Adventures

So after my long weekend with friends from back home, it was finally time to settle down, dig my feet in, and establish a routine that I would loosely follow for the rest of the semester. Of course “loosely” is a key word, because there’s only so much you can plan for when you have four day weekends and an entire city at your disposal. So in order to fill these massive blocks of free time, I’ve decided to take some trips (finalizations upcoming) and explore Paris when I get the chance.

Before I get to that, though, I’ll speak to my weekend. Thursday and Friday night were pretty quiet, as many in the dorm were taking off for the weekend, and I had to wake up at 6 am on Saturday. I did challenge myself to the Amsterdam 11.6% MAXIMATOR can of malt liquor on Thursday night. Though I had once before successfully completed this challenge, I failed that night. To my friends in the United States: there is no equivalent to the MAXIMATOR. It’s as if you took a Steel Reserve, added a fifth of vodka, fed it to a donkey, and drank the piss. It is simply that disgusting. I’m not proud of not finishing it, but I’m also glad I didn’t.

But moving on, Saturday I woke up early at the crack of (actually an hour or so before the crack of) dawn to head with my program out to Caen, Normandy and the D-Day beaches. We spent the morning in a surprisingly comprehensive and deceptively immense World War II museum before heading out to Omaha beach. It was a moving experience to be there, the site of such a momentous historical occasion. Little remained from ’44, save for a couple of small German bunkers carved into the bluff. Some of my favorite things I saw were the signs in the small towns throughout the area that said in French and English, “Thanks to our liberators,” often with depictions of American, British, and Canadian servicemen on them. I’ve heard that Americans are very well received in Normandy. (Not that we didn’t also liberate Paris. They’re just a little more stubborn.)

Following a short walk on the beach, we headed up to the American cemetery, overlooking one end of Omaha beach. The sun came just after we arrived, giving us a “weather window” that echoed the one that allowed such a successful invasion 67 years earlier. The cemetery was absolutely breathtaking and was one of the most beautifully serene places I have ever been to. Over 9,000 American war heroes are buried there, each with a brilliantly white Italian marble headstone, mostly crosses, but also a smattering of Stars of David throughout. With the sun hitting the headstones perfectly, and the entire cemetery overlooking the ocean, it was a sight to behold. After wandering through the cemetery for a short while, then to Arromanches to see the artificial harbor (apparently an engineering wonder, though I have no context for that) we headed back to Caen for dinner and then Paris.

I spent a lazy Sunday and an equally lazy Monday, with one exception. Since not many others have off on Mondays, I decided to take a trip myself out to the Puces (or flea markets) at Porte de Clignancourt. They are massive, and more like the street markets of Paris then an actual flea market. I heard at some point that this market in particular was one of the largest in the world. After grabbing some sort of sausage and peppers with chicken kebab thing from a halal stand, I set off to fulfill my goal: purchase a nice, light jacket for the spring weather that I dearly hope is upcoming.

Along the way, I met a couple of Haitians with their own clothing brand, and practiced a little French with them, and then tried on a couple leather jackets before realizing that even at a flea market, I didn’t want to spend that much.

Finally, I came across a stand with a jacket that I liked. The man there said it was thirty, and I wasn’t bout to shell out. I embraced the market environment and successfully haggled him down to half that. I walked away satisfied with my skillz. Though the jacket was probably worth ten . . .

My week begins tomorrow with a day of classes and hopefully a night on the town. I had thought about going away this weekend, but it looks like those ideas have been killed due to procrastination. A long weekend, all in Paris, may be just what I need, though, since I’ve hardly had a proper one yet.

Last Weekend, Part Two: A Week Late

So I realize this retelling of last weekends adventures is a little less relevant now that it's a week late, but NONE of you even comment on any of my posts anyways, SO I GUESS YOU DON'T EVEN CARE.

Maybe I won't even post anymore.

JUST KIDDING. I love hearing (seeing?) myself talk too much, and I know you all love reading this stuff, so I'm going to continue to post forEVER.

Anyways, to pick up where I left off, me and Max started Saturday with a meal consisting entirely of baguettes and shit I had in my fridge, cause that's how you do in France. Afterwards we took one of my more interesting field trips: an excursion to La Defense, the financial district of France.

We rose out of the Metro into a rather rainy day and found ourselves in the most soulles, vast, and imposing corporate wasteland I've ever been to. In the shadow of the glass and steel Grand Arche was a large, gray square surrounded by similarly styled skyscrapers. There was no shred of authenticity anywhere to be found. In fact, the square seemed more like an elevated, hollow platform that had been dropped down on top of whatever doomed town or village had previously resided here. I'm glad that the actual city of Paris values its traditional style enough to quarantine architectural modernity, but it makes for a fairly creepy and concentrated financial area.

After escaping from there, we met my friend Lauren, who is interning for the Welsh parliament, and headed to an Algerian restaurant where we had delicious cous-cous.

After such a multicural day, we decided to head back to the dorm for a big ol slice of AMERICA. On weekends, my dorm often morphs into a frat house, and we got back to find a party in the basement attended mostly by Americans, but also by some creepy French dudes, some Algerians, and a bunch of broken glass bottles. After a few games of cork-pong (ping pong balls are lame and hard to come by) we called it a night.

The next morning, we hit up the Louvre, which can successfully kick the crap out of any museum goer. After that, it was off again to Montmartre and Sacre Couer. Apres ca, we grabbed some wine and falafel and watched Ratatouille, the perfect movie to get you hankering for some authentic French food.

At some point we saw the Arc de Triomphe and Champs-Elysees, and Musee d'Orsay, but it's been awhile and my brain is mush. Anyways, the point is, you can see a lot in Paris in a weekend. But the way to end it all is to go bar-hopping and snag some crepes in the middle of the night, which is exactly what we did.

Tomorrow brings Normandy, and an experience that is sure to be meaningful and thought-provoking.

The Week that Was, Part One

I realize that my last blog post was AGES ago, and even then, it was only really a preview post. I know you are all sitting out there in non-Paris, aching to hear about my amazing life, and seeking a way to kill time on the internet without doing the same sporcle quiz three times while you wait for the newest Gossip Girl episode to load.

WELL GOOD NEWS THEN.
The new Gossip Girl is phe-nom-en-al!

Also, I HAVE A SLAMMING NEW BLOG POST TO KNOCK YOUR DAMN SOCKS OFF.

As promised I delivered on an epic weekend, filled with ethnic food, drunk wandering, encounters with minor celebrities, and tons of sightseeing.

Right now, you're probably like, SHIT, BRENDAN, YOU MET (minor)CELEBRITIES?!?!?

To which I'm like, chill  down maaan. All in due time. Let me start where everything should start . . . with a miracle:

Last Wednesday night, one week ago, I spent a relaxing evening eating tart and drinking Kronenbourg at my friend's apartment. The hours slipped away thanks to good conversation and I ended up getting home much later than I had intended.

So when I went to sleep, I decided it would be a wise move to "forget" to set my alarm. I woke up around noon, feeling a tad guilty, but well rested. When I got to my 2 o' clock class, though, I found out that our morning class had been cancelled, presumably because they couldn't face the fact that I wouldn't be there.

I MAKE IT RAIN

Anyways, I made it through that class and headed straight to The Highlander pub to celebrate the end of the intensive french semester. I got a couple pints of Pelforth, served up by the maybe-Scottish, maybe-male, maybe neither bartender, and then it was time to pick up my roommate from back home, Max, at the airport.

Thursday night ended up being rather uneventful, as we spent some time at a bar on Rue Mouffetard, getting buzzed and getting Shawarma, but it was to be only a prelude to the epicocity that was Friday night.

BUT that story cannot yet be told, for it must be preceded by the story of Friday afternoon, a day which saw me take Max to Notre Dame and Pere Lachaise, the macabre, maze-like, mausoleum filled, monstrous creep-trap of a cemetery, where we saw Oscar Wilde's and Jim Morrison's graves.

NOW that I've told that story, we can move onto Friday night, which started innocently enough with me and Max sitting in a crowded, rustic, authentically Parisian bar sipping sangria by the ceramic pitcher and waiting for my two friends to arrive. We were squashed in the corner seat of the rectangular bar area, and needed another table to accommodate our newcomers. As one opened up, we rushed to claim it. Unfortunately, at that moment, another group walked in. Standing my ground, I told the interlopers to take their fancy gray blazers and GET THE FUCK OUTTA DODGE.

This was followed by a several minute long stare down and a few primeval grunts before a whole bank of tables opened up (presumably because of our guttural wails) and we all sat down, sandwiched by this new, bigger group. After I apologized for being so aggressive with the tables we got to talking. Turns out the guys were with a semi-well-known band called the Airborne Toxic Event, of whom I had actually heard. As I was talking to their manager, who spouted literally the same story as the ATE wikipedia page, he mentioned that he also managed The Bravery (and Andrew WK) who were in Paris and would be stopping by. NOW I was excited because the Bravery are actually well known. When they arrived, we shot the shit and got friendly with the bassist. After I got invited to a party, I let them know about it AND THEY FOLLOWED US THERE. I INVITED A FAMOUS ROCK AND ROLL BAND TO A BARPARTY. Whatever else happened that night, it was all eclipsed by meeting and gaining the trust of the Bravery. Although the cab ride back home listening to reggae was pretty sweet.

Coming tomorrow, Part Two of the Week that Was.

And so it begins . . .

I have now been in Paris for over two weeks, and the journey so far hasn't been exactly what I thought it would be. Thanks to the intensive French language session I have been in, I have been quite tired and/or occupied most of the time, leaving me yet to experience the hard-partying into the morning, exploring the city's museums and sights, wandering around Paris with existential angst life of a young twenty-something in the world's most culture obsessed city.

Rather, I have been experiencing the nine to five grind working, crowded metro commuting, just wanting to come home and relax with a Kronenbourg and French sitcoms life of someone who actually works in Paris. Not that I'm complaining. I've gotten to see a lens of Paris in the past two weeks that I may not see again. That of a real inhabitant of the city, one who doesn't have the time to go to the Louvre whenever he wants to, or can't really go out every night of the week. It makes me appreciate even more that even when I am exhausted and hot riding home on an RER that's so packed that I have to hold my bag above my head to fit in, I am doing it in one of the most breathtakingly diverse and beautiful cities in the world.

Of course, not all Parisians are like that. I think, maybe more than any other city, Parisians take advantage of the cultural sights and events and nightlife that is at their disposal. And starting tonight, I will join this segment of the city.

Although I technically have to wake up early tomorrow for my last day of class, it's a half day and we're having a picnic/film viewing. So tonight I celebrate becoming a part of the Parisian social (I mean nightlife social, not Marx social) class I belong in.

One thing I've increasingly come to realize, is that this class, strictly speaking, is not very French. The enormous amount of foreign students in Paris coupled with the city's tendency to attract ex-pats and immigrants from all over the world makes it one of the most international cities I've been to. Throw in the tourism factor (Paris is the world's most visited city) and you understand why everyone here speaks English fairly well. It's more of a common language than French, and you will meet people from every corner of the earth here. And they're all looking for the nightlife as well.

All of this is to say, I'm very excited about this weekend. In fact, I think this weekend is very excited about me. Cause I'm gonna bring it. First off, we're celebrating the end of classes. Secondly, my roommate Max is coming, and LC also on Saturday. Third of all, I have yet to go out in Paris like I had intended to upon arrival. I shall make up for all of this and more with a three day, four night weekend, covering every area of Paris and relentlessly hunting down the nightlife, armed with nothing more than a composite bow and my trusty bearhound, Shepp. If anyone dares stand in my way, they will be politely asked to move so I can continue to walk forward towards where I had been planning on going.

Also, at some point, I'll have to go grocery shopping. And skype my parents.

THIS WEEKEND WILL BE AMAZING.

Party Like a Rockstar, Explore Paris Like an Inquisitive but Thoughtful and Informed Tourist

After a long (four day) week of classes, ice-skating at the Eiffel Tower, and looking for an English language bookstore, I decided I was going to blow off some steam on Thursday night. Luckily, my friend from French class invited me out to a club night in St. Germain. It was ostensibly for kids from Les Sciences Po . . . but we crashed anyway.

This is because the deal for the night was a 15 Euro cover charge for unlimited sushi, caipirinhas, mojitos, and champagne between seven and nine.

So as long as I managed to consume more than 15 euros worth of the above mentioned amenities, the night would be totally worth it.

I think I quadrupled my investment.

After an endless stream of caipirinhas and champagne and a couple of mad rushes for the sushi table, we met up with my friend's friend, who was exactly what I always imagined an upper class British kid from Oxford would be like. He was ridiculously friendly, to the point of being philanthropic, and kept telling me about his custom tailored suit, which he apparently got through some sort of strange Oxford business class competition/swindle. I couldn't complain, though, because he was paying for extra bottles of champagne and buying tequila shots for us.

All of this led to me getting truly smashed for the first time in Paris. I am quite amazed I made it home without incident.

Anyways, I woke up this morning having missed my first class already, and upon walking into beautiful blue skies and sixty degree weather, decided it would be a crime to go to my second. So I took advantage of the weather, fully unaware that beautiful weather in Paris meant more unsuspecting Americans in the street, and that more unsuspecting Americans in the street meant more roving bands of street salesman and scammers trying to corner you.

So first I went off to the Marais, the old Jewish quarter, to have what was once called the best falafel in Europe by the New York Times. I am by no means a falafel expert, or even an amateur, but this was certainly excellent falafel. It was here, though, that I was first hassled on the street. As I walked along the Rue de Rosiers, I was multiple times, "Vous etes Juif?" which translates directly as "Are you Jewish?" I was confused, and said no, and then the guy handed me a postcard with some sort of religious message on it. This same exact scenario happened four more times. I have no idea what it was about.

Anyways, from there, I decided to head over to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur for some of the best views of Paris. As I walked up the beautiful sunlit and well-manicured hill leading to the Basilica, my walk was slightly ruined as even more aggressive scammers noted that I was alone and singled me out as a target. Groups of kinda sketchy looking guys would sit on the rails on the side of the path and as I walked past would yell, "EY BOY! EY BOY COME HERE!" To which I would reply by continuing to walk without making eye contact. The scammers will react to anything you do, even if it is shaking your head or saying no, by running up to you and trying to get you to stop.

Apparently their scam this day was that they would take your wrist and put a bracelet around it and then demand that you pay for bracelet. This is first of all a dumb scam, and second of all requires me to take my hand out of my pocket and offer it to the guy, unless he wants to grab it, which he knows is unwise. So I continued to walk, and they continued to shout "Ey boy! Ey little boy!" which is particularly annoying cause I was a solid foot taller than most of them. It also meant I that I look like I'm twelve right after I shave.

Anyways, my day could not be spoiled completely as the view from the top and Montmartre in general was breathtaking.

Tomorrow, I go to Tours and Chenonceau, and Sunday I crash.

Good News!

HEY GUYS! I got some great news. Turns out that the dorm finally decided that, while the whole "party like it's 1999" thing was fun, it's time to get some modern internets. This means that this may be my last post to this blog, since I will now spend my extra time watching illegal streams of How I Met Your Mother episodes instead of waiting three hours for my e-mail to load, which is when I've been writing my blog posts.

Yesterday was a good day. I of course spent the morning in class, where we had a test, which actually was easier than the usual classwork. After class, I went to the Monoprix to buy some cooking supplies and a halfway decent pillow. After this, I planned to make myself dinner, but ended up sitting around. I figured that would be my night again, but I was invited at about 7:30 to go ice skating at the Eiffel Tower. They had set up a small ice rink on the first level of the tower for free (although still 6.50 to get up.) This seemed like a much better alternative.

Let me say one thing about the Eiffel Tower: it is totally badass. In fact, despite it being so famous and renowned, I would say that, as a structure, La Tour D'Eiffel is actually underrated. It dominates the skyline of Paris in such an imposing, striking and beautiful manner that I would call it the best feature of any skyline in the world.


Anyways, we waited in line and took the elevator up to the second level, which is so much higher than anything in Paris that it makes you wonder how absurdly high the top is (I shall find out soon enough). It was a beautiful view, as you could see for miles around, and identify great landmarks that seemed tiny from up there.

We took the stairs down to the rink, where I strapped on my knee braces and, looking like a goofy robot, took to the ice, where I miraculously did not re-injure my knees. The ice was ill-kept and difficult to skate on, so I didn't take too long out there. Afterwards, we went to get some crepes and paninis in Montparnasse, which were delicious. I polished these off with a tall boy of Kronenbourg 1664, a delicious combination.

Anyways, it was a good night. I apologize if this blog wasn't funny, I just felt like getting some info out. This weekend, I head to Tours with abroadco. Should be a fun time.

BUSY TWO WEEKS

I've been in France for nine hours short of a week now, and I've hardly had a break to use for anything other than crashing and napping because of the immense amounts of work/adjusting/partying/trying to find internet I've been doing.

And it doesn't look like it's going to ease up any time soon. At least not until next Friday. Until then, I have class every day from 9 to noon and 2 to 5. Which means my typical weekday looks something like this:

7:45 -- Alarm goes off. For 15 seconds I struggle to figure out what country I'm in. When I realize that my bed is literally exactly as long as I am tall, I decide I must be in France. I go back to sleep.

7:55 -- Another of my three or four alarms goes off, and I realize that I need to allow myself fifteen minutes for the shower to warm up, so I rise.

8:15 -- Scratch that, twenty minutes to warm up.

8:20 -- I meant twenty-five. I take a quick, mildly warm shower and get dressed quickly and head across the street to the RER station.

8:40 -- If I'm lucky, I'll get a seat on the train. If I'm really lucky, I'll get some sort of metro-show, which so far has involved an old man falling down and yelling "Jamais! Jamais!" while his friend looks on confusedly, and various homeless men doing strange things. (One thing I've noticed here is that way more homeless people have pets. I don't know why, but that seemed really weird to me.)

9:00 -- I show up at La Catho, and hope I see someone from my class who knows what room I'm in. It seems the French have trouble staying in one place and our class will change rooms on a daily, sometimes semi-daily basis.

9:15: -- This is when I generally realize that I'm going to have to speak French all day. I start going over random grammatical rules in my head. It is of no use. Several times throughout the day I will be called on and have no idea what to say. Usually I just pretend that I actually meant to be in the Spanish class and that I don't speak French at all. The professors never fall for my ruse.

10:30 -- Our morning break. I get to socialize with my classmates, who are mostly really nice, and mostly really good English speakers. We all feel guilty but seriously enjoy hanging out and speaking English in between class periods. This unity is remarkable, considering the 16 of us represent ten different countries: the US, the UK, New Zealand, Sweden, Venezuela, Japan, Brazil, South Korea, Greece, and India.

12:00 -- Lunch time. I head down to Rue de Rennes, one of the main streets in the Latin Quarter, and pick from one of the many street shops and small restaurants selling baguettes, paninis, crepes, galettes, croque-monsieurs and other delicious french lunch items. Take time to recuperate from the stressful Francaising of the morning, and head back in there.

15:45 -- Hit the wall. Thinking about speaking French is no longer possible. If I am asked a question, it is likely I will say something like, "Je don't know." Six hours of class is unprecedented at this stage of my life.

17:00 -- I drag through the end of the day and head back to the metro and cite universitaire. At this point, I'm ready to do anything as long as it involves staying off my feet, relaxing, and maybe putting down some wine and Kronenbourg.

So if it seems like the blog isn't touching on as many of the exciting aspects of Paris, this is why. This weekend should be a little more exciting, and once the real semester starts, I will be hitting the city with a vengeance. A much more upbeat blog update to come tomorrow.

Sex, Drugs, and Alcohol

After four days that have felt more like a week and a half, I finally feel like I am in Paris. It took awhile, but I have finally adjusted to the time difference and Parisian lifestyle.

I've already detailed my first night here. So for my second night, I was pretty tired from the first day of classes and decided to hang around the dorm. Though when I was offered to hang out and drink with some of the guys, I had no choice but to say yes. It was my second night as a 21 year old/parisian, why not celebrate?

One thing I should say: there can often be a strange cast of characters in the dorm. Not really because the people who live here are weird; I haven't met too many people where that is the case. No, it is because the only real security offered by the guards and doors and fences is one simple passcode. This is easily obtained information and thus, plenty of people feel the need to show up at our dorm, like the creepy guys from other dorms trying awkwardly to scam on American chicks when we're trying to have an all-English language party.

Anyways, one of the members of the cast of character I got to meet that night was a drug dealer whose name was, no joke, "Sex." Just sex. And not some weird French word that sounds like sex. Actually sex. It means the same thing here. I suppose a drug dealer is a pretty popular person in a dorm where the average age is probably around 21, and a drug dealer named sex is even better. Anyways, Sex was hanging out and we got to have a few beers with him. Sex was nice. I liked sex. (I must admit, I was definitely not the first to use that joke, nor will I be the last.)

After drinking for a little while longer, I got the option to go out to some bars at around 12:15 am. Despite my desire to do so, I used my better judgment and went to sleep, as I had to be up before 8 again the next morning.

After a rather uneventful Thursday, I really wanted to go out and see some of the bars in Paris on Friday night. It was a slightly different feel, though, from America, as things do not get going until very late around here. I doubt pre-gaming starts much before nine pm, and nobody leaves the dorm to go out before 11. Finally, around 11:30, I headed out to meet some of the girls from my program.

We went first to a bar near Saint-Michel called the Frog and the Princess. As my first bar in Paris, it was a very easy transition, since the bar was essentially American. Our waiter was from Philadelphia, though had a bit of a French accent, and everything was written in English. Unfortunately, though the prices were distinctly European. Beers were 7 euros, mixed drinks were 10-12, and everything else was mostly expensive. A pitcher of mojitos was the best deal we could find, so we polished that off.

Right before we left, we were treated to a nice encounter. A big, burly Scottish guy in a kilt and rugby jersey walked by our table and the girls were intrigued enough to ask for a picture. After lifting up his kilt and flashing us, he proceeded to creepily grab and stare down one of the girls. We left soon after. But interestingly enough, I've seen about 10 guys dressed like the one we saw in the bar since then. I know Scots usually save the kilts for formal occasions, so I'm wondering if there's some sort of weird convention of kilt wearers in town or something.

The second bar we were going to, by the Luxembourg Gardens was closed (Paris has a 2 am shut down policy, but I think it may only be 15% followed. It would seem bars just close when everyone leaves.) so we backtracked and went to another bar. This one was decidedly more French, and filled with middle aged French guys who liked to take their shirts off to one French song in particular. I got a rum and coke and a caipirinha, and enjoyed the music, which consisted of french club hits, 1980's american hits, and, awesomely, daft punk. After a creepy French guy who looked like Johnny Depp mized with one of the guys from Pawn Stars started hitting on the girls, we decided it was probably time to leave. This was at about 3:30 am. When I finally, after a long walk, got home at 4:15, I was pretty beat, but psyched about my first Parisian weekend.

Where the #$@! is the Eiffel Tower

I've been in Paris for a little over 36 hours now, but it still feels like I've just landed. For chrissakes, I still haven't seen the Eiffel Tower, and I think you're not legally in Paris until you've seen it. If I were arrested, I would have to be tried in Nantes.

The main reason it feels like I've only just landed is the fact that I haven't had a lot of time to catch my breath and get my bearings in the city. Here's the breakdown of the last day and a half:

11:00 PM, Paris Time: I board the airplane in the late New Jersey evening, with clear skies and the sun setting. We take off a half hour later, relatively on time.

The flight is uneventful. I read a book, Player Piano by Kurt Vonnegut and listen to music. I decide to get a beer to celebrate the 21st when it rolls around. I can choose between French beer, Heineken, and Amstel Light. Obviously I go with the French beer, Kronenbourg, which sounds distinctly German and tastes shockingly similar to Hurricane malt liquor. I'm not complaining. I get a little bit of sleep.

6:00 AM, Paris time: I land in Paris. Customs and baggage goes well, though my phone doesn't work. My driver arrives. He is a small, hyper man from India who speaks good French and bad English in an accent so unintelligible that it doesn't matter which. Parisian drivers are mostly insane, and I swear we almost hit six pedestrians on our way to my dorm. The rules for navigating the streets are similar to New York City's, except everything is five times faster and more aggressive. By the way, Paris is dark in the morning until like 8 am, which was a little weird at first.

8:00 AM: I arrive at my dorm, the Fondation des Etats-Unis, part of la Cite Universitaire, which is an international student housing campus on the southern edge of Paris. The building is old and beautiful and my room is absolutely enormous. This is the only thing I realize before I pass out on my bed.

2:00 PM: When I wake up, I check out the dorm. It's a little old-fashioned, and the showers have only a push button and no temperature control. Other than that, though, it's really nice. I have a single that is bigger than the double I lived in last year, and there are a bunch of nice facilities. Unfortunately, I arrived right in the middle of an internet crisis, so along with my phone not working, I'm in a communication vacuum. I half nap, half read Paris guidebooks until dinner.

10:00 PM: Dinner was nice and tasty, and I got to meet many of the girls on my program. Yet we all have class at 8:30 AM the next morning and no one really wants to go out. I am sad because I still haven't met anyone else and it is my 21st birthday. When I get back to the dorm, though, I run into one of the guys on my hall, who invites me to drink with him and some other people in the basement. Luckily, there is plenty of booze and I meet a bunch of people from Georgia Tech and Uconn, thus saving my 21st.

8:30 AM: Waking up was difficult, and I'm still in a haze when the secretary at La Catho, my school, sends me in alone and late to my first French class in Paris. Despite the jetlag, hangover, and general surprise that I am to start learning already, I make it through until 5 pm, when both class sessions are over.

5:30 PM: When I get back to the dorm, I hit the grocery store, and get some supplies for the room (I have a fridge!). I see that the internet is up, realize how much I've done and haven't done, and write a blog post. Many shenanigans are to come, starting with later tonight, but that is a story for another blog post.