Obligatoire, Laique, Gratuit, et. Shady

Welcome to Paris III, fondly referred to by study abroad students and my host family as "the ghetto university." Cement exterior, neon-painted doors, and barely-functioning windows have never looked so good... If you are familiar with WashU, it is a lot like Elliot Hall, but on a more appalling, more grandiose scale. If you are not familiar with WashU, all you need to know to fully comprehend the degree to which Paris III is shady is that every day, I see multiple homeless people sleeping in the hallways upon entering school. Oh, bonjour.

Being a "student" (I use quotations because foreign students are barely real students, since we don't take the final exams) at Paris III has made me realllllly appreciate WashU. Our professors are perpetually late (one is normally 20-30 minutes late, in fact), and oneeeee professor is particularly atrocious. Our first day of class, he spent the first 25 minutes (we timed it) ranting about how annoying American students are. Ah, thank you sir. I now feel so welcome.... He also likes to explain vocabulary that everyone (american students included) has known for years. Like what the verb "obseder" (obsessed) implies. Or what a contract is. Or a clause. Or what the cardinal directions are. I actually keep a list of unnecessarily explained vocab for that class. It keeps me entertained.

But once you get past these minor inconveniences of the Ghetto University, its overall not that bad of a place. My literature class is incredible and interesting and lovely, and the professor is a huge nerd who loves to talk about Baudelaire for three hours straight. I'm in another course called Europe et Ses Nations which is split in half-- half lecture (with the crazy old man that hates americans), and half presentations. I'm going to give a 45-minute-oral presentation on the Vatican's views on totalitarianism in front of my French classmates in a few months (oh boy!). And the french people in our classes are really nice, and I think that the professors are less mean when they critique us (study abroad kids) than regular students. Which is nice, I suppose.

And thus ends my informational segment on Paris III. Hope you've enjoyed learning about the deliggggggghtful place where I spend much of my time!

Musings on Life, or "How I am similar to the family dog"

1. Parisian dogs are better behaved than their owners
Unrelated to the later part of my title, but a musing on Paris life nonetheless. The dogs in Paris are really well behaved. Most don't have leashes but stay right next to their owners anyway, never dashing off to chase a squirrel or runner (yay!). Sure they poop all over the sidewalks, but that isn't their fault. It is their OWNERS fault that their is dog poop all over the sidewalks. Little old ladies walking their small poodles around while wearing their fur coats and carrying their big Louis Vuitton bags do not carry pooper scoopers. Conclusion: Parisian dogs are better behaved than their owners.

2. Paris has lots and lots of decadent, over-priced dessert items
Hot cocoa at Angelina's, 7euro. Macaroons at Laduree, 8euro. Ice cream at Berthillon, 10euro. The experience of eating at all the exclusive dessert-related places in Paris? No, not priceless. It's expensive.


3. My host family tells me things about one another, because they figure I can't repeat it later.
In this sense, I am sort of like the family dog that everyone talks to and says things to, but figures it doesn't matter what they say, because it won't be repeated. So I learn things like "Martin is no good for Aurore," or "Alexia gained too much weight in Scotland," or "Chloe lacks standards when it comes to dating." There is family drama, but it is secretive, because they all gossip like preteens. I guess thats what happens in a house of three daughters, a mother, a female exchange student, and a female cat.

Well, it was only a little knife...

Today was my first day as an English Teaching Assistant at the nearby, ritzy, private catholic school St. Jean de Passy. Its a smarmy place that's the french equivalent of K-12 where the kids all wear designer things and the twelve year old girls have nicer boots than I do. (My ego continues to be on the decline).

I went early and met up with Monsieur Pelletier, the Surveillant for the 5th and 6th grade boys, which is basically like their guidance counselor and their dean combined. He explained to me that the class that I was in was the most notoriously "difficult" class in the entire school. Showing me a class portrait, he pointed out the two "really nice" boys that would be "my friends," and then about 8 that were "difficult." His finger rested for several moments on the photo of one young hooligan. This conversation followed:

M. Pelletier: If this one gives you even the slightest trouble, send him straight to me.
Me: Oh? Why?
M. Pelletier: He has been, how do you say? Ah, dangerous lately.
Me: * bewildered look *
M. Pelletier: Well, he brought a knife to school a month ago
Me: Seriously? In the States, he'd have been expelled for that!
M. Pelletier: Well, it was only a little knife...
Me: * incredulous face *
M. Pelletier: You see, he had a bit of a dispute with another classmate, but he was a lot shorter than the other boy. So he had to make up for the height difference in some way. He didn't really intend to use the knife or anything.

As I walked into the classroom ten minutes later, a frazzled-looking Math teacher was leaving. She looked at me and whispered "Bon Courage!" (rough translation: good luck/prepare yourself).

In the end, the class wasn't that bad. I just helped out today and watched as Mlle. Daphne Delfosse ran the class. She managed to retain control of the 10-year-olds. Next week, I start conducting english discussion sections on my own with half of the class at a time. Daphne tells me that last semester, they threw paper balls at the English Assistant, so to gain their respect, I should avoid smiling and make fun of them as much as possible. Gah. I can see an onslaught of paper balls and a knife-wielding ten year old in my future....

Bonjour, Soleil!!

Without a doubt, today was the most beautiful weather I have seen in Paris to date. It was sunny all day, did not rain once, and was so warm that you didn't even need a scarf! Of course, it's Paris, so everyone wore scarves anyways.

Today was also filled with random adventures, which can be summarized by the following photos:

A behind-the-scenes tour at L'Opera Bastille, which is the more modern of the two opera houses in Paris. It is also the largest in the world. (oooh.) This is the statues that was a gift to the government that no one wanted, but they had to put it somewhere, so now its at the Opera Bastille. Cute.
Operation move-abby-and-christie-out, and celebratory lunch at Breakfast in America. We ate cheeseburgers!!!!!! It was a delicious celebration indeed.
Climbing to the top of l'Arc de Triomph (all 294 stairs) and seeing my favorite landmark (Sacre-Coeur) on the horizon.

All in all, in was a fairly glorious day. I also meandered about lot and took photos of the small markets and floral shops I saw...so there you go. Everyday life in Paris!

PEANUT BUTTER

I found it. Then I bought it. And it was overpriced. Like 4 euro for a very, very small container. But the most important thing is that I know own my very own jar of peanut butter.

Then for dessert, i had a pb&j on a baguette, but minus the j and plus nutella. My host mom stared, aghast, and pondered how many calories I was consuming in that moment (but like actually, she asked me how many calories I was consuming in that one moment). Answer: lots. Do I care: No! It is delicious.

In other news, I had a strange realization the other day that I felt like sharing with the world. What I realized is that if you are not fluent in a language, you lack a personality in said language. I had this realization after going to Madam Hervier's (program administrator's) evening soiree. Her poor son was stuck as bartender all night, and under normal circumstances, I would have asked "So, how did you get stuck as bartender" or asked her daughter if she was being paid for offering everyone sorbet and such, but then I realized that I don't know how to say these things in French. I could say them in a really structured, formal way, but thats not what I'm going for. I'm trying to be normal. Alas, I do not think I'm destined to have normal, flippant conversations while in France. Not for a while, at least.

I might get over it though. If not, I can always drown my sorrows in peanut butter.