As this is published, I will have completed eleven months abroad: June and July in Rabat; September, October, November, and December in Nantes; and January, February, March, April, and May in Paris.
Anyone who spoke to me at all last fall will probably recall that I was obsessed with study abroad, and to some degree, I still am. But around October, I was planning for another summer program. I dreamed of another two months abroad--Berlin, Rome, Barcelona, St. Petersburg! I wanted to go to all of them and the hardest decision was choosing a destination. As my amazing program in Nantes continued and I accepted my offer of admission to Sciences Po, I started thinking about Fall 2015 programs. Where could I go? Italy? Maybe Morocco again? A whole semester in Russia!
I never wanted to go home.
Nantes was unique in that it was the very first program that I've ever participated in that I did not complain about. This is not to say that these programs were terrible, because I've also been lucky to never have been in an absolute hell-hole of a program.
But I have done my fair share of complaining and then some.
I moaned about assignments and teachers and late drama nights at Forest Ridge. I cried during my first time in Nantes because I was cold and I wanted my mom. I complained about Stanford and its dining hall hours and disruptive RAs. I did nothing but bitch during my first year at George Washington--both econ 101 and my roommates got equal treatment in emails home. I complained about the heat and the chaos of Rabat.
Nantes Fall 2014 was so different. I was fortunate to have the loveliest host mother, the friendliest center staff, the best classes, the most understanding professors, the most invigorating ballet class, and the nicest and smartest friends who wanted nothing more than to speak French and go to brunch and discuss novels and classes and museums. I was in a beautiful, bustling city. It was small enough to easily navigate with a single monthly paper pass but big enough to give me new things to do every weekend. I learned how to bake and how to take a train by myself and how to speak French so well that I fooled governmental survey-takers. I wrote a novel. I received a 3.88 GPA.
I understand now that Nantes will always be there for me--I've returned there four separate times in my life and I've never arrived to see it disappointingly different. In fact, the construction is basically completed, so it looks much fresher than it did in Spring 2011.
Paris was not Nantes.
It also wasn't Rabat and it wasn't Stanford and it wasn't George Washington and it wasn't Forest Ridge. In fact, I'm going to say that it was my least favorite academic program that I've ever experienced, including George Washington online classes and that weird mail correspondence course in calculus I took senior year of high school.
This is exemplified by the fact that after going to every single lecture and discussion and reading all of the readings, the only fact I have retained from the entire semester is that Vladimir Putin has an honorary doctorate in judo.
It's no one's fault. It's not my fault nor is it the fault of my professors or TAs. Sciences Po Paris just wasn't a good fit for me, although I can't pinpoint exactly why. It might be the odd line that I've been straddling the entire semester between speaking French and being Parisian and speaking English and being American. It might be the impersonal nature of the university coupled with the lack of central student area mixed with the (quite frankly) irrationally strict format of essay writing. I'm sure there are a billion other factors that caused Sciences Po and me to never click.
This is where Paris has taught me a lesson. Paris gave me the opportunity to continue my study abroad experience to the point of over-saturation. I am not in D.C. right now speculating about what another adventure abroad could have been like. Instead, I am in Paris, reflecting on how being abroad is after you come down from the euphoria.
Paris was not a bust. I cannot say that. Paris taught me how to live in a big city. I learned how to cook, how to navigate a city's transportation, how to take care of myself without a host family or a program center easily accessible. I also took a lot of ballet classes.
I spoke to my mother in late March, regarding my application for a summer in Berlin. I was very enthusiastic because I had been planning it for several months, but after another week, I called her.
"I'm just not feeling enthusiastic about Berlin. Can I cancel the application? Is that okay?"
"That's fine," she replied. "I sent you an email about an internship in D.C. Did you take a look at that?"
"I did, and I'm working on the letter of interest now."
I have a feeling that she'd been waiting for me to say something along those lines, something like I'm done abroad and I want to come home. I think she was just waiting for me to be the one to decide.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Lac des Cygnes
Last Thursday, I had a final exam in Comparative International Law and a midterm in International Security. This, of course, almost killed me. Comparative International Law is not fun and if someone expresses recreational interest in the subject, you should treat this individual with great suspicion.
However, I pulled through because that evening, I had a ticket to see the Paris Opera Ballet in their closing night of Swan Lake.
I leaped on the metro at 6:45 only to encounter delays all the way to Bastille. After dashing out of the metro at 7:15, I lined up with everyone else to get through bag check and then got my ticket scanned and started up the stairs.
Here is where the Paris Opera fails: helping you find where the hell your seat is. There are no employees anywhere except at the doors, but when your entry door is #11, second tier balcony, and there doesn't seem to be a first balcony and the doors go from #9 to #12, all hope seems to be lost. I eventually found my seat by swallowing my pride and just walking into random doors until the usher didn't give me an eye roll.
I had the cheapest seats to the ballet, but they were the best seats for seeing Nureyev's Swan Lake. It's an awe-inspiring ballet, full of formations that are best seen from a bird's-eye-view, or as close as you can get to bird's eye. At the orchestra level you won't be able to see the circles that fold in on each other or the line changes that are made with military precision.
I'd settled into my seat that also had a great view of the orchestra, and it was then that I realized there was no curtain. The stage was open and empty, and when the house lights went down, the first person to appear was a man in a suit, who stepped into a spotlight on downstage right.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Paris Opera. Due to a nationwide strike, tonight's production of Swan Lake will be performed with minimal sets and the soloists and corps will be wearing modified costumes."
This announcement was met with whistles and cheers of encouragement from the entire opera house.
The next three hours were full of the most beautiful ballet I've ever seen, accompanied by dancers awkwardly moving set pieces and wearing heavy leather character boots with fairy princess dresses. I may have said that the St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre was wonderfully in synch, but the Paris Opera Corps de Ballet might have been sharing their brainwaves. Everything from head position to arabesque height was in tune with each other. In fact, I was so mesmerized by the corps, that I'm not sure I paid enough attention to Odette/Odile or the prince. The lead soloist did have some incredible balances and the soloist in the role of the prince may have actually been flying? Unconfirmed. I appreciated the Swan Lake as done by the Paris Opera because it also explains some things in the story better. In other productions I've seen, the prince just sort of finds Odette and decides he's going to marry her. Paris Opera has the decency to include a scene where they actually speak to each other (in mime, of course) and Odette explains that she needs someone to marry her in order to break the spell. I like that just because it rationalizes Siegfried's insane decision to marry a swan lady he met in the woods at midnight. Additionally, Rothbart also takes on two personalities in this production--both as the evil sorcerer and the Prince's tutor. There's a lot of pas-de-deux in Nureyev's Swan Lake, from Odette and the Prince to the Spanish dance to the Prince and Rothbart doing some very impressive lifts with each other.
Paris Opera Ballet is an environment where everyone knows what you do when you go to the ballet. Unlike every other spectacle I've been to here, I didn't see a single person leave the production early. They gave the dancers five curtain calls, the applause was thunderous, and I left the Opera Bastille in a cloud of elation. That production of Swan Lake was so beautiful that I almost never want to see another production of Swan Lake ever again.
However, I pulled through because that evening, I had a ticket to see the Paris Opera Ballet in their closing night of Swan Lake.
I leaped on the metro at 6:45 only to encounter delays all the way to Bastille. After dashing out of the metro at 7:15, I lined up with everyone else to get through bag check and then got my ticket scanned and started up the stairs.
Here is where the Paris Opera fails: helping you find where the hell your seat is. There are no employees anywhere except at the doors, but when your entry door is #11, second tier balcony, and there doesn't seem to be a first balcony and the doors go from #9 to #12, all hope seems to be lost. I eventually found my seat by swallowing my pride and just walking into random doors until the usher didn't give me an eye roll.
I had the cheapest seats to the ballet, but they were the best seats for seeing Nureyev's Swan Lake. It's an awe-inspiring ballet, full of formations that are best seen from a bird's-eye-view, or as close as you can get to bird's eye. At the orchestra level you won't be able to see the circles that fold in on each other or the line changes that are made with military precision.
I'd settled into my seat that also had a great view of the orchestra, and it was then that I realized there was no curtain. The stage was open and empty, and when the house lights went down, the first person to appear was a man in a suit, who stepped into a spotlight on downstage right.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Paris Opera. Due to a nationwide strike, tonight's production of Swan Lake will be performed with minimal sets and the soloists and corps will be wearing modified costumes."
This announcement was met with whistles and cheers of encouragement from the entire opera house.
The next three hours were full of the most beautiful ballet I've ever seen, accompanied by dancers awkwardly moving set pieces and wearing heavy leather character boots with fairy princess dresses. I may have said that the St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre was wonderfully in synch, but the Paris Opera Corps de Ballet might have been sharing their brainwaves. Everything from head position to arabesque height was in tune with each other. In fact, I was so mesmerized by the corps, that I'm not sure I paid enough attention to Odette/Odile or the prince. The lead soloist did have some incredible balances and the soloist in the role of the prince may have actually been flying? Unconfirmed. I appreciated the Swan Lake as done by the Paris Opera because it also explains some things in the story better. In other productions I've seen, the prince just sort of finds Odette and decides he's going to marry her. Paris Opera has the decency to include a scene where they actually speak to each other (in mime, of course) and Odette explains that she needs someone to marry her in order to break the spell. I like that just because it rationalizes Siegfried's insane decision to marry a swan lady he met in the woods at midnight. Additionally, Rothbart also takes on two personalities in this production--both as the evil sorcerer and the Prince's tutor. There's a lot of pas-de-deux in Nureyev's Swan Lake, from Odette and the Prince to the Spanish dance to the Prince and Rothbart doing some very impressive lifts with each other.
Paris Opera Ballet is an environment where everyone knows what you do when you go to the ballet. Unlike every other spectacle I've been to here, I didn't see a single person leave the production early. They gave the dancers five curtain calls, the applause was thunderous, and I left the Opera Bastille in a cloud of elation. That production of Swan Lake was so beautiful that I almost never want to see another production of Swan Lake ever again.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Une semaine avec Victoria
Victoria and I spent the last week being Americans in Paris, and I quite frankly like it better than being Parisian in Paris. I've recharged, eaten good food, and done a lot of shopping.
Victoria arrived in Paris on Friday in the afternoon and when she arrived, I promptly headed out for ballet, leaving Victoria to her own devices. (She bought toothpaste and Pringles and a pizza). We finished the night with a lot of quiche and champagne.
Saturday was our first of many shopping days. We headed out on Rue de Rennes, exploring the area and popping into little shops that we'd never heard of as well as all the ones we knew from stateside. We amassed quite a bit of merchandise before we hopped back on the metro and I dragged her to my Saturday afternoon ballet class.
Sunday, I left Victoria in the morning so I could go to my ballet class and she could recover more fully from her jet lag. After my class, we met at Place Monge in order to make it to La Comedie Saint Michel. We walked out of the metro station and straight into a street market. After buying samosas and Moroccan tajine, we started the trek to the theatre, which took longer and was more painful than we had previously anticipated. After traipsing around the area for a while, we picked up our tickets, which were classic tear tickets stamped with my name--a cool bonus that happens when you reserve tickets through TickeTac (which you need to get on if you're going to be spending time in Paris). We saw a production of Le Petit Prince that was intended for children and it was maybe one of the best plays I've ever seen. I laughed wildly, joyfully engaged with the actors when prompted, and literally cried at the end. At the curtain call, the actor playing le petit prince declared that that day was his 107th trip to earth, which was children's-theatre-actor-code for "I've been playing this role for 107 shows" which is incredible.
We walked from the comedie to le Jardin du Luxembourg and from there we found ourselves at Pierre Hermé, and we jumped at the chance to start our discovery of macarons in Paris (the famous Pierre Hermé vs. Ladurée debate/war). We returned home and ate four pastries--the lemon tart, coffee tart, ispahan rose pastry, and baba rum cake as well as picking from the box of 24 macarons. The rum cake was immediately our favorite.
Monday went without a lot of fuss or interesting events, but Tuesday I made reservations for lunch at Ladurée.
We met at the church just by the Saint-Germain-des-Prés metro stop and walked up the street to Ladurée, where we were seated in the mostly empty café before being swiftly moved to the little table bearing a card with my name on it (which I saved, of course, like everything else). Lunch at Ladurée is delicious, but if you go for two courses it is a lot of food. Victoria opted for the cauliflower soup and chicken club sandwich and I got the smoked salmon plate and the duck with artichokes. Victoria couldn't finish her sandwich. The waiter told her that she couldn't take it home in a box, but I guess after her dismayed look or the fact that there was 2/3 of a sandwich on her plate, he snuck us a box from the bakery and made her hid it in her purse.
After lunch, we walked into the bakery area, so that we could continue the Pierre Hermé vs Ladurée discovery. We went home with macarons, the Ladurée version of the ispahan rose pastry, and a rose Saint-Honoré cake. Here, we came to the conclusion that Ladurée macarons are superior (as is the packaging--Laudrée is just cuter, all in pastel etc., while Pierre Hermé seems to be designed so that men don't feel weird shopping for sweets there).
Wednesday we started our day rather late and headed out to the local pharmacy (well, one of them). After all of the Youtube videos and the Buzzfeed articles, we decided we needed to stock up on the cult beauty products. While I only walked out with two things, it was only the beginning. After the pharmacy run, we swung by the pizzeria and picked up a ham and egg pizza and a calzone.
We had reservations at Le Petit Medicis restaurant to have the foie gras and other lovely things that night, but in the middle of the day, we both realized how much we didn't want to do that. So instead we met up at a park after my class at 7pm and haunted the Bon Marché as it started to close up, just touching pretty things and looking at interesting books and expensive juices. After that, we didn't stop and go home; oh no. We went out to late night at the Louvre, where the Louvre closes at 9:45pm and stayed until the announcement came over the speakers that it was time to get out. The museum is very empty at night, and we ran around through the Napoleon apartments before almost getting locked in the basement when the metro station closed. After that, we ate the rest of the pizza and calzone, more quiche, and drank red wine. Quite frankly, I think the cheap food and the wine and homemade quiche and Louvre time made us happier than Le Petit Medicis would have.
Thursday was pretty great because my law class was cancelled and so we went out shopping--our favorite shops and then also more pharmacies, where we picked up the famous homeoplasmine, which is supposed to be a miracle product. I had to leave Victoria for two hours during my security class before we met up again because she said that she'd found some good white sneakers for me.
White sneakers for Megan was one of Victoria's quests apparently, for her week and she'd found the Bensimon store near Sciences Po, where we spent some time. I eventually got navy blue sneakers (sorry Victoria) before we walked back to the metro and headed home.
On Friday, I put all of my ballet gear into my purse and we ran off to the Louvre. We fortunately got there before the enormous, enormous crowds and we popped up there and discovered the Dutch paintings and a lot of iconography and a whole bunch of stuff that Victoria knew very well and I had literally never ever seen before. We finished our trip with a long stay on a marble bench in the Babylonian area of the museum, overlooking the statue garden. After grabbing sandwiches at the Louvre's Paul bakery, we headed off to the Opera area to discover Rue Saint-Honoré and popped into all interesting stores. I had told myself that I didn't need to get to ballet but at 6:18 I suddenly decided I did, and so I dragged Victoria back to the studio, tossed her the keys, and got back to the apartment at 10pm, promising Victoria I would make Shakshuka for her, but that was a long time to go before dinner, so she had bought a calzone, and when I got back I ate the rest of it. I however, still needed to get the baking bug out of my system, so we made a grapefruit meringue pie, right then and there. Victoria discovered the secret to stiff meringues (not the soupy stuff I've been dealing with) and it consists of no cornstarch, whipping the eggs like you're starting a fire with a stick, and adding the sugar very, very slowly. We made that, stayed awake enough to eat a slice, and then went to bed.
Saturday was Victoria's last day in Paris and we decided to make it our last-minute shopping trip. We walked down Rue de Rennes again, then found ourselves by Pierre Hermé where we bought pastries (the rum cake included) and ate them in the Saint Sulplice church courtyard. After that, we made it to CityPharma (the discounts there are not quite worth the anxiety-inducing environment), which had been taken over by firefighters last time we were in the area. After abandoning our choices when confronted with the lines, we continued to Ladurée for macrons and more pastries. We ate sandwiches in a sidewalk café, bought more sneakers at Bensimon, and raided another pharmacy for all of the recommended products.
That evening I finally did make shakshuka and we ate it with pierogi and mangos and pie and washed it all down with a bottle of champagne that I accidentally spilled all over the kitchen.
And then that Sunday morning at 4am, Victoria hauled her suitcase, backpack, bag of macarons, and two pirozhi wrapped in foil out the door to the waiting airport shuttle.
This past week, I learned that Victoria sees Paris as I've finally realized I should see it and experiences the city like it should be experienced--shamelessly and with a brave smile and an eagerness to see everything. Who cares if you aren't wearing great street style? Who cares if your dress is too fancy? Who cares if you're speaking English loudly on the street or in a shop or in the Louvre? Show salespeople pictures of what you're looking for, grin widely, point at dresses you want to try on, touch expensive clothes in high-end stores. Who cares? It's Paris. Be brave and unashamed. I am trying my best to do this, but I've also realized that Paris is only like this when I'm with an old friend.
Victoria arrived in Paris on Friday in the afternoon and when she arrived, I promptly headed out for ballet, leaving Victoria to her own devices. (She bought toothpaste and Pringles and a pizza). We finished the night with a lot of quiche and champagne.
Saturday was our first of many shopping days. We headed out on Rue de Rennes, exploring the area and popping into little shops that we'd never heard of as well as all the ones we knew from stateside. We amassed quite a bit of merchandise before we hopped back on the metro and I dragged her to my Saturday afternoon ballet class.
Sunday, I left Victoria in the morning so I could go to my ballet class and she could recover more fully from her jet lag. After my class, we met at Place Monge in order to make it to La Comedie Saint Michel. We walked out of the metro station and straight into a street market. After buying samosas and Moroccan tajine, we started the trek to the theatre, which took longer and was more painful than we had previously anticipated. After traipsing around the area for a while, we picked up our tickets, which were classic tear tickets stamped with my name--a cool bonus that happens when you reserve tickets through TickeTac (which you need to get on if you're going to be spending time in Paris). We saw a production of Le Petit Prince that was intended for children and it was maybe one of the best plays I've ever seen. I laughed wildly, joyfully engaged with the actors when prompted, and literally cried at the end. At the curtain call, the actor playing le petit prince declared that that day was his 107th trip to earth, which was children's-theatre-actor-code for "I've been playing this role for 107 shows" which is incredible.
We walked from the comedie to le Jardin du Luxembourg and from there we found ourselves at Pierre Hermé, and we jumped at the chance to start our discovery of macarons in Paris (the famous Pierre Hermé vs. Ladurée debate/war). We returned home and ate four pastries--the lemon tart, coffee tart, ispahan rose pastry, and baba rum cake as well as picking from the box of 24 macarons. The rum cake was immediately our favorite.
Monday went without a lot of fuss or interesting events, but Tuesday I made reservations for lunch at Ladurée.
We met at the church just by the Saint-Germain-des-Prés metro stop and walked up the street to Ladurée, where we were seated in the mostly empty café before being swiftly moved to the little table bearing a card with my name on it (which I saved, of course, like everything else). Lunch at Ladurée is delicious, but if you go for two courses it is a lot of food. Victoria opted for the cauliflower soup and chicken club sandwich and I got the smoked salmon plate and the duck with artichokes. Victoria couldn't finish her sandwich. The waiter told her that she couldn't take it home in a box, but I guess after her dismayed look or the fact that there was 2/3 of a sandwich on her plate, he snuck us a box from the bakery and made her hid it in her purse.
After lunch, we walked into the bakery area, so that we could continue the Pierre Hermé vs Ladurée discovery. We went home with macarons, the Ladurée version of the ispahan rose pastry, and a rose Saint-Honoré cake. Here, we came to the conclusion that Ladurée macarons are superior (as is the packaging--Laudrée is just cuter, all in pastel etc., while Pierre Hermé seems to be designed so that men don't feel weird shopping for sweets there).
Wednesday we started our day rather late and headed out to the local pharmacy (well, one of them). After all of the Youtube videos and the Buzzfeed articles, we decided we needed to stock up on the cult beauty products. While I only walked out with two things, it was only the beginning. After the pharmacy run, we swung by the pizzeria and picked up a ham and egg pizza and a calzone.
We had reservations at Le Petit Medicis restaurant to have the foie gras and other lovely things that night, but in the middle of the day, we both realized how much we didn't want to do that. So instead we met up at a park after my class at 7pm and haunted the Bon Marché as it started to close up, just touching pretty things and looking at interesting books and expensive juices. After that, we didn't stop and go home; oh no. We went out to late night at the Louvre, where the Louvre closes at 9:45pm and stayed until the announcement came over the speakers that it was time to get out. The museum is very empty at night, and we ran around through the Napoleon apartments before almost getting locked in the basement when the metro station closed. After that, we ate the rest of the pizza and calzone, more quiche, and drank red wine. Quite frankly, I think the cheap food and the wine and homemade quiche and Louvre time made us happier than Le Petit Medicis would have.
Thursday was pretty great because my law class was cancelled and so we went out shopping--our favorite shops and then also more pharmacies, where we picked up the famous homeoplasmine, which is supposed to be a miracle product. I had to leave Victoria for two hours during my security class before we met up again because she said that she'd found some good white sneakers for me.
White sneakers for Megan was one of Victoria's quests apparently, for her week and she'd found the Bensimon store near Sciences Po, where we spent some time. I eventually got navy blue sneakers (sorry Victoria) before we walked back to the metro and headed home.
On Friday, I put all of my ballet gear into my purse and we ran off to the Louvre. We fortunately got there before the enormous, enormous crowds and we popped up there and discovered the Dutch paintings and a lot of iconography and a whole bunch of stuff that Victoria knew very well and I had literally never ever seen before. We finished our trip with a long stay on a marble bench in the Babylonian area of the museum, overlooking the statue garden. After grabbing sandwiches at the Louvre's Paul bakery, we headed off to the Opera area to discover Rue Saint-Honoré and popped into all interesting stores. I had told myself that I didn't need to get to ballet but at 6:18 I suddenly decided I did, and so I dragged Victoria back to the studio, tossed her the keys, and got back to the apartment at 10pm, promising Victoria I would make Shakshuka for her, but that was a long time to go before dinner, so she had bought a calzone, and when I got back I ate the rest of it. I however, still needed to get the baking bug out of my system, so we made a grapefruit meringue pie, right then and there. Victoria discovered the secret to stiff meringues (not the soupy stuff I've been dealing with) and it consists of no cornstarch, whipping the eggs like you're starting a fire with a stick, and adding the sugar very, very slowly. We made that, stayed awake enough to eat a slice, and then went to bed.
Saturday was Victoria's last day in Paris and we decided to make it our last-minute shopping trip. We walked down Rue de Rennes again, then found ourselves by Pierre Hermé where we bought pastries (the rum cake included) and ate them in the Saint Sulplice church courtyard. After that, we made it to CityPharma (the discounts there are not quite worth the anxiety-inducing environment), which had been taken over by firefighters last time we were in the area. After abandoning our choices when confronted with the lines, we continued to Ladurée for macrons and more pastries. We ate sandwiches in a sidewalk café, bought more sneakers at Bensimon, and raided another pharmacy for all of the recommended products.
That evening I finally did make shakshuka and we ate it with pierogi and mangos and pie and washed it all down with a bottle of champagne that I accidentally spilled all over the kitchen.
And then that Sunday morning at 4am, Victoria hauled her suitcase, backpack, bag of macarons, and two pirozhi wrapped in foil out the door to the waiting airport shuttle.
This past week, I learned that Victoria sees Paris as I've finally realized I should see it and experiences the city like it should be experienced--shamelessly and with a brave smile and an eagerness to see everything. Who cares if you aren't wearing great street style? Who cares if your dress is too fancy? Who cares if you're speaking English loudly on the street or in a shop or in the Louvre? Show salespeople pictures of what you're looking for, grin widely, point at dresses you want to try on, touch expensive clothes in high-end stores. Who cares? It's Paris. Be brave and unashamed. I am trying my best to do this, but I've also realized that Paris is only like this when I'm with an old friend.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
La Danse, les Spectacles, et les Tartes
Since the last blog post, my life has been a blur of boring academics, cooking and baking adventures, and a lot of ballet--both watched from a red velvet chair and done on a mylar dance floor.
During my spring break (which may have actually been winter break), I opted to stay in Paris, since
I hadn't done anything in Paris yet. I actually didn't do much anyway, even without classes, and instead I got a lot of rest and caught up on the readings for all of my classes. One afternoon, I did head over to the Louvre and walked through the Jardin des Tuileries, spending some time on a lawn chair by one of the little ponds, reading Arabic poetry. I got flack from some for not going into the Louvre, but I don't even care--it felt good to get outside and even better to crack open a book that I brought here and hadn't yet started reading.
On the Saturday before classes started again, I found myself at l'Église de la Madeleine, which is immense and impressive. I was there to listen to Mozart's requiem, which was performed there for the first time at the funeral of Chopin at his own request, even though women were not allowed to sing in church at the time (they just hid the soprano and alto sections behind black velvet curtains). I have heard the requiem before, but it was the "rock-iem", a reimagined version with a keyboardist and a drummer and an electric guitarist. It was truly moving to hear it performed classically with an orchestra in a building like that.
I have also now been to the Paris Opera. Along with several people from my program, I attended a production of Faust, which was good because I'd never seen it, but I did study it with Sr. O'Dea in high school and I still remember most of that entire class. Opera is a little too much for me, what with the staging and then the little screens above your seats with the libretto--I was just flickering in between watching and reading and also listening, because you can also just listen to opera with your eyes closed.
And yes, I've been cooking and baking a lot. I moved away from Russia with the medovik and pierogi and pirozhi, sustained myself off of one pot pastas for a while, and then transitioned to Shakshuka. It's a Tunisian/Israeli/etc in the region dish, with bell peppers and tomatoes and onions and eggs and it's delicious and now I'm living off of that. Pi day was also an adventure for me, because I decided to progress from the apple pies directly to lemon meringue. My first try was a little bitter and weepy, but today I found that I had two more lemons, so what could I do but make another pie? This one was excellent, in my own humble opinion, and I am going to need to restrain myself from eating the whole thing in one night.
This past week, my evenings have been monopolized by three trips to see the St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre's Paris tour, featuring their prima ballerina, Irina Kolesnikova. Tuesday, I saw Swan lake--the second performance I've seen of it in Paris. It was incredible--the company is enthusiastic and talented and the costumes and scenery were just what I wanted from Swan Lake--vaguely medieval and extravagant. Irina was excellent, and while her extensions are clearly capable of grazing her ears, she does something that I've rarely seen ballerinas do--she limits their height in order to preserve the alignment of her hips and therefore the line she presents is very clean. That sounds a little nerdy/snobbish but I found it very lovely. Also, the corps was so in sync for the whole performance that it was a little unnerving. Thursday night, I saw La Bayadere and got all excited when the corps performed the sequences that we learned at Sun King Dance in Richmond during the summer! I've never seen La Bayadere before, and it's quite a different type of ballet than I've usually seen because there are multiple scenes where three characters are on stage but none of them really dance--if you want to see a ballet that really showcases why your dancer friends sometimes talk about mime classes, you should see La Bayadere. Also if you want to feel bad about yourself and your workout routine, go see La Bayadere, because the corps dancers will likely be wearing costumes that show off their midriffs, and all of them will probably have six pack abs that are clearly well defined while they are delicately twirling about the stage. Friday night was Romeo and Juliet, another mime-heavy ballet with tons of fencing and incredibly satisfying amounts of folk dancing. The scene changes were a little disorganized and I was seated next to someone who was upset that people were applauding the dancers, but it was still excellent.
I will be seeing the Paris Opera Ballet in Swan Lake next, and Victoria is coming to town in two weeks, which means I may finally explore Paris as a tourist, after having lived here for two months!
During my spring break (which may have actually been winter break), I opted to stay in Paris, since
I hadn't done anything in Paris yet. I actually didn't do much anyway, even without classes, and instead I got a lot of rest and caught up on the readings for all of my classes. One afternoon, I did head over to the Louvre and walked through the Jardin des Tuileries, spending some time on a lawn chair by one of the little ponds, reading Arabic poetry. I got flack from some for not going into the Louvre, but I don't even care--it felt good to get outside and even better to crack open a book that I brought here and hadn't yet started reading.
On the Saturday before classes started again, I found myself at l'Église de la Madeleine, which is immense and impressive. I was there to listen to Mozart's requiem, which was performed there for the first time at the funeral of Chopin at his own request, even though women were not allowed to sing in church at the time (they just hid the soprano and alto sections behind black velvet curtains). I have heard the requiem before, but it was the "rock-iem", a reimagined version with a keyboardist and a drummer and an electric guitarist. It was truly moving to hear it performed classically with an orchestra in a building like that.
I have also now been to the Paris Opera. Along with several people from my program, I attended a production of Faust, which was good because I'd never seen it, but I did study it with Sr. O'Dea in high school and I still remember most of that entire class. Opera is a little too much for me, what with the staging and then the little screens above your seats with the libretto--I was just flickering in between watching and reading and also listening, because you can also just listen to opera with your eyes closed.
And yes, I've been cooking and baking a lot. I moved away from Russia with the medovik and pierogi and pirozhi, sustained myself off of one pot pastas for a while, and then transitioned to Shakshuka. It's a Tunisian/Israeli/etc in the region dish, with bell peppers and tomatoes and onions and eggs and it's delicious and now I'm living off of that. Pi day was also an adventure for me, because I decided to progress from the apple pies directly to lemon meringue. My first try was a little bitter and weepy, but today I found that I had two more lemons, so what could I do but make another pie? This one was excellent, in my own humble opinion, and I am going to need to restrain myself from eating the whole thing in one night.
This past week, my evenings have been monopolized by three trips to see the St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre's Paris tour, featuring their prima ballerina, Irina Kolesnikova. Tuesday, I saw Swan lake--the second performance I've seen of it in Paris. It was incredible--the company is enthusiastic and talented and the costumes and scenery were just what I wanted from Swan Lake--vaguely medieval and extravagant. Irina was excellent, and while her extensions are clearly capable of grazing her ears, she does something that I've rarely seen ballerinas do--she limits their height in order to preserve the alignment of her hips and therefore the line she presents is very clean. That sounds a little nerdy/snobbish but I found it very lovely. Also, the corps was so in sync for the whole performance that it was a little unnerving. Thursday night, I saw La Bayadere and got all excited when the corps performed the sequences that we learned at Sun King Dance in Richmond during the summer! I've never seen La Bayadere before, and it's quite a different type of ballet than I've usually seen because there are multiple scenes where three characters are on stage but none of them really dance--if you want to see a ballet that really showcases why your dancer friends sometimes talk about mime classes, you should see La Bayadere. Also if you want to feel bad about yourself and your workout routine, go see La Bayadere, because the corps dancers will likely be wearing costumes that show off their midriffs, and all of them will probably have six pack abs that are clearly well defined while they are delicately twirling about the stage. Friday night was Romeo and Juliet, another mime-heavy ballet with tons of fencing and incredibly satisfying amounts of folk dancing. The scene changes were a little disorganized and I was seated next to someone who was upset that people were applauding the dancers, but it was still excellent.
I will be seeing the Paris Opera Ballet in Swan Lake next, and Victoria is coming to town in two weeks, which means I may finally explore Paris as a tourist, after having lived here for two months!
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Un mois à Paris
I have been Parisienne for a month now and I still can't say how I feel about it. It's been a rush of classes and metro rides and ballet and baking, mostly.
One of the best things so far is that I found the site Ticketac, which lets me search through all theatre events, comedy shows, ballets, concerts, etc. in Paris. Obviously I went totally wild with the discounted tickets. After all, this is my first time living in a cultural capital of the world, and with all of the theatres and available sights, I bought myself tickets to twelve shows this semester.
The first show I went to see was La Scala Theatre's production of Giselle. It was at Palais de Congres on the edge of Paris, and when I arrived, the section I had paid for was roped off and I was led to a much nicer area, due to underselling. The ballet was incredible, and after two viewings, I am about ready to declare Giselle to be my favorite ballet. It has a village scene, which means you get energetic dancing, and intense emotion, and then the most visually striking image of the corps in white veils. How could I not love that?
The second production was the Imperial Ice Stars in Swan Lake on Ice, which was just about as visually striking, technically stunning, and unbearably cheesy as you probably imagine. There was wirework, circles of flames, and swordfighting, but it was dizzying even to just watch the performers spin, sometimes with three people spinning on one blade. How do they even do that?
My third venture to a theatre was with St. Petersburg's Eifman Ballet. I didn't know much about the company aside from its location and the fact that it has just recently built a new academy building, but their performance of the night was a modern piece based on the Fitzgerald novel Tender is the Night and I decided to go for it. It was a striking performance--the first modern ballet piece I've seen that incorporated a storyline, and it did it so well.
In terms of baking, I have ventured tentatively away from apple pies and chocolate cakes and quiches with a sudden, vibrant burst of enthusiasm for Russian cuisine. After sitting for two hours in an 8am Russian history bonus class, I felt the need to attempt to make pierogis, which eventually resulted in me boiling and mashing potatoes with ricotta, mixing it with beef, and then making so many pierogis that they didn't all fit in the available tupperware in this apartment. I froze two containers and am already making plans for the next batch.
The Russian honey cake, my first four layer cake, came the day after the pierogi experiment. It promised to be light and not too sweet, which I found intriguing, since I have recently discovered that chocolate cake is too rich for me now. I mixed up the dough and separated it into four bowls, since the recipe was for a four layer cake. I arranged my layers and while they baked, I made the buttercream--thickened with flour. I don't have any sort of electronic mixers, so my buttercream was made with whisks and wooden spoons and an increased risk for carpal tunnel. After assembly, I stuck the cake in the fridge, only to cut into it the next morning for breakfast, where I found that my very first layer cake ever was a total success and didn't taste too bad either. This weekend I plan on trying it again and making it a little bit more traditional (read: upwards of 8 layers).
A couple days after that, I tried my hand at fried cheese pancakes, Syrniki. Despite adding more flour than was called for when the dough turned out to be too sticky and burning myself on the melted butter I was using for frying, they ended up a tasty, puffed success. After setting them on a clean plate, I made a batch of (unfortunately flattened but still delicious) Russian tea cakes with chopped nuts. Now I have all of this Russian food and I don't think Kathy is going to help me eat any of it.
I've also made chicken pot pie from scratch but it was ugly.
When I don't go to see the ballet, I go to ballet classes, which have basically turned what I thought was going to be a boring semester full of largely theoretical coursework into something fully enjoyable. I've found my second home at Elephant Paname, an arts center with five studios, just a block from the Opera Palais Garnier. There are classes Sundays, Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and if I am not at a production, I go. The studios are beautiful--the main one has a full windowed ceiling and they are all mylar-floored. The teachers are supportive and the students are welcoming. For Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, I will have to check out other studios, but so far I am very happy with Elephant Paname.
One of the best things so far is that I found the site Ticketac, which lets me search through all theatre events, comedy shows, ballets, concerts, etc. in Paris. Obviously I went totally wild with the discounted tickets. After all, this is my first time living in a cultural capital of the world, and with all of the theatres and available sights, I bought myself tickets to twelve shows this semester.
The first show I went to see was La Scala Theatre's production of Giselle. It was at Palais de Congres on the edge of Paris, and when I arrived, the section I had paid for was roped off and I was led to a much nicer area, due to underselling. The ballet was incredible, and after two viewings, I am about ready to declare Giselle to be my favorite ballet. It has a village scene, which means you get energetic dancing, and intense emotion, and then the most visually striking image of the corps in white veils. How could I not love that?
The second production was the Imperial Ice Stars in Swan Lake on Ice, which was just about as visually striking, technically stunning, and unbearably cheesy as you probably imagine. There was wirework, circles of flames, and swordfighting, but it was dizzying even to just watch the performers spin, sometimes with three people spinning on one blade. How do they even do that?
My third venture to a theatre was with St. Petersburg's Eifman Ballet. I didn't know much about the company aside from its location and the fact that it has just recently built a new academy building, but their performance of the night was a modern piece based on the Fitzgerald novel Tender is the Night and I decided to go for it. It was a striking performance--the first modern ballet piece I've seen that incorporated a storyline, and it did it so well.
In terms of baking, I have ventured tentatively away from apple pies and chocolate cakes and quiches with a sudden, vibrant burst of enthusiasm for Russian cuisine. After sitting for two hours in an 8am Russian history bonus class, I felt the need to attempt to make pierogis, which eventually resulted in me boiling and mashing potatoes with ricotta, mixing it with beef, and then making so many pierogis that they didn't all fit in the available tupperware in this apartment. I froze two containers and am already making plans for the next batch.
The Russian honey cake, my first four layer cake, came the day after the pierogi experiment. It promised to be light and not too sweet, which I found intriguing, since I have recently discovered that chocolate cake is too rich for me now. I mixed up the dough and separated it into four bowls, since the recipe was for a four layer cake. I arranged my layers and while they baked, I made the buttercream--thickened with flour. I don't have any sort of electronic mixers, so my buttercream was made with whisks and wooden spoons and an increased risk for carpal tunnel. After assembly, I stuck the cake in the fridge, only to cut into it the next morning for breakfast, where I found that my very first layer cake ever was a total success and didn't taste too bad either. This weekend I plan on trying it again and making it a little bit more traditional (read: upwards of 8 layers).
A couple days after that, I tried my hand at fried cheese pancakes, Syrniki. Despite adding more flour than was called for when the dough turned out to be too sticky and burning myself on the melted butter I was using for frying, they ended up a tasty, puffed success. After setting them on a clean plate, I made a batch of (unfortunately flattened but still delicious) Russian tea cakes with chopped nuts. Now I have all of this Russian food and I don't think Kathy is going to help me eat any of it.
I've also made chicken pot pie from scratch but it was ugly.
When I don't go to see the ballet, I go to ballet classes, which have basically turned what I thought was going to be a boring semester full of largely theoretical coursework into something fully enjoyable. I've found my second home at Elephant Paname, an arts center with five studios, just a block from the Opera Palais Garnier. There are classes Sundays, Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and if I am not at a production, I go. The studios are beautiful--the main one has a full windowed ceiling and they are all mylar-floored. The teachers are supportive and the students are welcoming. For Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, I will have to check out other studios, but so far I am very happy with Elephant Paname.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Un week-end à Nantes
After a week of frozen Paris weather and deathly boring methodology classes at Sciences Po, I found myself looking forward to my weekend trip to Nantes with more enthusiasm than I would usually feel for a train trip. I was up at 7am on Saturday to catch my 8:42am train, and after pacing around the apartment, I headed off to Montparnasse station, which is thankfully on the metro line closest to my apartment.
Two hours later, I arrived in Nantes, and it was like coming home--even more so than arriving in Washington DC. The train station smelled like home and the wait at the warm and sunny bus stop and subsequent bumpy ride was familiar as anything. I arrived at Dany's place and was warmly welcomed and invited to a concert that evening with her before I raced back off to catch the bus within the hour so my ticket was still valid. Once I arrived at Place Graslin, I headed off to meet up with Sydney for brunch at Tabl'o Gourmand--the usual of a Chocolat Inca and all of the bread and butters and jams I can eat. The rest of the afternoon consisted of hitting up all of the best Nantes stores--bookstores and paper stores and clothing stores and that bookseller who sells out of crates in his van outside of the cathedral. We finished our wanderings at Sophie Bakery, where we both picked up pecan pies and I took a slice of chocolate devil's food cake to go.
"And your other host family?" Sydney asked as we walked through Place du Bouffay. "Did you ever make contact?"
My reply of no was just on the tip of my tongue when the door of the Lestang's apartment opened and my high school host mother Pomme walked out. I nearly sprinted away from Sydney and wove through the people on the sidewalk to suddenly surprise Pomme, who admittedly did not at first know what to say. She greeted me and then called down my host father Jean-Philippe, who bought me a coffee and demanded I not only tell him what I had been doing for the past two years, but also why I hadn't emailed more. I tried my best to describe Morocco, George Washington, and Nantes and now Paris. Meije showed up and we were soon walking up to the flat. I saw Raphael and met the two new cats and listened to a family friend sing opera while Jean-Philippe showed me pictures of the family's excursion in Morocco. He informed me that Pomme was going to be playing viola at a concert and after some sleuthing, I found that it was the same concert that Dany had invited me to.
The concert was in a tiny cold church, where a local group performed Bach's Missa Brevis. I walked back to Bouffay with Meije after to join the operatic soloists and some intrumentalists for galette des rois and clairette. I made it back to Dany's apartment at 12:30 in the morning, exhausted and full of marzipan cake.
Sunday, I woke up and headed off to brunch with Sydney again, who had finally coaxed me away from Tabl'o Gourmand to Shefferville Cafe. After a short wait, we were seated and I ordered the fixed brunch menu.
Brunch at Shefferville consists of two plates. Sweet: fruit salad, two pancakes, and two slices of French bread dusted with powdered sugar. Savory: two sausages, half a tomato, three slices of bacon, two eggs, a green salad, and two cheeses. A bagel was served on the side, and the brunch came with coffee and orange juice. I ate everything except one slice of French bread and one pancake, which I handed off to Sydney.
We walked after lunch to let our stomachs settle, and found a church and I was so happy to be in Nantes that I bought a candle for Mary and sat in the church for a few minutes.
Our visit ended at the Jardin des Plantes, where we walked slowly and found the petting zoo full of goats, where one of the goats made an enthusiastic effort to eat Sydney's dress.
I got on the TGV back to Paris with my huge suitcase, two bottles of local wine, and cakes from my favorite bakeries, a weekend well spent, and feeling rested in preparation for starting my classes at Sciences Po.
Two hours later, I arrived in Nantes, and it was like coming home--even more so than arriving in Washington DC. The train station smelled like home and the wait at the warm and sunny bus stop and subsequent bumpy ride was familiar as anything. I arrived at Dany's place and was warmly welcomed and invited to a concert that evening with her before I raced back off to catch the bus within the hour so my ticket was still valid. Once I arrived at Place Graslin, I headed off to meet up with Sydney for brunch at Tabl'o Gourmand--the usual of a Chocolat Inca and all of the bread and butters and jams I can eat. The rest of the afternoon consisted of hitting up all of the best Nantes stores--bookstores and paper stores and clothing stores and that bookseller who sells out of crates in his van outside of the cathedral. We finished our wanderings at Sophie Bakery, where we both picked up pecan pies and I took a slice of chocolate devil's food cake to go.
"And your other host family?" Sydney asked as we walked through Place du Bouffay. "Did you ever make contact?"
My reply of no was just on the tip of my tongue when the door of the Lestang's apartment opened and my high school host mother Pomme walked out. I nearly sprinted away from Sydney and wove through the people on the sidewalk to suddenly surprise Pomme, who admittedly did not at first know what to say. She greeted me and then called down my host father Jean-Philippe, who bought me a coffee and demanded I not only tell him what I had been doing for the past two years, but also why I hadn't emailed more. I tried my best to describe Morocco, George Washington, and Nantes and now Paris. Meije showed up and we were soon walking up to the flat. I saw Raphael and met the two new cats and listened to a family friend sing opera while Jean-Philippe showed me pictures of the family's excursion in Morocco. He informed me that Pomme was going to be playing viola at a concert and after some sleuthing, I found that it was the same concert that Dany had invited me to.
The concert was in a tiny cold church, where a local group performed Bach's Missa Brevis. I walked back to Bouffay with Meije after to join the operatic soloists and some intrumentalists for galette des rois and clairette. I made it back to Dany's apartment at 12:30 in the morning, exhausted and full of marzipan cake.
Sunday, I woke up and headed off to brunch with Sydney again, who had finally coaxed me away from Tabl'o Gourmand to Shefferville Cafe. After a short wait, we were seated and I ordered the fixed brunch menu.
Brunch at Shefferville consists of two plates. Sweet: fruit salad, two pancakes, and two slices of French bread dusted with powdered sugar. Savory: two sausages, half a tomato, three slices of bacon, two eggs, a green salad, and two cheeses. A bagel was served on the side, and the brunch came with coffee and orange juice. I ate everything except one slice of French bread and one pancake, which I handed off to Sydney.
We walked after lunch to let our stomachs settle, and found a church and I was so happy to be in Nantes that I bought a candle for Mary and sat in the church for a few minutes.
Our visit ended at the Jardin des Plantes, where we walked slowly and found the petting zoo full of goats, where one of the goats made an enthusiastic effort to eat Sydney's dress.
I got on the TGV back to Paris with my huge suitcase, two bottles of local wine, and cakes from my favorite bakeries, a weekend well spent, and feeling rested in preparation for starting my classes at Sciences Po.
Friday, January 16, 2015
L'arrivée
I arrived in Paris two days ago at 7 in the morning, landing in Charles de Gaulle airport. I've spent a lot of time in CDG, but I've never actually stepped out of the airport (it's always the connection hub for Nantes and Rabat), and the other three times I was in Paris, I arrived by train or car. After explaining to the surprised program manager that my big suitcase was in Nantes and I was not going to be living out of a carry-on, I was tucked away on a shuttlebus and ferried through Paris morning traffic from the airport to the 13th. After about an hour commute, I got to the apartment and was met by two American Comforts of Home workers, who kindly introduced me to the apartment.
I paid the extra deposit for a single and I ended up with one roommate, Kathy, and we also ended up with an apartment meant for four people. Alongside two enormous bedrooms, we have a dining nook, a kitchen, bathroom, and a living room with too much extra space. Since I showed up first, I got pick of the two bedrooms, and chose the dark one with the large closet.
I slipped downstairs after unpacking so that I could hop over to the tiny grocery store just to the side of our apartment building. I bought the basics, namely tea and puff pastry, and then tried to get back into the building. I got past the front door easily enough, but right when I'd arrived, the Comforts of Home staff had switched out the key I'd been given at the airport for one in a brown envelope. It turned out to be the key to the old lock, and after struggling with the key for about twenty minutes, I finally called the staff. Quite frankly, I'm glad I had this issue so early in the visit. Also, Comforts of Home arrived almost immediately and helped me back in and were so sweet that I didn't even mind.
Our welcome program at Sciences Po started today, and instead of allowing us time to adjust to Paris and explore the city, they herded us into a lecture hall and managed to find thirty dozen different ways to say "we're so happy to have you here at Sciences Po" and spat business hours and email addresses at us without offering corresponding papers. We finally made it through a frankly useless tour with a guide whose words barely left her mouth and sprinted off to Monoprix to stock up on supplies. One electric kettle, a collection of green teas, a hairdryer, two laundry baskets, and a whole bunch of food later, we walked out and braved the metro.
With the mushrooms, ham bits, eggs, creme fraiche, and a sheet of puff pastry, I tossed together a little quiche in our new pie/cake pan and Kathy boiled up some ravioli and we felt especially grown up and plan on continuing our cooking adventures.
Paris so far has been limited to an odd tour and a lecture hall, but I know that after a few weekends I'll discover a few gems.
I paid the extra deposit for a single and I ended up with one roommate, Kathy, and we also ended up with an apartment meant for four people. Alongside two enormous bedrooms, we have a dining nook, a kitchen, bathroom, and a living room with too much extra space. Since I showed up first, I got pick of the two bedrooms, and chose the dark one with the large closet.
I slipped downstairs after unpacking so that I could hop over to the tiny grocery store just to the side of our apartment building. I bought the basics, namely tea and puff pastry, and then tried to get back into the building. I got past the front door easily enough, but right when I'd arrived, the Comforts of Home staff had switched out the key I'd been given at the airport for one in a brown envelope. It turned out to be the key to the old lock, and after struggling with the key for about twenty minutes, I finally called the staff. Quite frankly, I'm glad I had this issue so early in the visit. Also, Comforts of Home arrived almost immediately and helped me back in and were so sweet that I didn't even mind.
Our welcome program at Sciences Po started today, and instead of allowing us time to adjust to Paris and explore the city, they herded us into a lecture hall and managed to find thirty dozen different ways to say "we're so happy to have you here at Sciences Po" and spat business hours and email addresses at us without offering corresponding papers. We finally made it through a frankly useless tour with a guide whose words barely left her mouth and sprinted off to Monoprix to stock up on supplies. One electric kettle, a collection of green teas, a hairdryer, two laundry baskets, and a whole bunch of food later, we walked out and braved the metro.
With the mushrooms, ham bits, eggs, creme fraiche, and a sheet of puff pastry, I tossed together a little quiche in our new pie/cake pan and Kathy boiled up some ravioli and we felt especially grown up and plan on continuing our cooking adventures.
Paris so far has been limited to an odd tour and a lecture hall, but I know that after a few weekends I'll discover a few gems.
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