Chivalry is dead in the city of Paris...
As learned by me, riding home on the Metro in the middle of the night, scrubby from the doctor’s office and feeling awful, stuck standing without even a pole to hold onto as 4 men used up all 8 strapontins (the fold down seat things in Metro trains...). It’s not like they were all old and needed them; or all young and didn’t know better– they definitely ranged from 20ish to 80ish and none of them got up to give me their seat. Not that I’d have taken it anyway. Who am I kidding, I totally would have. I felt awful and the Metro cars are always so hot that all I wanted was to sit down... But instead I learned the important lesson that, in Paris, you just have to watch out for yourself.

Why, you may be asking, was I coming home from the doctor in the middle of the night? Because I have mononucleose infectieuse. Or, as they say in the US, mono. Great. Fabulous. Ha. I suppose, really, it is not that bad. It explains why, after leading hikes and running around on the mountain all summer I can barely climb the stairs to my second floor (really the third floor) apartment without having to stop for breath. It just further goes to prove my motto: why do life simple, when you could complicate the absolute bejeebees out of it? But really, everyday is an adventure... who else do you know that moves to a foreign country for four months, loses all of their worldly possessions for a week, then contracts a potentially months-long illness. Better question: from WHOM did I acquire said illness?? I don’t even know anyone (in the States) with mono... right? The doctor told me not to tell people here-- since it is called "the kissing disease" and everyone greets each other here with cheek kisses, it is presumed to be extremely contagious and apparently has kind of a stigma... "Oh, yes, stop kissing people! And no alcohol either!" were the doctor's two words of advice for me. Not that I was on my way to becoming a raging alky over here, but honestly, send me to Paris for 4 months spanning my 21st birthday, get me used to drinking wine with the woman I live with at dinner, and then, nope, quit. Thanks.

I think this is truly my country... everyone here wears flats, everywhere, because first, who really can walk up and down stairs and rickety wooden escalators in the Metro in stilettos and second, if you have to walk nearly a mile round trip to class or work or whatever, who wants to do that on cobblestone streets in heels? So the selection of flats and espadrilles and slides at the store is vast. And fashionable– significantly moreso than in the states, where the shoe salesmen look at you as though you have three heads when you ask for shoes without spike heels. AND the pointy toe has FINALLY gone back out of style.

The mono thing is really quite frustrating, but now I feel like I have an excuse when I am dying from exhaustion and it gives me a good reason to take breaks during my exploration of the city of Paris, to sit at a café with a Gini Limon or a Café au Lait and watch the world go by, instead of BEING the world flying by.
Love and surely more to come,
B