You get to choose a max of 3 flavours. Then, behind the counter, the server molds a beautiful ice cream cone with love and artistic skill that looks like a blooming rose. You take this delicious morsel into your greedy hands, and, if you can believe it, it tastes even better than it looks. God I love France.

I was so excited to be alive when this picture was taken.

Hello, Metzlers

The Metzler parents have officially arrived in Paris. This marks not only the loss of my comfortable bed and me actually being fed, but also the post-midpoint of my voyage in Paris. Less than 20 days until my return to the shores of America. Get ready.

La Fete du Cinema

This week, in addition to being the first real week of summer and the last week of classes, was also the Fete du Cinema in France. This annual cinema festival lasts for a week. If you purchase one regular movie ticket, you get a pass that allows you to see an unlimited number of other movies for only 3 euros each. With my student pass, I paid roughly $8 for my ticket, which was not bad at all, considering that the cinema was air-conditioned, unlike the great majority of French establishments. I saw something that caught my eye--a French film, directed by the same person who did the Triplettes of Belleville, Sylvain Chomet. The film was called "L'Illusionniste" and was inspired by the work of a legendary French actor from the 1950s, Jacques Tati. I really enjoyed the film, which was almost completely silent, and which was incredibly moving. I will definitely be seeing it again when I get back to the States.

Last week of classes, and other adventures

This week here in Paris, we had the true beginning of summer (and, consequently, the heat), the commencement of the "Soldes," and my last day of classes for the summer. Yes, you heard me correctly: this was my last week of classes here in Paris. My month long course, which met four days a week for several hours a day concluded after a month of reading, walking, and visits. I must admit, it went by extremely quickly and I really enjoyed it; however, not gonna lie, I'm glad it's over.

This past week was pretty quiet, but also very enjoyable: even my high-octane professor who thought it would be a good idea for us to read ten books in French over the course of a month was pretty relaxed. This week, we had the opportunity to read some of my favourite contemporary French writers: Colette and Sophie Calle, who also happened to be the only two women we read this semester. The material was interesting, we only had 3 days of class, and everything was pretty lax due to the arrival of the heat and the fact that it was the last week.

The week (like the whole month) went by very quickly--it was over before it began. To celebrate the end of classes, we had tickets to go see a spectacle as a class. We went to the Opera de la Bastille, a contemporary structure on the site of the old Bastille of French Revolution fame, to see "Kaguyahime," a modern dance piece by a Czech choreographer, inspired by the folk legends of Japan. Thus the ballet was a true melange of cultures: Oriental, Occidental, French, Eastern European, and Asian. The closest thing I can think to compare it to is (for all you honors kids out there) "The Rite of Spring" by Igor Stravinsky. The music was what many would describe as noise, and the dancing lacked the traditional line, instead relying on the pure vigour and energy of the human body. I, for one, really enjoyed it; it was a truly spectacular work of art.


Afterwards, Prof. Clark invited us over to his apartment for drinks and conversation with *real* French people, which was maybe one of the highlights of the semester. After the ballet, he approached us and told us to meet him at his apartment at 10 pm for drinks, which would usually be pretty sketchy, except that we were so curious that it didn't really matter. Haha.

So, we nervously headed over to his apartment and went up to the fourth floor, where we found his door open. Sure enough, he had prepared quite a spread: wine, cheese, potato chips, you get the idea. And, as promised, he had some of his French friends over, Olivier and Olivia (which also made it easy to remember their names). One is a professor of literature at Cambridge, and the other was a professor of Italian in France. They were both very welcoming and outgoing, and amused themselves by speaking with "les petites americaines." We had a few drinks, listened to Prof. Clark make awkward comments about Asians, French culture, and porn (not related to each other, thankfully), before heading home at about 2 in the morning. Talk about finishing with a bang.

Now all I need to do is choose and write an 8-10 page paper on a topic of my choice related to the course, which is due July 18th. That will come in time. Right now, I am enjoying my free time and relaxation here in Paris. The paper can wait.