Ahh, Paris.

Things here are ridiculous. I feel like I am getting used to living in a foreign country, which is a little ridiculous, but yesterday Jessi and I went to an Anglican church a little bit reminiscent of where I worked this summer and it was SO ODD to hear people speaking English. I kept beginning conversations in French, only to receive odd stares from the Brits that largely make up the congregation. It was fun being in church and realizing that the same things go on in France as in the States... though we made fools of ourselves at Communion time when I realized a summer at an Episcopal camp was not enough to teach me how to receive communion from a priest.

Before church we spent the afternoon at the Tuileries, a huge jardin behind the Louvre. At first glance it is much like an American park, but then I realized that all the grass is blocked off and everything is perfectly manicured-- topiary trees, trimmed flower bushes, neatly mown grass but none of it for touching or sitting on. So we found a bench on a shaded path of squared-off trees where we could see kids sailing tiny toy boats in a large fountain and a lot of sculptures throughout the garden, and settled in for an afternoon of reading, writing letters, etc. So parisian.

Today I went walking in our arrondisement (neighborhood) looking for a pharmacy where I could by cold medicine (good luck since I don't know the words for "non-drowsy" or "runny nose") and encountered a building just 3 blocks from my apartment that I wrote a paper on last semester for a modern architecture class I took. JUST DOWN THE STREET FROM ME. This city is so surreal.

Everything is different here... It's like the US was turned upside down, shaken around, and then let go. The first floor of buildings here is called the 0 Floor, which means that what we consider the 2nd floor is only the first. The first night Jessi and I were here, we learned this lesson the hard way when we spent 10 minutes (literally) trying to jimmy our way into an apartment on the second level but first floor of our building. Eventually the owner came out, as our key was still in the door, demanding to know what we were doing. I contend it wasn't our fault, the apartments here are not numbered, there is no way we could have known... but I still felt like a fool and now everytime I walk past his door I cross my fingers he won't come out.

I'm learning to appreciate wine, but the trick at dinner is to drink the first glass slow enough that I finish just at the end of the meal, otherwise I get a refill from the woman I live with, which then puts me back at the beginning of trying to drink it without pulling a face.

We've been to the Arc de Triomphe (at night, superchouette), Notre Dame during mass, so I want to go back because I feel like it didn't count), and a lot of other tourist sites already. Still to go, this week: Les Invalides, the Louvre, the Jardins du Luxembourg, and lots of others.

The bits of American culture that have seeped through to here are so random: a Kelly Clarkson song at the wireless bar/cafe we visit several times a week; a GAP just down the road from us; Cheerios in our grocery store cereal aisle full of Muesli. The stereotype of wine, cheese, and bread has not yet proven wrong... Jessi and I have coffee and croissant (or better, pain au chocolat) for breakfast, quiche or crepes for lunch, and for dinner, baguette with... something that probably has cheese in it. Luckily they do have fruit here, though, so I have been eating my share of melon and pamplemousse. Salad here, though... is truly lacking and really just gross. Note to you: if ever in France, avoid ALL salads at ALL costs.

Enough for now, hopefully soon I will figure out how to put up pictures... Until then, I love you and I miss you.
Lots.
~Blair