mercredi 17 juin 2009

Et patati et patata

Recently, someone asked me what I like most about living in Paris. At the time, I think I provided some jumbled answer that involved the Eiffel Tower, camembert cheese, the French language, Notre Dame, mini-macaroons, the entire region of Montmartre, and…bread…along with about 50 other things. And, of course, this conversation was IN French, so…I’m sure my answer seemed even less coherent than how I’ve described it here. In retrospect, though, I’ve been trying to reflect on the question a bit more… What IS my favorite thing about living in Paris?

After giving it a decent amount of thought (as in…the 45 seconds it took me to type that last paragraph…), I’ve decided that (one of) my favorite thing(s) about living in Paris is the fact that EVERY activity—for me, at least—is an adventure. Clearly, not all of my time is spent climbing the 1,789 steps to the top of the Eiffel Tower (although I DID do that the other day…and it is…even more exhausting than it sounds, especially due to the fact that we were experiencing one of our first days of 80-degree weather) or roaming the catacombs beneath the city (which I have NOT done yet…but am planning on doing in the near future)…but, in the meantime, day-to-day activities provide a constant thrill for me. (Yes, I am easily amused.) Allow me to provide a few anecdotes to illustrate this point…

Going to the supermarket: For most of my trips to the supermarket, I take the tram (which, conveniently, stops right outside the entrance to my dorm building) down to Porte d’Orléans—a lively part of the city (well, lively for the 14th arrondissement, anyway) with lots of fresh fruit markets and larger grocery stores. Of course, staring out the window of the tram will, in and of itself, provide a decent amount of entertainment; just the other day, I witnessed a petite, old woman scurrying across the street with a shopping cart OVERFLOWING with full-sized baguettes—enough to last a lifetime, no doubt.

Anyway, once I am safely inside the grocery store (“Franprix” is currently my supermarché of choice), the REAL adventure begins. There are entire aisles packed with every kind of pastry you can imagine. There are about sixty different kinds of jelly. And there is always, ALWAYS an entire section of the store reserved for wine (and you can get it for as cheap as 1 euro…that is, if you’re searching for wine that tastes like paint thinner […as I’m sure you are…]). Just the other day, I spent what felt like a lifetime trying to purchase sugar (to make the instant coffee in my room almost drinkable), which is, apparently, a much harder task than one might think. There are many different kinds of sugar, and it took me a LEAST 10 minutes to deduce that “sucré en poudre” is actually what Americans call granulated sugar and NOT powdered sugar. Whoops. I also once made the mistake of purchasing little sugar pellets…but I’m convinced that they were actually little granules of rat poison (because the so-called “sugar” tasted exactly like a substance that one might use to clean one’s floor…or to simply induce vomiting)—a clever trick to knock off some foolish American tourists, I would think.

Anyway, once it’s time to purchase my groceries, I hand the cashier my money and prepare myself for the fact that they will—almost always—demand that I give them exact change (though I can rarely comply)…and, then, I do my best to stuff my groceries in my backpack…because they usually do not give you bags at the check-out in Paris. Then, I tend to choose to walk back to the dorm (in lieu of taking the tram again), and I’m often rewarded with a near-death experience involving an old man and some kind of motorized scooter.

Receiving a dinner invitation: Now, keep in mind, the dinner invitation I received last night was from my study abroad director, so it wasn’t quite as formal as a normal French dinner would be (i.e. we weren’t expected to bring flowers and chocolates for our hostess, and we weren’t expected to arrive 10-15 minutes late out of politeness…although we WERE about 20 minutes late, anyway, because the RER randomly shut down on our way to dinner…). Anyway, since the dinner was not quite as formal, I wasn’t necessarily expecting a full-blown French dinner experience. But…let’s just say…I’ve never seen—nor been expected to eat—so much food all in one meal.

We started off with drinks and hors-d’oeuvres. There were about seven different bottles of Perrier sparkling water (which is very common with French meals) and four or five different types of juice: apple juice, pineapple juice, apple raspberry litchi juice… You get the idea. And…there were about 50 different types of hors-d’oeuvres on three ENORMOUS platters. Basically, we were already full after this point. But the meal had yet to begin!

The first “course” consisted of chicken and white rice, peanut butter noodles, and a side salad (not customary French cuisine because it was cooked by one of the other American students). Anyway, after the “plat principale” (the aforementioned dishes), it was time for bread and cheese. LOTS of cheese—seven different types, to be exact. Roquefort, camembert, fromage du chevre, and…four other kinds whose names escape me. But, mind you, it was not quite as simple as simply grabbing a piece of cheese and putting it on your plate. There are RULES to this part of the meal. The cheeses must be consumed in a specific order (milder cheeses first and stronger cheeses last). They also must be sliced in a very precise manner; one must know the particular method of slicing each type of cheese, lest the host(ess) be insulted (our hostess said she could not stress this enough)! Additionally, guests are not supposed to sample more than three different types of cheese (and it is STRICTLY forbidden to take more than one slice of the same cheese) because, otherwise, it means that the main course was unfulfilling (however, we were informed that we could violate the three-cheese limit…for the sole purpose of trying all the different types).

And, FINALLY, when we felt as though we COULD NOT consume any more food, dessert arrived! Dessert for us included four different types of macaroons, coconut and pear sorbet, and baked apples, which were stuffed with raspberries, whipped cream, and dried fruit. All in all, it was AMAZING…and we were barely able to walk home afterwards. :)

Okay, well…I hadn’t intended to be QUITE this longwinded…so, I’ll wrap up the entry with one more anecdote!

Opening doors: I have yet to encounter a door in Paris that is EASY to open. Let’s see… If I come into my dormitory, I must enter a code to open the main door. Then, in the vestibule, I must enter the same code to be granted access to the lobby. From the lobby, I must—yes, you guessed it—type in that SAME code to enter the actual hall of dorm rooms. The door to my dorm room, however, is a bit trickier. It requires a key card…but said key card is actually just a plastic square with lots of holes in it. There is a slot on the door, and one MIGHT assume that you need to swipe the key card in the slot (i.e. I assumed this repeatedly when I first arrived…and could NOT understand why my room remained locked), but actually, you must leave the key card IN the door to enable the door to unlock. Only once you are safely inside can you remove the key card.

Trying to exit buildings in Paris can also prove to be a challenge. When I leave my study abroad office, I must solve various puzzles in order to exit each door (of which there are three). The first door has a latch that must be pushed to the left, and then the door (which weighs about three tons) must be pulled inward. The second door has a button AND a handle; one must depress the button and pull the handle at the same time to pass this test. And…to this day, I have no idea how to exit the third and final door. I have never accomplished this task myself; I have always relied on one of the other students to do so. One time, I was faced with the challenge alone…and I’m fairly certain that the only real solution is to scream for help until someone from outside decides to open the door and enter the building, thus freeing you from your captivity. (And that’s exactly what happened…minus the screaming.) So…yeah. Opening doors in Paris is an adventure.

Well, I’m sure I could ramble on and on about these things for another solid hour or so, but, for your sanity (and mine), I think I’ll bid you farewell for now. I’m off to make some disgusting instant coffee (with my non-rat poison sugar, mind you) and finish up my homework—two things that, unfortunately, do not involve adventures of any kind.

Au révoir!

4 commentaires:

  1. Wonderful!

    I'm quite jealous of the way you presented this entry, and am sorely tempted to copy the format. In fact, I think you'll find the similarities between this and my next post to be eerily...frightening. :)

    I love hearing about the little things, and I may mention a few aspects of Scottish life that I wouldn't have thought to mention, simply because I want to explain the differences.

    I totally agree with the everyday adventure thing, though! Thanks for sharing some of yours!

    SEE you soon(ish)!

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  2. I'm sure you're now used to my commenting on every journal entry you make...but I just can't resist. I am to the point where I get excited for your entries--like the release of new Harry Potter books! haha. Your latest writing style in this entry reminds me of JK Rowling, at least in the same humorous tone. It's 1AM here and I had to control my laughter to not wake up the whole house! When I come, I want to experience the door puzzles. We must open that 3rd door!

    T-minus 6 days...

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  3. Good evening, I am signing in for your Uncle Tom who has happened upon your wonderful blog but is having trouble signing in himself. We want to recommend a great restaurant near the Palais Royale named L'Incroyable; 26, Rue de Richelieu, 75001 Paris; Tel : 01 58 62 28 52. We had Thanksgiving dinner there in 1999 (on what we called our "honeymoon" trip to Paris.) It is affordable and AMAZING! I hope you get a chance to check it out. Let us know what you think. Your uncle suggests you take your father and sister there on their upcoming visit.
    Your uncle's email address is tomhart@maine.rr.com.
    Fondly and with envy, Tony McCann

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  4. i feel like i would compeltely fail the cheese test!

    and just gorge, instead. whoops.

    also, this labyrinth you face on a daily basis sounds daunting, to say the least. but i agree that screaming bloody murder in order to receive help is probably your best bet.

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