Je voudrais acheter un hamburger

While I don't think my French has improved all that much since I've been here, I was thrilled tonight when Perrine told me that I am funny in French. Cause, you know, that's some indication of fluency. Not that I'm anywhere close to the vicinity of being nearly fluent. But really, a month ago I could barely communicate with a two-year-old, let alone, "So there was a priest, a lawyer, and a rabbi..." (I still couldn't pull that off, and I don't think I'd want to.)

Well I guess she was pretty amused today by my saying, "Excuse me while I hide myself hermetically in my room for a while." But probably amused in the sense that it would be really funny to hear a five-year-old say something like that. And I'm basically a five-year-old here. I told her "hermétiquement" is pretty much the same in English, but she insisted, "No, you are very good in French!" Yeah right, Perrine. You translated "fell asleep" for me today, you can't think I'm very bright.

But hey! I'll take being a cute five-year-old any day!

Just to make myself feel better about my poor language skillz, here's this little jewel:


On a totally unrelated note, the ice cream carton wasn't joking when it said "Rum Raisin." Boy. I hope they don't feed that stuff to children.

Joyeuses Pâcques

Although I was planning on going to Spain, I didn't mind having a Frenchy Easter here instead. It was great fun and I spoke more French than usual and got to sit back and watch everyone being chummy and reminiscing about bygone days. Perrine had colored some eggs in onion dye the night before, and made everyone draw on them with paint pens. Apparently I'm quite skillful because some people made quite a fuss over my ethereal egg designs. But had they known what a serious matter egg decoration is in my family, and had they only seen some of the past Gartner Easter Egg Achievements in Design, they would have understood that my work that afternoon was mere child's play.



There was much scrumptious food, especially the assorted pastries which followed lunch, and I have been living off of exquisite chocolate sea creatures ever since. The reserves are dwindling; I'll have them finished off by tomorrow.

Comment dit-on "oy vey?"

Busy/fun week. Two friends--one from Bennington [Liz] and one from Michigan [Gabe]--paid me a visit! Unfortunately it got very cold for most of the week, but there were a couple sunny moments thrown in there.**
The week included jewish bakeries, youth hostel shenanigans, rain, stolen oranges, a roughly 20 euros/day budget, funny french boys wearing oversized hats, glowering babies, and sleep deprivation.

Another gorgeous day at the Jardin de Luxembourg:




I probably went to the eiffel tower four times last week just between the two of them. The day we finally went to the top I was worried Liz's excitement would give her a hernia. I think she's all right.


These brilliant Eiffel Tower pictures can be credited to Liz, cause I gave her free reign over my camera while I tended to my frost-bitten fingers. The one above though was taken by a French lady. Who knows what a French person was doing at the Eiffel Tower...






Afterwards we went to a café-brasserie [picture of Liz's western-themed beer, Desperados, found below.] and then stumbled upon quite the rowdy St. Patrick's Day celebration.


**God? I'm ready for sun and warmth now. Just saying.

Fontainebleau

Rocky Raccoon, Rocky Raccoon. He was a fool unto himself. And he would not swallow his foolish pride. Mind you coming from a small town in Minnesota, it was not the kind of thing a young guy did when a fellow went 'n stole his chick away from him.

Un beau spectacle

Yesterday was unbearably ordinary. I had class in the Louvre again (booor-ing), and then went to an opera at l'Opéra Bastille. the seats were unfortunate; very front row, dead center. Perrine's friend had an extra ticket, so we were sort of obligated to use it. 150 euros only, for that. For anyone reading this who might happen to be my professor, I was being sarcastic about the Louvre. But only about that. The rest was terrible. And Maude didn't talk to me.

It was actually really incredible. And I usually don't even care for opera all that much. A piece by Verdi called "Luisa Miller." The stage design was amazing, the lighting, the costumes, all fantastic. I wish I had a picture of one of the sets in particular. It had these tall "stone" columns and the light shone onto them casting long, streaky shadows across the grassy hills. And though I can't compare it to any English rendition I've seen, it seemed so much more poignant to read in French. Maybe that's because operas are usually written with such simple, straightforward language, that it was easy enough for me to understand while also retaining an air of complexity if perhaps only due to my limited comprehension. There was one actually very moving scene; i'm surprised to have thought so and even more surprised to admit it. A heart of stone, have I. But in it, Rodolfo learns that his lover has betrayed him, and begins singing, accompanied only by a very soft orchestra, about seeing her eyes in the stars and hearing her voice whisper to him. Beautiful. (Watch it here, the second video)




Après, Perrine and I went to Café Rotonde and ate plentifully. Thanks to the bottle of Perrier I spilt on my plate I didn't overstuff myself too greatly. This café, as Perrine and the menu explained, was once frequented by many famous artists including Picasso, Satie, Rodin (I think), Prévert, Ionesco, Man Ray, and too many others to remember. Not too shabby, Rotonde.


One final note (Dad, Charlie, Kieren): Yoko is in my french class and I am psyched.

Une Marche dans le Jardin

I had myself a little promenade in the Jardin de Luxembourg one particularly sunny day. I went there with the intention of scoping out some old men to hit on, but took pictures instead. 

View of le Palais du Luxembourg

ToyBoatToyBoatToyBoitToyBoit

Vive la France

A nice building. I thought it was funny that this institute was once designated a place of slavery instruction, but then I remembered that the word for slave is "esclave."

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The following are of my little street and apartment building.

Where I wine and dine

Pardon? Comment? Quoi?

Yesterday I went to the Cité Universitaire, a college town of sorts for many exchange students and some French students as well, where there was a little fête in the basement of one of the dormitories. I'll put it out there right now: Hey French people? You dance like caffeinated toddlers. The Chicken Dance is not all-purpose. "Rock Your Body" was intended to be much raunchier. Oh, and listen to better music.

I spent the first part of the night in a dorm kitchen trying to listen to a French conversation to my right while people were yelling in Norwegian to my left. Every time someone tried to speak to me I answered with "What?" four or five times before understanding some elementary question like, "WHAT-DO-YOU-DO-HERE." Lots of uncomfortable language barriers that day. Like earlier that evening my host mom decided to invite her American niece who is visiting Europe for the first time and speaks about a word of French, and her old crony Maude, a severe French dame, for dinner. I felt obliged to juggle the conversation between French and English, while Maude mostly sat silent and unsmiling. Luckily I'll be spending another lovely night with Maude later this week at a 3-hour opera.

...Ok, I guess I'm not really allowed to complain about going to an opera. But I do wish Maude were a little more like the funny lady in Harold & Maude.