La Coupe du Monde en France

One of the highlights of my stay here in Paris thus far has been that it was during the period of the World Cup. I am not a big sports fan, but when I do watch sports I watch either tennis or soccer. So, when the World Cup rolls around, I am always excited about it. Unlike in America, where soccer mildly interests but fails to excite people, Europe loves soccer. A lot. And it shows.

My preferred team is Germany for many reasons: (1) I am German; (2) the French team this year was terrible; (3) They're all really good-looking; (4) They just seem to be a nice, wholesome bunch. I went to watch the Germany-England match, which was a complete blow out. So exciting. Nothing quite like sitting in a cafe surrounded by happy German tourists watching World Cup.

The Saga Continues: Jackie and Madeleine go to Mont Saint Michel

On June 19, 2010, Jackie and Madeleine embarked on a very special adventure; they finally decided that they wanted to go to visit the Mont Saint Michel, the small rocky island about 1 km from the north coast of France at the mouth of the Couesnon River in Bretagne. The mount is best known for the medieval Benedictine Abbey and steepled church that occupies most of the 1km-diameter clump of rocks jutting out of the waters of the English Channel. The island is accessible when the tide goes out, by the means of a small causeway and road. When the tide comes in, however, at the speed of a galloping horse to quote Victor Hugo, the small rocky mount becomes an island, accessible only by the narrow path between the mount and the land.

The Mount is about a 3 hour trip (via train and bus) from Paris, and so we left early in the morning from la Ville Lumiere for the coast. We left Paris in gloom and rain, and within 3 hours, we saw the Mount eerily emerging from the clearing mist in the distance. Soon, we were at the foot of the Mount, looking up in absolute awe. It was stunning--possible one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Now, I can understand why my dad proposed to my mom here so many years ago (good job, dad. How could she say no?). The first sensation I had was of the salty sea air filling my lungs. We were lucky because the sun had started to peek out from behind the clouds by the time we arrived. The Mont Saint Michel stood out like an incredible tower against the bright blue sky, and the water of the coast was a perfect grey-blue that melted into the white sand.
After surveying the area, we made our way to the walls of the city. Right away, we were surrounded by swirls of tourists who crowded the little cobblestone streets. Thankfully, however, we were not victims of Eurocrush (for definition, read Jackie and Madeleine go to Versailles) in spite of it being a Saturday afternoon. So, we slowly made our way up the steep and winding street to the mid-point of the Mount, where our efforts were rewarded with a truly stunning view of the distant town. Our next step was to go in to visit the Monastery right at the top of the Mont, which we thankfully got into for free with our student cards (Win!). The view from the top was absolutely incredible. You could see for miles around, and the horizon was a gentle blue that faded into the blue of the sky. The monastery was really wonderful, and we walked around for a couple of hours, making our way through the labyrinthine corridors of the building, before going back out into the sunshine again. Unfortunately, on account of the time of the last bus' departure, we did not have that much time to spend there, but we did have enough time to visit the Monastery, have lunch in a nice little creperie, and walk along the sand for a while.

We found a little path that was off the beaten path, and made our way to the quiet side of the island, where there were rocks and a path along the beach that led to a tiny abandoned chapel. The winds were incredible. I was actually afraid that I was going to fall over as we were walking across the beach. But at the same time, I was so happy to be there, enjoying the sunshine and feeling the sea air whip across my face and through my hair. The beach was unlike any I had ever seen: the water was neither blue nor dark, but a clearish grey color, and the sand was like clay. I later learned that that was because it sometimes turns to quicksand. Oops.

At the end of the afternoon, we hopped back on the bus, and went back to Paris. What a whirlwind of a trip!

Madeleine's first classy bar ^_^

For those of you who know me, you know that I don't go out. I don't really drink, not because I don't want to. but because it's too complicated in the States and the prospect of hanging out illegally with drunken bros really does not appeal to me. For those of you who don't know me, why are you reading this? That's creepy. Go away.

Back to the point: I don't go out in the States; however, apparently when I'm in France with other young people, I go out somewhat frequently. Again, it's not that I really have a rabid desire to go out and hit the town. Actually, I would rather not. I feel like I need to be sociable and "bien profiter" from the experience while I'm here, however.

One thing that I really enjoy is how I don't have to be terrified to drink or buy alcohol. I can walk into a store, pick whatever the hell I want, walk to the counter, slap my money on the counter, and go for it. Or, similarly, I can walk into a cafe and get what I want. Also, because it's France, it's obviously more classy and more appealing than in the States (probably because there are no French bros).

Last night was the birthday of one of the girls in the program, and so we went out to celebrate. I also went to my first ever bar in France, and my first ever classy bar. I have been to Tinkers and Mug-z once each, and there was a reason why I never returned. Because they're gross, and filled with bros. Not appealing in the slightest.

This place could best be described as a Fripster bar that was tucked away in a corner off the Bastille. Andrea, the girl whose birthday we were celebrating, has a cousin who lives in Paris, and who knows good places to go out, and so she took us. I don't even know the name, but it was a great, hopping little place, with purple walls, fluffy chairs, almost no light, and a shiny round bar right in the middle. It was also filled to the brim with really attractive Fripsters. I felt like I was in Brooklyn--with French people. It was great.

We all ordered the same drink, with a base of vodka and some kind of sweet fruit juice, called a "Jolie Poupee." It was amazing. I wish that I remembered what the hell was in it. Hm, let's see. I think it was vodka, lime, and some kind of tart grapefruit-like fruit. Miam miam.

We chilled there for a few hours--I think from 11 to 1-ish--and it was a great time, not to mention excellent for people watching.

I also had a first--it was the first time a guy ever approached me of his own free will and asked to buy my a drink. He was a cutie, too, probably because he was dressed like a metrosexual, as all French men are. Andie and her cousin went somewhere, and Monika and I were there together, when he walked up to me and said, "Oh hi. Are you French?" When I replied no, he (predictably) said, "Oh, so you're German!" I didn't even fight it, and, heck, it's better than admitting that you're American. We chit-chatted for a little while about what I was doing in Paris, what I was studying, how I was German, etc. and he asked me if he could buy me a drink. Inwardly I was like, oh! score!, but I wasn't going to give him any false hope. He was a nice guy, and that would have been unfair. I hope he was ok with me taking a creep--I mean, flaneur picture of him on the sly (Note the good sweater. Good sweaters = always important).

But, anyway, it was exciting! It was a good night: I got home somewhat early, skyped with my Alex, and went to sleep. A perfect end to a good day :)

This experience will make me a professional stalker

One of the things that I have learned over the course of this class is that a flaneur is, in many ways, a professional stalker. I started to suspect this early on in the class, when we read about people who would see a building they found interesting, go in through the door, find the people inside, and lurk in staircases and closets. My suspicions were confirmed when my professor asked us to stalk people for class.

"For Wednesday's walk," he said gleefully, "we're going to go to the Rue de Rivoli. There, you will find someone who you find interesting. Then you will follow them for half an hour."

"Um, so we're going to be stalking people?"

"No! You're going to be a flaneur!" So--a stalker.

There are three national sports in France: petanque, eating, and people-watching. Ever wonder why French people love cafes? It's because they provide a socially-acceptable outlet for watching people. You pick a place on the terrace, not just because the weather is nice, but because the best people-watching places are outside. You order a coffee. In France, unlike in America, you can order a coffee and sit at the table for as long as you like without having anyone give you a dirty look. So, you sit there with your coffee, perhaps a newspaper if you want to give the impression that you're not actually staring at people, and you watch.

I will admit that I have done some extracurricular stalking in my life. Sometimes there are people who you like, who you find attractive, and who stir your imagination. Then, at least in my opinion, your natural response is to, well, look at them, watch them, and make up stories about them in your head. Right? Is this just me? See! I even took a creepy picture of Clark when he was grocery shopping...that's normal. Right?

So, yesterday we went to the Rue de Rivoli, stood on the corner, and prepared.

"The choice of person is very important," Clark told us. "You can't just pick anyone. It's a real art."

This is very true. You can't just follow any Joe-Shmo in the street; you need to find someone who sparks your interest, and who might have some interesting character ticks. We only had 20 minuts to choose and follow someone, which, in my opinion, was not sufficient to find a good victi--I mean, subject. I settled on a Fripster, which is my newly-coined name for a French hipster, who I expected to be much more interesting than she was. She went shoe shopping, and went to the metro stop, where she proceeded to sit for 15 minutes. Next time, Madeleine, next time...

My personally-preferred method is to sit next to someone in a cafe and watch them, mainly because they can't escape and you can observe them for long periods without provoking suspicion. I think I'll give that a try this weekend.

Only in Paris, kids. Only in Paris.

Bon Appetit!

Fresh tomatoes with olive oil and mozzarella.


Galettes with ham and egg.


Salade verte with walnuts and chevre chaud.

Jackie and Madeleine take on Versailles!

My first weekend in France, Jackie and I decided that we would go on a day trip to Versailles, a place which neither of us had ever visited, but which was clearly necessary to do. I have Fridays and weekends off from class, which is awesome, and so I look forward to doing a few more day trips while I'm here, such as Mont Saint Michel or Giverny. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Saturday morning, we met up, and walked to the Gare Austerlitz to take the RER (the French equivalent of Metro North) to Versailles. The train ride took about 40-minutes, and within the hour, we were at the Palais of Versailles.

I had never been to the actual palace before, though I had visited the town when I was much younger. Naturally, I was expecting it to be, well, ridiculous. I was expected gold and fleur-de-lis and riches dripping from the walls; however, nothing could prepare me for what is was actually like.

To be brief, it was absolutely insane. Like woah, guys. Good job. The thing is huge. It's extraordinary. It defies explanation. And yes, I know that's what she said.

The only downside to our visit was that we had to pay the full price for admission, because there was no student tarif, but I guess that's ok, because I can't even imagine how much money they have to invest to keep the place in tip-top shape. We pay $40 each time we get our 1/2 acre lawn mowed. How much must it cost to mow, oh I don't know, like a million acres? I don't want to think about it.

Soon after arriving, and being mistaken for a German tourist (the lady was kind enough to give me a map in German--der Garten von Versailles! ACH!), I remembered why my parents and I had never gone: it's something that we call "Eurocrush" in my family. "Eurocrush" is what happens during the summer in Europe when every tourist is in the same place trying to so the same thing at the same time. Luckily we were there on a weekday in June before the major tourist season, and the crowds, while large, were manageable. Oh and also, the place is so huge that you could fit all of a small Eastern European country there anyway.

I cannot even fathom people living in a place like that. That's something that always really shocks me: when I think about the place *in use* and teeming with courtiers and the people who *lived* there. I cannot even imagine it. One really scary image was thinking of the day when the Palace was stormed by the crowds of rabid revolutionaries. That must have been a sight to end all sights.

The Palace was extraordinary. The Hall of Mirrors was dazzling. Their own miniature Louvre was mind-blowing. You get the idea.

The price of our tickets also included a visit to the Trianons, the "little modest country cottages" that Marie-Antoinette inhabited on the edge of the massive gardens. The day was hot and the sun was beating down on us, which was lucky considering that most of the days I have spent here have been rainy or cloudy. The Gardens. Wow. Huge. Back in the day, how in God's name did they landscape the place? I can see it now: a thousand peasants armed with scissors and going out to cut the lawn. I pity them.

The Trianons were lovely--much more manageable and much easier to appreciate, mainly on account of their size. I was especially amused by Marie-Antoinette's "cottage" which is a mini-Versailles that she inhabited to get away and to live her deluded dream of being a shepherdess. Apparently, back in the day, there were little farm animals and gardens that she would tend. I'm pretty sure, however, that "gardening" went something like this:

MA: Servant, could you replace that flower there? The colour bothers me. Yes, the pink should suffice.

Servant: As you wish.

MA: Hm, actually, I liked the purple better. can you put it back? Oh well, no. Hm. Maybe the red.

The highlight of the visit was seeing Marie-Antoinette's gardening tools. There was a scythe, a shovel, a rake, and whatnot. However, they were all miniature and covered in velvet and tassels. So, basically, the "scythe" was 5 inches long. Not very effective, Marie.

Les Flaneurs

Professeur Clark--stalker of the streets...

...with his harem of young women.

Paris, "le paradis des femmes, le purgatoire des hommes, l'enfer des chevaux"

Paris: the paradise of women, the purgatory of men, the hell of horses.

That's an excerpt from my first reading on the flaneur: Les Tableaux de Paris of Mercier, an early anthropologist. One of the things that we spoke about in our first real day of class were the conditions that arose that made the flaneur possible--something that I had never really considered before.

The Medieval city of Paris arose on the Left Bank (the Latin Quarter), where the ancient Roman city of Lutece had been. The Right bank of the city was primarily farmland and swamps aka not very good to build a city on. The allure of the Seine, however, was enough to make Paris a valuable possession. The River permitted access to the South, Rouen, and Le Havre, and was, therefore, very desirable to control. Control of the Seine gave control of the river that joined the North and South of France.

To be a flaneur was impossible in Medieval Paris. The city was as delightful as any other teeming, medieval city: there were no sidewalks, the roads were not paved and turned to mud when it rained, and there was no plumbing or garbage disposal. You didn't and couldn't walk for pleasure. Walking was not only seen as declasse (if you were anyone worth knowing, you would have a carriage), but was dangerous and disgusting. Anyone walking in the street would be lucky not to get hit. The least serious thing that would happen to you would be to return home covered in mud and "waste." Before the reign of Henri IV, the Protestant king of France who converted to Catholicism for the good of the nation and who uttered the famous phrase, "Paris is worth a mass," provided Paris with her first urban vision, walking was near-impossible.

The improvements which began under his reign would introduce sidewalks and paving, create the first "places" or "piazzas" in the style of the Italian Renaissance, and build Paris' first bridge that was not covered in houses--the Pont Neuf. With the additions and improvements, Henri IV created places for people to walk that were not (too) disgusting and that were (more) safe. These early stages of urbanism in Paris made the flaneur possible.

The urbanization plans of Henri IV set in motion the alignment of the city. Paris, growing from Lutece to old Paris, grew in spurts and without any direction. Due to the haphazard additions to the city, Paris grew without rhyme or reason and became difficult to navigate. Henri IV started to organize the city in a more logical manner, something that made walking and navigating by foot much easier.

Basically, Henri IV, in addition to saving France from religious wars, was the father of modern urbanization in Paris.

So hats off to you, Henri IV, for a job well-done.

Notre premier jour de classe

I had my long-anticipated first day of classes yesterday. The other girls in the program were flying in yesterday, and so, we decided to meet at the University at 4pm instead of having a full day of class. The place was easy enough to find--12 Rue Vavin in the 6th arrondissement--nearby the Jardin de Luxembourg and the Boulevard de Montparnasse, and I got there just in time for the commencement of our class: Le flâneur à Paris 2010.

Professor Clark handed out our syllabi, and briefly reviewed the texts and walks planned for each day. Our schedule is not as full as I (or, perhaps, you) expected it to be: we meet for two hours of class Monday through Thursday, usually in the early afternoon, and then have walks or museum visits most days after class for a few hours. Fridays and weekends are free, as are most evenings, with the exception of nights when we go to see "spectacles" or shows. All in all, we have a lot of free time. Hmmm... What to do...

This week, our readings and walks start with the "Flâneur de l'Ancien Régime" and readings from les Tableaux Parisiens of Louis Sébastien Mercier, a sort of early anthropologist who walked around Paris at night, and, well, watched people. Creeper or anthropologist? I wonder.

This means that I have my first *dun dun dunnn* homework assignment of the summer. Not only that, but it has a great (and very "Clarkish," I might add. Does anyone remember the Enlightenment French porn tableaux? Yup. All Clark.) cover:



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Also, inside joke numéro deux: