The Girl Who Ate Everything

I'm not finished packing and I haven't figured out how I'm going to drag two pieces of luggage, a laptop backpack (with laptop in tow) and a large shoulderbag that doubles as my camera bag without falling over multiple times. So I suppose I will fall over multiple times. Sweet!

If you have the urge to send me an email, please refrain from doing so until my next post (in Paris, hopefully). That way you'll know I'm alive and semi-settled down with enough brain power to answer emails. It should only be a few days...unless I died.

Okay, on to food-speak. Soon.

Tuesday was a dreary, rainy, gray, overall crappy day. I drove to Garden State Plaza with my windshield wipers on the highest setting so that I could catch split second glimpses of the road amidst the less helpful glimpses that made me feel like I was being followed by a waterfall. Alas, the rain does not keep New Jerseyans out of the mall; I could only find a parking spot on the highest, uncovered level. While there were all kinds of people shopping, the only ones I noticed were the young teens balancing multiple shopping bags on each arm with their tired looking mothers in tow. After a few hours of browsing god knows how many stores surrounded by people that reminded me of high school (a bad, bad memory), I only emerged with one pair of casual shoes that will hopefully not chew up my feet, one bra and one dress that I realize now is probably too summery for the weather I'll be enduring soon. Oops.

So that was fun. I slowly rolled home in the rain to avoid deathly collisions with other vehicles and then had to rush out again so that I could arrive in front of Chip Shop two hours later.

fish n chips

Yup, that's all.

Then again, I don't post every day ANYWAY, so the delay in posting isn't out of the ordinary.

...Yup...

All the French food I've eaten so far was a croissant, a palmier, and two scoop cone at Berthillon. Mmm.

That's your update for now!

Oh, Paris is really nice. Duh. I need to learn more French though.

How long has it been since I last wrote anything of substance? I kept wanting to write something (as every day I don't write equals another day where I have to write even more until I must eventually shackle myself to my computer and develop carpal tunnel syndrome), but the desire to plop down on a mattress and do absolutely nothing kept winning out. Six days in Paris during new student orientation feels more like a month during which one suspiciously picks up little French. [sigh]

walking by the Seine

almond croissant innards

"Je voudrais...un croissant au beurre, s'il vous plait."

"[blah blah something in French] et un croissant aux amandes?"

"Uh...[looks confused]...non, un croissant au beurre."

The woman behind the counter grabbed a croissant aux amandes from the bakery case. I handed over my €1.80 and thought, "Whatever, it's still delicious."

Don't worry; they also have Skittles

I should work on homework for my computer class or French class, but instead I felt like writing. Despite the craploads of writing you see here, the urge doesn't come that often. I have to take it when it comes. Programming squares and circles will have to come later. (Once I figure out how to do it.)

Speaking of school, I have a stupid question. Should I take 17 credits (5 classes) or 14 (4 classes)? Cost per credit wise, I should take 17 and get my 20 bagillion dollar education's worth. But...it's so tempting to drop a class and get that much more time to see Paris.

But...I'm here to study, I suppose. And to see Paris. And other things. Dropping one class won't do much in that respect, as I'll still have class every day. I could live with 15 credits, but 14 credits doesn't seem like enough.

If anyone's wondering what classes I'm taking [tumbleweed rolls by], my schedule includes French 1 (bonjour!), intro to computer programming, intro to computational environments, psychology and gender, and comparative civilizations (mediterranean and Asian). The last class scares me the most out of all of them, but I may be overreacting after only having one session this morning. Our next class on Friday is at the Louvre and there's a study trip to Rome in October. In that sense it's actually very awesome (just bought my carte jeune, which gives those under 26 unlimited access to the museum for a year, and for 15 euros is worth buying even if you only go twice in one trip), but...I'm extremely non-passionate about history, which may not go over well with my intensely exuburant teacher.

Eh, I got this far in school. It'd be weird to screw up now.

Am I a fuck up? This isn't a question anyone can actually answer besides me. I'm just...ye know...wondering.

I like Paris. Or perhaps I should say that it doesn't make me uncomfortable. The only problem I'm having right now (aside from the language barrier, but hey, it's my fault for not knowing French!) is that I'm reminded of how much I suck in real life. You can only walk into your school's building so many times while brushing past groups of chatting students before realizing that you're probably supposed to be socializing too. But you're not. Because you're Robyn and you're not normal. Why aren't you normal? God knows. Maybe you have a hormonal imbalance. (Maybe you're wearing a shirt that is ordering the world to "gimme pancakes!") You've never been able to make friends easily, yet you've been lucky in the past by somehow making at least one really good friend, which is all you need. But you don't feel the right vibes here, so you're just...screwed. And you don't have anyone to accompany you to the sketchy part of Paris to see an awesome Swedish band, so you'll probably stay home on Friday night.

Funnily though, the only time I ever made friends effortlessly was in Taiwan at another international school, although with a much larger Chinese student body than AUP (which, like Taipei American School, is labeled an American school, but is more like an international school that uses the American education system). My history class of around 10 students may be composed of 50% American students (or less). Anyway, I thought I had a point, which is now long gone.

I've only been here for one and a half weeks—it's not as though I'm throwing in the towel. But. I know myself fairly well and have the feeling that my doomy fate is inescapable. Luckily there are unlimited easily accessible things to do in Paris or elsewhere in France/Europe. If I were stuck at a place like Vassar, I'd be ready to jump out of my window.

I want to change. And I don't want to change. Argh. [stares at the wall]

Yesterday night was my last dinner (a truly awesome one at that, which I'll talk about later) with Morten and Giso before they went back to Norway. As the line 6 train rolled into view, we pulled together in a quick group hug and said our goodbyes. They were the only really good friends of mine that visited me or would be able to. Of course, I'm lucky that they happen to live an inexpensive plane ride away (and that I live in a city worth visiting). I don't have any other visitors to look forward to. It's over. Nada. Beedoop. The next thing I have to be excited about is possibly visiting some Internet friends who live in the London area. It's so close! I could go multiple times if my heart desires and my wallet doesn't implode.

...[sigh]

I'd probably go insane without the Internet.

Oh wait, I'd probably be more productive without the Internet. Gotta do homework. Now. Sorry for wasting your time with this non-food entry. Next one will be full of mouthwatering photos and the like. I promise!

Chez Janou

When you walk on rue Roger Verlomme to get to Chez Janou, you pass...not much. Instead of the quintessential Paris street overloaded with the energy of cafe patrons spilling out onto the sidewalk, this dark, narrow rue sits quietly. On a Tuesday night, at least.

"Well, if it doesn't look awesome, we can always try something else. Like...er, this place looks cute," I said as we walked by a restaurant window that revealed a warm interior full of humans who looked like they were enjoying themselves (we passed on the other restaurant full of fun-loving robots). After Morten, Giso and I turned around the corner I found out that the overstuffed restaurant was Chez Janou. Ahhh...I am slow.

As we approached the restaurant and saw the endless stream of people going into it (not so much coming out), we realized it may be a bit of a wait, if the bit is very long. Someone told us 30 minutes. We waited. Other people waited. We waited some more. Other people got seated. We waited some more. Other people from deep within the restaurant's red-hued bowels emerged and got seated. We waited some more. Stood by the curb. Stood by the entrance. Stood by the tables. Stood by the other people who were standing by. Witnessed diners have their tables cleared and then maybe 10 minutes later receive a dessert menu, adding perhaps another 30 minutes to their meal. Oh lordy.

Luckily we were not dying or hunger or else we wouldn't have felt like hanging outside for about an hour (after getting there around 8:45 PM) as the whizzing by of waitresses balancing plates of colorful, delicious looking food on their arms tortured our stomachs. The point that we decided to leave would surely be when a new table would open—I think that's one of Murphy's Laws. Also, we had no idea where else to go.

I'm happy to say that our patience paid off.

"Did you have any luck finding anything?" asked Bonnie, my homestay mum, as I walked through the front door after going on an unsuccessful food hunt on a Sunday evening, also known as the time when most of Paris is dead.

"Eh...not really," I half-heartedly answered. Technically I did find food, but I felt helpless as to how to obtain it in French.

"Would you like to join us for dinner? We has mashed potatoes and lentils and..."

"Mm...nah, it's okay. I'll eat something later." The gurgling of my over-melkesjokoladed stomach overtook any desire to eat normal food.

I walked down the hall with a funny feeling in my head. As I crossed over the carpeted line of my room, the funny feeling came out in tears. Little quiet ones. Damn waterproof skin doesn't have any soaking properties. What a mess.

What was wrong with me? I may easily feel the urge to cry, but I'm also pretty good at holding it in. It wasn't just because I had the problem of not knowing how to communicate exactly how I wanted to in French, thus resulting in lack of food (yup, the same problem I mentioned in a previous entry). But...what else? I really like Paris and feel oddly comfortable here, odd in that I thought I would've had a harder time to adjust. But...eh, maybe you just need five minutes to let your sadness physically expell itself in some kind of messy liquid form so you can return to a semi-normal psychological state.

My mum thinks I'm inhibited. Ha ha.

Anyway, I'm okay. I just wanted to start my entry with a happy sunshine story that could bring about joyous feelings akin to watching playful baby puppies rolling around in a field of wildflowers. PUPPIES, LOOK AT EM GO!!!!

raining

"Would you like my towel?" asked Daniel while we stood in a recessed doorway out of the drizzling rain on Saturday night. Naturally, the day I decided to not bring an umbrella would be the day I would actually need it. We waited in hopes the rain would stop or at least lighten up. Of course, neither happened.

"Yeeeaah, that'd be nice, thanks." Daniel pulled a towel out of his damp luggage, which he had been dragging around with him all day up and down countless metro stations since it was safer than leaving it at his hostel.

"It's clean," he assured as he handed me the medium sized blue striped towel.

"Well, I didn't think you'd bring a unclean towel with you." I plopped the towel on my head, trying to find the best position for my new stylin' headdress. "I'm not sure what to do with my Fauchon bag..."

"Here, take down this strap." I dropped a handbag strap off my shoulder and gave Daniel my Fauchon bag. He strung the outer strap of my handbag through the Fauchon bag's handles so it would be secure when I brought the outer strap back up to my shoulder.

"...God I feel stupid," I mumbled.

We ran down rue Theresa—feeling my shoes slap against wet pavement, hearing Daniel's luggage wheels click-clack on the sidewalk, clutching onto my towel in a fruitless attempt to stay dry and keep the towel from flying out of my hand—and around the corner of ave de l'Opera to the Pyramides metro. The total distance was short, but I like knowing that I can recall an atypical night in Paris involving running through dark street with a towel on my head. It's a nice ending to an interesting story.

Thanks, Daniel. And rain clouds.

"Non, non, madame...merci!"

Physically, I briskly walked away from Bagels & Brownies; psychologically, I fled to another country and got cosmetic surgery to change my identity. It was my first time being informed that I couldn't take photos of a shop's foodstuffs through their outside window, and while I could understand their rule (hey, it's only a thin layer of glass from taking a photo inside the shop, which can be a no-no), I wasn't prepared for it. Because it never happened before. And it never happened before because most people don't give a crap if I'm taking photos of something from outside their establishment. Or maybe they do and they just don't catch me in time...

The woman wasn't mean about it (I've felt more disdainful vibes from shopkeepers who may have been merely handing me a sandwich), but if my camera is unwelcome, I also feel unwelcome. (That's just my take; I'm probably over-sensitive and overly possessive of my baby—I mean, camera.) For anyone else who has been asked to not take a photo of a window display in a foreign country (which I'm sure applies to so many of you), how did you feel about it afterwards?

storefront

donut's

Of course, I did get some photos. Bagels & Brownies is a cute place with cute plates stuffed with cute desserts. I can't recommend or not recommend it since I didn't try anything (after I left, I got a swift case of appetite loss), but if you do go at least you know 1) what it looks like and 2) that you shouldn't whip out a camera since it might cause a lifetime ban against your admittance to the shop.

(It may seem rude of me to take photos without asking permission, but if I had to ask every store I pass whether I can take photos of their windows, I wouldn't take photos at all. My life would be more pointless than it already is.)