9/19/09

Two fun facts about my host family:

Their toilet paper is pink

The washing machine is in the kitchen. Between the sink and the refrigerator

Their names are Chantale and Emile Salvador and they have one son who is named Clement (I’ve only seen Clement for about 7 minutes because he is 18, stayed out all night and slept through most of the day. But he seem very nice) They are ridiculously kind, and they’ve pretty much thought of every problem that could arise before I even consider it. Need a place to put your suitcases? Your toothbrush? Food? Need the internet? Soap? Metro tickets? It’s amazing.

They’ve hosted students in the past though I can’t quite figure out how many students there have been. Last year they hosted a Bryn Mawr girl, someone named Chelsea who I have never met, but I am determined to find on facebook as soon as I can.

He (Emile) is an actor and a theater professor at a local conservatory. His new show begins next weekend. He’s playing Karl Marx and so he has a huge beard and wild hair- so big that he’s joked that he might be Santa Claus instead.  She (Chantale) is a former stewardess who fought for non-smoking flights in an age when such things were unheard of, and who now does a lot with graphology, astrology etc. I haven’t decided if she is a little too out there or not, but she is extremely thoughtful, kind and interesting.

We’re in the 11^th arrondissement, which is very hip- lots of bars and cafes, artist, architects, immigrants and young couples. Sort of reminds me of the up and coming areas of Brooklyn. There are so many bars right outside my door that I may have to take up drinking. For me “la vie en rose” will have to be life seen through a glass of red wine.

The apartment itself is small, hence the washing machine in the kitchen, but very comfortable, with lots of Indian art from both the east and the west and tons of sun. It’s in a huge modern apartment building that is extraordinarily diverse. So far I have met a Brazilian woman, an orthodox Jew and his three sons, and an impressive looking African woman with traditional tattoos. Not to mention the French people. God, they’re everywhere.

First days in Paris: Only those who can read signs survive…

Be at “the Paris Charles-de-Gaulle Airport at 12:00 noon TERMINAL 2C in front of the Arrivals exit gate” – APA Paris Guide

If you had just gotten off a 13 hour flight, dragged yourself through the Paris airport and arrived at a location that said “2C” and “arrivals” you might assume that this was, in fact the location of Terminal 2C underneath the arrival sign where you are supposed to meet your study abroad group. The fact that there are several other people waiting there patiently would be further proof.

You would be wrong.

And when you realize this mistake five minutes after the designated meeting time, you might quickly and desperately jog through the airport with your many suitcases banging along like sick and belligerent elephant seals and a trail of other girls equally worried that you may have just spent 4 hours waiting in the WRONG PLACE.

After a few panic-stricken phone calls to the program office, you will eventual find your group and restore order to the universe, and will sheepishly join your group.

These adventures aside, the trip was uneventful. The plane was unpleasant but perfectly fine. After we arrived we were given the afternoon and the next morning to ourselves to rest, explore and settle in the hostel. Or at least we think it’s a hostel… someone look it up: the FIAP on rue Cabanis. It’s a very modern building filled with international students, a discotheque and a lot of questionable food.  My roommates and I quickly decided that we could simultaneously accomplish the tasks of resting and exploring the city by watching 2 Days in Paris and falling asleep.

This morning was ours to squander and so we slept in and then explored Paris. We found a café and walked to the Luxembourg gardens. Tonight we have a welcome dinner “in traditional French style.” Bon Appetite.

The blog, explained

In the elegant words of my friend Adrienne.