Never gets old.
Except maybe during rush hour.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
"Welcome Home."
I will never get tired of hearing those beautiful words from the custom agent's mouth. You wait in line, disoriented from the time change, sick of that baby that was screaming in the back wing for the last four hours, and eagerly await your turn to reenter your country. Your home.
Unfortunately, my first week turned out to be less welcoming and more of a convalescent period. I got sick. I had a good forty-eight hours, involving a mini birthday pub crawl for a friend, a beach day, a second beach outing, karaoke, and then I got ridiculously ill. Like, crawling from bed to toilet, zombie-shuffle, delirium-ill. I'm not sure what kind of flu strain I had but it was only made better after I got antibiotics. All the RiteAid bought flu syrup in the world couldn't compete with the thirty minutes after popping my first dose of antibiotics. Thank you God for science.
So now that the first week has FLOWN by (ie: spent entirely in bed, watching tv, making mental movies of dreams/story ideas) I'm on my way to Sacramento for a quick pit stop before flying to Texas. Whaaaaaat? We're spending four days in the boons of the great Lone Star state and I can only imagine the shenanigans and barbecue awaiting me.
Culture shock: (This list is for sure gonna get a whole lot longer after Texas)
1. Starbucks! I never get tired of seeing it, but every time I come back it strikes me how many people CAMP. OUT. in Starbucks here. You bring your computer, a blanket, buy a coffee every so often and now that internet is offered in most locations, no one ever leaves. I missed seeing that in Paris, where people would purchase their expensive, shitty-tasting coffee, enjoy their beverage, then leave, sans to-go cup.
2. Americans are friendly. Like, suuuuper gregarious, even among strangers. I was in a Trader Joe's recently and just marveled at what a great exchange the cashier had with my friend. Because that's her job. To be friendly and make coming to TJ's an enjoyable experience. I mean, I guess there are down sides to that because if you're having a bad day and you don't want to be friendly to so-and-so-shopper, that's annoying. But from a customer service perspective, I LOVE IT. No more blasé French checkouts! PEPPY, EXCITED AMERICANS EVERYWHERE!
3. No walking? Like...ever? I mean, that's not true. I walked to a bar down the street last night with friends, but you can be sure they were like, wait, we're still walking? How far is this place?? (It was a 10-15 minute walk.) Nobody walks here! Especially not in LA but in general, driving is the way to be here in the USA. I mean, we know this, I knew this, but it still smacks me in the face when I realize I haven't walked anywhere in days since my return. Strange after literally being unable to pass a day without at least making a trip to buy groceries on foot.
4. Air conditioning. The French don't have air conditioning unless you're in the South of France from what I hear, or in a supermarket, because it's cold half the year and doesn't make sense economically/financially. Being in my sister's house with the A/C on blast because it's 100 degrees outside makes beautiful, frigid, relaxing sense. AMERICUH!
5. Beer pong!!! People know the rules here!
6. Happy Hour. America, a place where you can get drunk for cheap. (And not just on wine) Certain hours excluded.
Okay, more to add later as my latest round of culture shock becomes apparent to me. Now that I'm finally up off my deathbed, a week later I finally feel welcome and at home. <3
Unfortunately, my first week turned out to be less welcoming and more of a convalescent period. I got sick. I had a good forty-eight hours, involving a mini birthday pub crawl for a friend, a beach day, a second beach outing, karaoke, and then I got ridiculously ill. Like, crawling from bed to toilet, zombie-shuffle, delirium-ill. I'm not sure what kind of flu strain I had but it was only made better after I got antibiotics. All the RiteAid bought flu syrup in the world couldn't compete with the thirty minutes after popping my first dose of antibiotics. Thank you God for science.
So now that the first week has FLOWN by (ie: spent entirely in bed, watching tv, making mental movies of dreams/story ideas) I'm on my way to Sacramento for a quick pit stop before flying to Texas. Whaaaaaat? We're spending four days in the boons of the great Lone Star state and I can only imagine the shenanigans and barbecue awaiting me.
Culture shock: (This list is for sure gonna get a whole lot longer after Texas)
1. Starbucks! I never get tired of seeing it, but every time I come back it strikes me how many people CAMP. OUT. in Starbucks here. You bring your computer, a blanket, buy a coffee every so often and now that internet is offered in most locations, no one ever leaves. I missed seeing that in Paris, where people would purchase their expensive, shitty-tasting coffee, enjoy their beverage, then leave, sans to-go cup.
2. Americans are friendly. Like, suuuuper gregarious, even among strangers. I was in a Trader Joe's recently and just marveled at what a great exchange the cashier had with my friend. Because that's her job. To be friendly and make coming to TJ's an enjoyable experience. I mean, I guess there are down sides to that because if you're having a bad day and you don't want to be friendly to so-and-so-shopper, that's annoying. But from a customer service perspective, I LOVE IT. No more blasé French checkouts! PEPPY, EXCITED AMERICANS EVERYWHERE!
3. No walking? Like...ever? I mean, that's not true. I walked to a bar down the street last night with friends, but you can be sure they were like, wait, we're still walking? How far is this place?? (It was a 10-15 minute walk.) Nobody walks here! Especially not in LA but in general, driving is the way to be here in the USA. I mean, we know this, I knew this, but it still smacks me in the face when I realize I haven't walked anywhere in days since my return. Strange after literally being unable to pass a day without at least making a trip to buy groceries on foot.
4. Air conditioning. The French don't have air conditioning unless you're in the South of France from what I hear, or in a supermarket, because it's cold half the year and doesn't make sense economically/financially. Being in my sister's house with the A/C on blast because it's 100 degrees outside makes beautiful, frigid, relaxing sense. AMERICUH!
5. Beer pong!!! People know the rules here!
6. Happy Hour. America, a place where you can get drunk for cheap. (And not just on wine) Certain hours excluded.
Okay, more to add later as my latest round of culture shock becomes apparent to me. Now that I'm finally up off my deathbed, a week later I finally feel welcome and at home. <3
Thursday, August 1, 2013
CDG to JFK to LAX
Last foreseeable blog entry before landing on American soil.
I sit here in my almost empty apartment, strewn with dust bunnies, cleaning supplies, and (le sigh) memories and feel pretty good. This time last week I was barely hanging on, so nervous and worried for the future, and now that my departure is a day away, I'm satisfied with my experiences here. Well, my satisfaction is mixed with resignation, but I digress. I'm not too bent out of shape about leaving, mostly because I know I'll be back. If I actually intend to obtain a masters this year, I really need to come back by about February.
Moving apartments is always a little sad though, and I find myself wishing for a starbucks to help me finish the job and caffeinate me beyond caring.
Going away presents from Rouen:
1. I ate the best cheese ever yesterday. 6 month old Neufchatel and delicious Comté.
2. A homeless man masturbating in the street.
3. A waiter that tried to steal 20 euros from our bill for his tip.
Ya win some, ya lose some.
Goodbye for now, Rouen! I love you, despite your odd nooks and crannies and crazies, and I can't wait until we're reunited once again. See you next year! Bisous <3
On to the next adventure...
I sit here in my almost empty apartment, strewn with dust bunnies, cleaning supplies, and (le sigh) memories and feel pretty good. This time last week I was barely hanging on, so nervous and worried for the future, and now that my departure is a day away, I'm satisfied with my experiences here. Well, my satisfaction is mixed with resignation, but I digress. I'm not too bent out of shape about leaving, mostly because I know I'll be back. If I actually intend to obtain a masters this year, I really need to come back by about February.
Moving apartments is always a little sad though, and I find myself wishing for a starbucks to help me finish the job and caffeinate me beyond caring.
Going away presents from Rouen:
1. I ate the best cheese ever yesterday. 6 month old Neufchatel and delicious Comté.
2. A homeless man masturbating in the street.
3. A waiter that tried to steal 20 euros from our bill for his tip.
Ya win some, ya lose some.
Goodbye for now, Rouen! I love you, despite your odd nooks and crannies and crazies, and I can't wait until we're reunited once again. See you next year! Bisous <3
On to the next adventure...
Monday, July 29, 2013
Plane ticket refund?
It started with the tragic Asiana crash in San Francisco, continued with the Southwest Airlines crash from Texas to LGA, the Spanish train derailment, and now the Italian bus crash that just killed 39 people yesterday.
Summer Travel 2013 is looking positively dreadful and mysterious/bloody accidents keep piling up as my departure date looms ever closer. (this Friday) For this reason I have compiled a list of To Stay's and To Go's:
Reasons to Stay:
1. Visa madness. The prefecture has me by the knickers and twists violently every time I even suggest leaving.
2. French wine changes with altitude and increases in price over distance.
3. Mon français est déjà en train de s'emmerder. -- That's not even good French. It's already begun.
4. I don't wanna go down in flames over the Atlantic.
Reasons to Go:
1. It's been a year. I'd like to know if my little brothers have extra toes or tattoos yet.
2. The Sorbonne offers online classes.
3. I'm coming back sometime next year for the end of my masters anyway. -- Not au revoir yet, France!
4. I just found out Camembert cheese is legal to bring to the U.S.
And its subcategory: Reasons to Go and Then Stay Forever:
1. I don't wanna go down in flames in Nebraska. Thems a lot of flammable corn fields.
T-minus 5 days.
Image is the copyrighted property of its respective owner.
Summer Travel 2013 is looking positively dreadful and mysterious/bloody accidents keep piling up as my departure date looms ever closer. (this Friday) For this reason I have compiled a list of To Stay's and To Go's:
Reasons to Stay:
1. Visa madness. The prefecture has me by the knickers and twists violently every time I even suggest leaving.
2. French wine changes with altitude and increases in price over distance.
3. Mon français est déjà en train de s'emmerder. -- That's not even good French. It's already begun.
4. I don't wanna go down in flames over the Atlantic.
Reasons to Go:
1. It's been a year. I'd like to know if my little brothers have extra toes or tattoos yet.
2. The Sorbonne offers online classes.
3. I'm coming back sometime next year for the end of my masters anyway. -- Not au revoir yet, France!
4. I just found out Camembert cheese is legal to bring to the U.S.
And its subcategory: Reasons to Go and Then Stay Forever:
1. I don't wanna go down in flames in Nebraska. Thems a lot of flammable corn fields.
T-minus 5 days.
Image is the copyrighted property of its respective owner.
Friday, July 26, 2013
The Sorbonne
I GOT ACCEPTED TO THE SORBONNE!!!!
It actually happened a few weeks ago but I was still doing paperwork for enrollment, solidifying my acceptance, up until two days ago. I got accepted to one of the most prestigious French universities, and the most internationally well known French university, in the second year of the Masters program. BOOM!
Technically, I have the level of an M1 (first year of Masters) but I argued my way into M2 of the International Studies, English Studies program for pretty obvious reasons - American, 4 year college degree, awesome French skillzz. I couldn't be more excited!
And to boot, the entire scholastic year costs 514 euros. Take that $60 K price tag of American masters programs!!
I don't know what I'm going to do afterward, or even how the year is going to go, writing an 80 paged thesis in French while in California half the time, but I'm optimistic. Already getting this far is an achievement in itself, and I'm choosing to celebrate before letting doomsday thoughts win over.
With any luck, I'll have a masters AND be published (to self-pub or to agent, that is the question) by this time next year.
VIVE LA FRANCE!!!
It actually happened a few weeks ago but I was still doing paperwork for enrollment, solidifying my acceptance, up until two days ago. I got accepted to one of the most prestigious French universities, and the most internationally well known French university, in the second year of the Masters program. BOOM!
Technically, I have the level of an M1 (first year of Masters) but I argued my way into M2 of the International Studies, English Studies program for pretty obvious reasons - American, 4 year college degree, awesome French skillzz. I couldn't be more excited!
And to boot, the entire scholastic year costs 514 euros. Take that $60 K price tag of American masters programs!!
I don't know what I'm going to do afterward, or even how the year is going to go, writing an 80 paged thesis in French while in California half the time, but I'm optimistic. Already getting this far is an achievement in itself, and I'm choosing to celebrate before letting doomsday thoughts win over.
With any luck, I'll have a masters AND be published (to self-pub or to agent, that is the question) by this time next year.
VIVE LA FRANCE!!!
Hearts in Rouen, a love letter
to Rouen! My little city. I've spent the last ten months writing and perfecting my first novel, Hearts in Rouen.
Essentially a love letter to Rouen, Hearts in Rouen mixes elements that I love reading about in my favorite literature. Romance. Suspense. Mystery. Foreign culture. History. All with (to paraphrase the wish lists of so many agents) an engaging, unique voice that draws in the reader from page one. I love France and despite certain obnoxious parts of it (the préfecture, everything closing on Sundays/Mondays, HUGE taxes to support the amazing social welfare system here), when I sat down to write last November, the only subject that felt right was this country, this culture, this city.
Now that I've got my baby polished within an inch of its life, trying to find a home for it is my next objective. You know, along with moving back to California indefinitely, trying to smuggle as much Camembert in my luggage as physically possible, and finding a group of French friends with whom to keep up my language skills and/or drive me around since I won't have a car.
#todolist
Until then, stay tuned for publishing updates and maybe some excerpts from the book exclusively here on my blog.
Bisous!
Essentially a love letter to Rouen, Hearts in Rouen mixes elements that I love reading about in my favorite literature. Romance. Suspense. Mystery. Foreign culture. History. All with (to paraphrase the wish lists of so many agents) an engaging, unique voice that draws in the reader from page one. I love France and despite certain obnoxious parts of it (the préfecture, everything closing on Sundays/Mondays, HUGE taxes to support the amazing social welfare system here), when I sat down to write last November, the only subject that felt right was this country, this culture, this city.
Now that I've got my baby polished within an inch of its life, trying to find a home for it is my next objective. You know, along with moving back to California indefinitely, trying to smuggle as much Camembert in my luggage as physically possible, and finding a group of French friends with whom to keep up my language skills and/or drive me around since I won't have a car.
#todolist
Until then, stay tuned for publishing updates and maybe some excerpts from the book exclusively here on my blog.
Bisous!
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Singing
#ThingsI'llMiss
"Why are we singing?!?" asked a friend, a newbie to the usual weekend ritual of drinking, discussing, burning wood pallets swiped from behind the local supermarket, then passing out legit 30 paged books of raucous drinking songs.
"I don't sing!" she protested. Oh, but you will.
The French are widely known for their jovial love of gathering in public or private to sing. Rugby matches. Football (soccer) matches. Weddings. Birthdays. Parties and kickbacks. Ain't no thang. Someone will know a seriously inappropriate song with eight layers of double entendres and teach the rest of the crowd. Or type them all up, then disperse them among friends and family for generations to come, like my circle of friends.
I once was watching a rugby match online with P-baby and the English commentator (English vs. France - WATCH OUT, another 100 years' war is bout to go down) remarked there was nothing more wonderful "than a jubilant, French crowd," who can always be expected to burst into communal song at some point. And it's true.
And it's never the national anthem, the Marseillaise, because after the fall of the Bastille, nationalism has been equated with the crazy, xenophobic right wing political party. It's always songs about a "baguette" and the fireman's "hose."
Some people aren't brought up to sing willy nilly, as evidenced by the newbie to the weekend pow wow, but if you come across a group of jubilant French people, get excited and warm up your vocal cords. You're about to witness a spontaneous cultural expression of joy.
"Why are we singing?!?" asked a friend, a newbie to the usual weekend ritual of drinking, discussing, burning wood pallets swiped from behind the local supermarket, then passing out legit 30 paged books of raucous drinking songs.
"I don't sing!" she protested. Oh, but you will.
The French are widely known for their jovial love of gathering in public or private to sing. Rugby matches. Football (soccer) matches. Weddings. Birthdays. Parties and kickbacks. Ain't no thang. Someone will know a seriously inappropriate song with eight layers of double entendres and teach the rest of the crowd. Or type them all up, then disperse them among friends and family for generations to come, like my circle of friends.
I once was watching a rugby match online with P-baby and the English commentator (English vs. France - WATCH OUT, another 100 years' war is bout to go down) remarked there was nothing more wonderful "than a jubilant, French crowd," who can always be expected to burst into communal song at some point. And it's true.
And it's never the national anthem, the Marseillaise, because after the fall of the Bastille, nationalism has been equated with the crazy, xenophobic right wing political party. It's always songs about a "baguette" and the fireman's "hose."
Some people aren't brought up to sing willy nilly, as evidenced by the newbie to the weekend pow wow, but if you come across a group of jubilant French people, get excited and warm up your vocal cords. You're about to witness a spontaneous cultural expression of joy.
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