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!
Sunday, March 15, 2015
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.
Monday, December 29, 2014
La prefecture ou l'ambassade
The one thing that lasted past the end of the semester was the process of my spring 2015 student visa.
I'd been accepted to the GW Paris Sciences Po program, and since I jump at an opportunity to return to France every time it's offered to me, I accepted my offer of admission and then awkwardly explained to George Washington University's study abroad office that I couldn't go to the pre-departure orientation meetings because I was not in the country. I also asked immediately for any and all paperwork that I needed, because I hadn't planned earlier for my spring semester and my fall visa expired on the first of January, 2015.
GW sent me my acceptance letter and told me to start the process for the visa extension as soon as possible. So obviously, I put it off for about a month and a half.
I finally asked IES and was told to head over to the prefecture, and after a little searching, I found the prefecture and walked right in and said I was there to extend a student visa. I was told that the visa office was closed and I would need to come back the next day, at either 8 in the morning or about 1pm, to wait for it to open again.
My next attempt at extending the visa came several days later when I walked back to the prefecture with the intention of getting a list of required materials. Just a list, I told myself. I just need that list of papers that I need. I'd looked online for lists, and all of them involved OFII applications and copies of my birth certificate and official translations of said birth certificate. I emailed my parents with the lists and asked them to send scans while I tried to organize the real list.
I arrived in the prefecture and was told to come back the next day because the office was closed. I insisted that I just wanted a list of materials. Just a list, nothing more. The woman at the desk repeated that I would need to come back the next day.
When I arrived the next day, I had a plan in mind. I walked into the prefecture, took a number, and waited. After just a few minutes, my number was called and I explained that I wanted.
The woman very gently informed me that I was in the office for car registration.
As I left, I asked again what time the office opened. The woman at the desk told me with a smirk that it was already open, but then when I clarified that I wanted to know what time it opened the next day, I was told 8am or 1:30pm.
"What time does the line start for the one thirty opening?" I asked.
"About noon."
The next day, I got to the prefecture at 11:20am and navigated a police barricade before settling myself at the head of the line for the visa offices. I sat there, with a freshly downloaded album from Noisetrade on repeat, and waited until the office door was opened at 1pm. With the rest of the line, I rushed into the second waiting room before being allowed to draw a number at 1:30pm.
At 2pm, I finally reached the desk, operated by the nicest embassy/prefecture/DMV worker I've ever encountered. He'd been around for the past hour, organizing the line and yelling at people who weren't letting a woman with her tiny baby through the line.
I explained to him that I needed to extend a student visa, and after examining my passport, he told me that it was impossible to extend the sort of visa that I'd been given. He took a fresh piece of paper and started writing down lists and addresses--he told me that I had to apply in writing to an address in Rennes--probably the consulate--because my visa required that I return home before it expired. I assured him that I was indeed going home, and with a relieved sigh, he tore his list in two and told me to just apply for a new visa in the embassy in the states.
"It's so much simpler," he told me three times, and I ran out of the prefecture and made it to my 2:30pm theatre class in time.
I had already done this deal before--going from being abroad with a ticket home to being abroad with a rearranged ticket to DC so I could get that visa appointment. I booked my appointment and my parents and I started sending things and submitting money orders. CampusFrance took time and I started to get nervous when they didn't send me confirmation emails, but otherwise it was straightforward--I'd already done it all before.
My flight was changed from Nantes-->Paris-->London-->Seattle to Nantes-->Paris-->Detroit-->DC and my mom sent all the necessary papers to the hotel.
On the 22nd, I found myself standing outside the French embassy at 8:30am, waiting for the embassy to open so I could get to my 8:45am appointment. I was let in just a little late and then grabbed the first number, popped up to the window when I was called, and then handed my papers to the man at the window just as fast as he asked for them. I remembered my first visa appointment, where processing took time and I had to wait for maybe two hours in between being called to the window, being given another number, and waiting again.
I was given a form to sign, one that said that I acknowledged my passport could take up to three months to be processed, especially for the long stay visa.
The man took all of my papers, handed back a few of them, and stapled my picture to the application form.
"All right, you're good to go," he said.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
He pressed a button and someone else was called to the window. It was 9:15am.
I broke the embassy's door handle on the way out.
The day after Christmas, my passport arrived in the express envelope I'd provided at the embassy. It had taken a mere two days. (I assume no one was working on Christmas).
So I guess the whole message of this very long process (and very rambling blog post) is that you 1. shouldn't delay getting your visa, ever, and 2. shouldn't worry too much if you have all of your paperwork.
I'd been accepted to the GW Paris Sciences Po program, and since I jump at an opportunity to return to France every time it's offered to me, I accepted my offer of admission and then awkwardly explained to George Washington University's study abroad office that I couldn't go to the pre-departure orientation meetings because I was not in the country. I also asked immediately for any and all paperwork that I needed, because I hadn't planned earlier for my spring semester and my fall visa expired on the first of January, 2015.
GW sent me my acceptance letter and told me to start the process for the visa extension as soon as possible. So obviously, I put it off for about a month and a half.
I finally asked IES and was told to head over to the prefecture, and after a little searching, I found the prefecture and walked right in and said I was there to extend a student visa. I was told that the visa office was closed and I would need to come back the next day, at either 8 in the morning or about 1pm, to wait for it to open again.
My next attempt at extending the visa came several days later when I walked back to the prefecture with the intention of getting a list of required materials. Just a list, I told myself. I just need that list of papers that I need. I'd looked online for lists, and all of them involved OFII applications and copies of my birth certificate and official translations of said birth certificate. I emailed my parents with the lists and asked them to send scans while I tried to organize the real list.
I arrived in the prefecture and was told to come back the next day because the office was closed. I insisted that I just wanted a list of materials. Just a list, nothing more. The woman at the desk repeated that I would need to come back the next day.
When I arrived the next day, I had a plan in mind. I walked into the prefecture, took a number, and waited. After just a few minutes, my number was called and I explained that I wanted.
The woman very gently informed me that I was in the office for car registration.
As I left, I asked again what time the office opened. The woman at the desk told me with a smirk that it was already open, but then when I clarified that I wanted to know what time it opened the next day, I was told 8am or 1:30pm.
"What time does the line start for the one thirty opening?" I asked.
"About noon."
The next day, I got to the prefecture at 11:20am and navigated a police barricade before settling myself at the head of the line for the visa offices. I sat there, with a freshly downloaded album from Noisetrade on repeat, and waited until the office door was opened at 1pm. With the rest of the line, I rushed into the second waiting room before being allowed to draw a number at 1:30pm.
At 2pm, I finally reached the desk, operated by the nicest embassy/prefecture/DMV worker I've ever encountered. He'd been around for the past hour, organizing the line and yelling at people who weren't letting a woman with her tiny baby through the line.
I explained to him that I needed to extend a student visa, and after examining my passport, he told me that it was impossible to extend the sort of visa that I'd been given. He took a fresh piece of paper and started writing down lists and addresses--he told me that I had to apply in writing to an address in Rennes--probably the consulate--because my visa required that I return home before it expired. I assured him that I was indeed going home, and with a relieved sigh, he tore his list in two and told me to just apply for a new visa in the embassy in the states.
"It's so much simpler," he told me three times, and I ran out of the prefecture and made it to my 2:30pm theatre class in time.
I had already done this deal before--going from being abroad with a ticket home to being abroad with a rearranged ticket to DC so I could get that visa appointment. I booked my appointment and my parents and I started sending things and submitting money orders. CampusFrance took time and I started to get nervous when they didn't send me confirmation emails, but otherwise it was straightforward--I'd already done it all before.
My flight was changed from Nantes-->Paris-->London-->Seattle to Nantes-->Paris-->Detroit-->DC and my mom sent all the necessary papers to the hotel.
On the 22nd, I found myself standing outside the French embassy at 8:30am, waiting for the embassy to open so I could get to my 8:45am appointment. I was let in just a little late and then grabbed the first number, popped up to the window when I was called, and then handed my papers to the man at the window just as fast as he asked for them. I remembered my first visa appointment, where processing took time and I had to wait for maybe two hours in between being called to the window, being given another number, and waiting again.
I was given a form to sign, one that said that I acknowledged my passport could take up to three months to be processed, especially for the long stay visa.
The man took all of my papers, handed back a few of them, and stapled my picture to the application form.
"All right, you're good to go," he said.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
He pressed a button and someone else was called to the window. It was 9:15am.
I broke the embassy's door handle on the way out.
The day after Christmas, my passport arrived in the express envelope I'd provided at the embassy. It had taken a mere two days. (I assume no one was working on Christmas).
So I guess the whole message of this very long process (and very rambling blog post) is that you 1. shouldn't delay getting your visa, ever, and 2. shouldn't worry too much if you have all of your paperwork.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Le Meilleur du Meilleur
Best lemon-meringue tart: Perfectly baked, sweet and sour, with glossy puffs of meringue perched on smooth lemon curd. Found at Au Croissant d'Or bakery near the Copernic bus station.
Best "I hate myself" deal: Four chocolate croissants for 2.40 euro. La Grande Cafe, conveniently placed right as you leave the tram at the Commerce stop.
Best cafe: Tabl'o Gourmand forever and ever amen. Go for the granola and the scrambled eggs for brunch, then the roasted duck with applesauce and goat cheese bagel for lunch, and then all of the baguette and crunchy nutella and spiced hot chocolate for a snack.
Best creperie: My host mom made the best savory crepes, hands down. They were stuffed with sausage and goat cheese and egg and I loved them. Second best, Grand-Mère Augustine in Bouffay with the creme-fraiche and smoked salmon special.
Rudest person I encountered: a man who told me how upset he was that I was a foreigner taking advantage of the French university system. I would have been more insulted, but he was speaking French through the thickest British accent I've ever heard while he was telling me this.
Best class at university: I would say the Law of the European Union, but its only fault was being at 8:30am and lasting for three hours, so I choose the Latin American history course, which was the first time I took a class on that region, and I had the good fortune to have an incredibly articulate, funny professor who demanded order and respect in his classroom.
Best bookstore: Librairie Franklin, two stores over from the bakery with the perfect lemon tart, was the cutest--a tiny, crowded vintage bookstore with books stacked in piles in the middle of the room because the shelves were stuffed. For actual navigation and selection of newer titles, Librairie Coiffard and its two stores across the street from each other takes the prize.
Best castle: The castle at Blois, because its tiled floors were so insane and made me extremely dizzy.
Best dinner out: Curry chicken pizza at a pizzeria across from the castle.
Best dinner in: Dany made quiche and galettes and scrambled eggs and sauteed mushrooms and everything was always fantastic, but the galettes were the best.
Best baguette: There was this one time that Jean-Luc brought a baguette from Trégastel, which is 3 hours to the north. It was very good. Also another time I followed a Carrefour employee who was carrying a crate of fresh baguettes into the store and I snagged one while it was still warm.
Best people-watching spot: The tram stop at the University/the steps outside the lecture hall at university. Everyone's just standing around smoking so it's easy to make up fake backstories or take style tips.
Best wine: Chinon Red 2013. Bake it into fudge cakes. Drink it. Make your friends drink it. Choose it over every other wine in a wine bar in Paris even though you know it already. Save the labels from every bottle you buy.
Best baked creation: Those fantastic golden-brown puffed up choux pastries that I was making like crazy before I discovered the magic of pre-made puff pastry sheets.
Best tourist attraction: Natural History Museum. Go in the middle of the day on a Friday for maximum "I'm alone in a museum full of dead things" factor.
Best Breakfast: Tabl'o Gourmand if we're talking in Nantes, but if we can extend to everywhere I went this semester, then the Swan at Shakespeare's Globe, because that's where I had my first full English, and I want another one.
Best Train: Most definitely the Orient Express, because it's the Orient Express with champagne and glossy compartments and welcoming, uniformed staff. Second place is the TER commuter train, because I had a ton more legroom than on the TGV.
Bonus Round--Firsts:
- First train that I can actually remember (vague memories of trains in Virginia and stories of learning to walk on a train in New Zealand do not count)
- First hostel experience--but to be fair, we got a room for two people so we didn't really have the authentic experience.
- First time in the United Kingdom
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Visite chez le médecin à la français
Everyone is sick.
Everyone in the IES program is ill in some fashion or another. This past Monday, our theatre production included a Tinkerbell who was spending time between scenes sleeping off her fever, a clown who'd just recovered from walking pneumonia, an antiques dealer with a cough, and an assortment of other coughs and headaches and ailments.
I was the mechanical doll with the ear infection.
I woke up on Sunday unable to hear out of my left ear, much like I was on an airplane. I tried yawning and standing on my head, to no effect, and went through Sunday and Monday feeling off-balanced. On Tuesday, I sent a Facebook message to Jennifer, my favorite daughter-of-an-ear-and-throat-doctor. However, my host mom insisted I go the doctor, and after stopping by IES on Wednesday, I booked an appointment for that afternoon.
The doctor I went to see met me in an office--an office like a business office. The walls were decorated with architectural drawings of opera houses and paintings of the Egyptian goddess Isis. The doctor himself wore a suit; no white coat here. He spoke English to me, which absolutely helped, because a healthcare situation is one of the situations in which you want to hear your native tongue.
After the quickest examination ever, he informed me that I did indeed have a small ear infection and he then wrote me up a prescription and, after noticing my solemn expression, assured me that I was not going to die.
I walked a block to the pharmacy and presented the prescription to the woman behind the counter, and in five minutes I walked out with cough syrup, ibuprofen, and an antibiotic. Of course, when I got home, I decided to do some internet sleuthing to see how the prices compared, because we make a big deal out of socialized medicine and healthcare and I just wanted to see how much I'd saved. As it turns out, while a ten minute doctor's appointment for a small issue in the states costs $68, I got my twenty minute doctor's appointment for a small issue and all three of my medications for about $46. I don't even live here permanently, but thanks France. In the states I'm pretty sure I would have let it go unless I was legitimately going deaf.
Everyone in the IES program is ill in some fashion or another. This past Monday, our theatre production included a Tinkerbell who was spending time between scenes sleeping off her fever, a clown who'd just recovered from walking pneumonia, an antiques dealer with a cough, and an assortment of other coughs and headaches and ailments.
I was the mechanical doll with the ear infection.
I woke up on Sunday unable to hear out of my left ear, much like I was on an airplane. I tried yawning and standing on my head, to no effect, and went through Sunday and Monday feeling off-balanced. On Tuesday, I sent a Facebook message to Jennifer, my favorite daughter-of-an-ear-and-throat-doctor. However, my host mom insisted I go the doctor, and after stopping by IES on Wednesday, I booked an appointment for that afternoon.
The doctor I went to see met me in an office--an office like a business office. The walls were decorated with architectural drawings of opera houses and paintings of the Egyptian goddess Isis. The doctor himself wore a suit; no white coat here. He spoke English to me, which absolutely helped, because a healthcare situation is one of the situations in which you want to hear your native tongue.
After the quickest examination ever, he informed me that I did indeed have a small ear infection and he then wrote me up a prescription and, after noticing my solemn expression, assured me that I was not going to die.
I walked a block to the pharmacy and presented the prescription to the woman behind the counter, and in five minutes I walked out with cough syrup, ibuprofen, and an antibiotic. Of course, when I got home, I decided to do some internet sleuthing to see how the prices compared, because we make a big deal out of socialized medicine and healthcare and I just wanted to see how much I'd saved. As it turns out, while a ten minute doctor's appointment for a small issue in the states costs $68, I got my twenty minute doctor's appointment for a small issue and all three of my medications for about $46. I don't even live here permanently, but thanks France. In the states I'm pretty sure I would have let it go unless I was legitimately going deaf.
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