Wednesday, February 21

Two Wheels, Some Metal, a Basket and a Lock

Introduction: The metro in Paris is the easiest to use that I have ever seen. There is rarely ever a wait of more than 4 minutes for the car, and with its 16 lines covering a total of 211 kilometres of Parisian rails, you can take it absolutely everywhere.

Problem: Despite its effectiveness, it takes me about 35 minutes to get from my house to Reid Hall or Sciences Po, so I was spending at least an hour, possibly two, a day underground. It is smelly, crowded (at least during peak hours) and just all around unpleasant time.

Solution:








Bike. My mom’s cousin suggested this brilliant idea, and we went to get it together. It takes about the same time to ride my bike than to take the metro to go to Reid hall, and on my way to classes I pass by innumerable sights and monuments depending on the routes I take. On top of the exercise I am getting, I get to really see Paris to and from absolutely everywhere I go.

For the future: Please pray that it will not rain until I get a raincoat.

Monday, February 19

Le bonheur de la merde


I have started to consider walking on dog poop a lucky thing, because it happens so often that there has to be some derived benefit to having your shoe smell the entire day.

Thursday, February 15

All Aboard

I don't really have his permission to publish it, but my stepbrother wrote to me on my birthday something genial which I couldn't refrain myself from putting on here:


Welcome to the 21st level, all aboard please.

Please keep your wallets empty, your hands outside the vehicle at all times.
Please refrain from riding tricycles or even bicycles,
No poppers or poptarts allowed.
You may stick your chewing gum below the table, aisles with music playing at all times.

In the event of intoxication, please assist your friends first, and then place a ten dollar bill in the bouncer’s hand.

There will be late meals served, past midnight and 4:00 a.m., preferred menus “a la carte”, because a diet is like crack.

All kids, children, babies, toddlers, infants, small children, children, big children and even bigger children, NO CRYING PLEASE,
We are entering the legal age benchmark and threshold for non-legal minors.

As we pass all fears, the robe looms at a closing distance,
With deans, profs, lights and speeches that smell like leeches,

We know, (or better we think we know), that we are wise and old, yet there are many things that we have not been told.

Please behold because its been foretold, that we are now entering the legal age benchmark and threshold for non-legal minors.


All aboard.

Wednesday, February 14

0 intoxications, 1 social life back on track, and 21 candles

My birthday was absolutely amazing, and I gave myself one of the best presents I have ever given me. All wrapped in a red bow came an exquisite wake up call.

February 12th I realized I had been in France for exactly a month, and that my birthday would probably be one of the most depressing because I was terribly far away from those who would genuinely want to celebrate it with me. But while I sat on my butt trying to decide whether I should start crying, go to sleep or eat some 74% chocolate, it came to me- all I really had to do was start calling people and invite them over. I don’t think I had ever actually made myself something for my birthday, since my family and friend’s have always taken care of celebrating properly by their own initiatives, but given the circumstances duty called.

So I decided to have a dinner party. I started calling friends, and surprisingly everyone was ready and willing, and that made it infinitely easier.

The harder part was figuring out what to make. I really like cooking, but it was necessary that for once it turn out right. I went for chicken in red-wine sauce (because I had a bottle of red, cooking wine) and a quiche I had learned to make last the summer with my host mother. My French teacher of first semester is now in Paris, and she had given me her mother’s recipe for crepes- so that was dessert.

The quiche was nothing short of a miracle- the pastry of the quiche came ready to be unrolled onto my pan, and the rest was vegetables, eggs and emmental cheese, which I also bought already grated. Here’s the tricky part- the cheese was supposed to be Gruyere, but Monoprix was out of big bags of gruyere râpé, and it was supposed to have cream but I forgot to put it in (I now have this huge pot of cream sitting in my mini-fridge awaiting its trash-fate). To top it all off I didn't have a recipe where I could check at what temperature I had to cook it in, so I put it in too high, and then burnt the crust because it was cooked before the eggs. Fortunately the only part of the crust that was really burnt was the borders, so I just took off the burnt edges when the rest was done.

The last, key, ingredient in the quiche was a couple of Hail Mary's I threw in to attempt to save it. Don’t ask how, but it worked. I know I will get all your sceptical remarks eventually, but be warned that if you say anything I will make you a quiche and force you to try it.

The chicken in wine sauce was also a lot of luck. At first the chicken turned a disgusting purple colour thanks to the wine, so (I kid you not, this was my reasoning) I decided to add balsamic vinegar to make it more brownish and less disgusting-purplish. Then I spotted a bottle of mustard I bought last week at Dijon and added a teaspoon because it's yellow and would hopefully tone down the purple. And then salt and pepper, but just because they are basic.

I knew the flavour would be fine, I was just afraid for the colour. And if food comes in through the eyes, what was this disgusting purple thing I had cooking in my kitchen?

After an hour of sitting in the pot cooking slowly, the chicken got a tan and everyone was happy. Fiuf.

Fortunately people in Serbia eat a lot of crepes and are on time to dinner parties, because Milena showed up and made the crepes. I attempted the first six on my own, but I burnt my fingers, the crepes, a wooden spoon and my desire to ever make crepes again.

Everyone and their mothers showed up with flowers, and that made me very happy. Everywhere I look in my 39 m2 apartment has flowers, I love it. Another friend brought champagne, and another made me a cake I could write sonnets about, so the birthday was complete.

I had such a great time that I realized all I need to do to get my social life back to its normal order is to call people. Si, descubrí América en un vaso de agua.

Saturday, February 10

An Acute Case of Parisitis

There is an abominable, centralist idea that Paris is France, and the rest is, well... the rest. And even though this city is absolutely gorgeous, I do think it is worth it to wander around the smaller cities and towns because there are a lot of beautiful places to see; different, granted, but beautiful nonetheless.

It is an obligatory part of the Reid Hall program that you stay with a French family (that you have never met before) for a week, in Auxerre, Lyon, Besançon or Aix-en-Provence. Despite my open-mindedness about France dehors Paris, I spent a week of hell in Auxerre, but please let me explain why before you jump to the conclusion that I am a spoiled, megalopolitan brat.

For starters, I am a firm believer that it is all in the head. I spent a good part of the week thinking that I could be seeing any other place in France that was not as depressing, and the mentality didn't help.

Auxerre is not bad at all- 40,000 inhabitants, centuries of history (of course, like most places in France) and very beautiful churches and things to see. My problem? The family I was staying with does not live in Auxerre but 40 minutes away (by car) in Laduz that is of the impressive size of 301 inhabitants. 302 counting me for one whole week. I could walk around the town twice in half an hour, and the architecture was nothing out of this world. If you wanted to buy a loaf of bread in this town, you had to order it from the neighbour who makes the bread, so that you could pick it up the next day. Impressive change from Paris where there is a boulangerie in the places where you least imagined you would find one.

The weather didn't really help because the vast majority of activities were outside and it was between –2 and 5 degrees, cloudy, grey and all around dreary. Your mouth might be watering at the thought of 0-degree weather if you are in the North-Eastern United States right now, but it is not precisely pleasurable if you are being forced to take a tour of something you would rather see in the summer. We visited innumerable places that I couldn't help but wonder how beautiful they would be if the sun was shining and there were actually people around; I can't tell you how many tour guides told us, "c'est dommage que vous venez dans cette époque parce que en été c'est vraiment sympa." Well, gee, thanks.

My host family organized every activity and they were actually really nice. They gave me more cheese and wine and exceptional food than I have ever had in my life, and the host mom taught me several recipes. If any of you want to volunteer, I need guinea pigs to try them on and test my cuisine-memory.

The last day we went to a cave with Palaeolithic paintings that was absolutely beautiful and worth the entire week in obligatory Abaddon. I would do the whole Auxerre-trip to see that cave again. The cave deserves its own little entry, so I will leave my thoughts on it for another time.

Thursday, February 8

Enamoured With the City of Love

As cliché as this may seem, I have discovered a completely different Paris than the one I saw in the summer. Paris is an attitude, but it is not self-evident. Past the 6th arrondissement, past the Luxembourg and the spotless boutiques of Les Marais, past having hour-long coffee breaks at St Germain-de-Pres and the sunsets at the gardens of the Palais Royal, I have discovered another city. Paris is definitely an attitude. It’s not just the easy esprit and consumption- it is a way of life.

At first I wasn’t entirely happy with where I was living. I was seriously considering talking to my parents about moving, and I couldn’t help thinking that the entire area around (oh, you have to love) Pigale was one big, risqué, titillating, and suggestive, voluptuous brothel.

But just by walking around I have discovered so many interesting things about my neighbourhood. Past the sex-shops the 9th is charming and full of life. Not to mention, Jean-Paul Gaultier lives two blocks away from my house.

The only reproach I have for my original insensitivity towards this part of the city was my lack of vision- a sort of lack of curiosity vis-à-vis another beautiful, flirtatious side that Paris has to offer. And so I am incredibly lucky to be living high in the 9th arrondissement, because I get to see the gilt-edged corners of the 6th and 7th arrondissements during the day, and the night life in all its diversity of the 9th and 18th. Reducing Paris to the Rive Gauche and nothing north of the Champs Elysées is an adamant view that does not render this city justice.

(Here's a map so that this may make more sense)