Weekend In Paris

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Traveling makes me feel so alive! I'm reminded that life has so much to offer. There's so much to do, so many places to visit and books to read.

I take the Eurostar train from London to Paris. It's about a four-hour journey, and I sit next to a Turkish guy who teaches me some basic phrases in Turkish. He's kind of nerdy. He sees that I'm reading Obama's book, so we talk a little about American politics and history. (Why is it that everyone knows about America, but America doesn't know about anyone else?)

Elizabeth, a college friend who lives with her fiancee just outside of Paris, picks me up from the station and impresses me with her aggressive Parisian driving. We go out to have drinks with a couple of her friends. Even though it's freakin' cold outside, we sit in the outdoor patio of a cafe. The entire patio is packed and everyone is eating and drinking with their coats buttoned up and scarves wound tightly around their necks. Weird Europeans. I watch with envy as Elizabeth jokes with her friends in French, rolling her eyes at comments they make. They translate everything for me, which I appreciate, but I very much wish I spoke French.

I notice that people are barely eating. (I might also point out that I don't see any overweight people.) They order something off the menu, take a bite, then put down their forks and talk for like fifteen minutes before taking another bite. And then hardly anyone finishes their food! Most of the plates return to the kitchen with at least a quarter of the meal still on the plate. For an American, who also happens to LOVE food and is completely ravenous at the moment, I realize I'm going to have to exercise some self-control. I watch Elizabeth, taking bites when she does and putting down my fork to "listen" to the conversation. It's tedious and torturous. I really want to gobble it down!

Elizabeth and Rod's House

Elizabeth met Rod when she was studying abroad in France a few years ago. After she graduated from college, she secured a job teaching English in France and she and Rod began dating. Now, they have a house in Chantilly, just outside Paris. Their house is NICE--two stories, three bedrooms, big kitchen, big bathroom (with a big tub). When we arrive, Rod is playing a soccer videogame with a friend of his. The guys talk to the game in French, probably saying things like, "Get him, get him, faster you idiot!" And announcer in the game speaks French, so it's kinda surreal to me.

I don't get to see much of Chantilly, but it seems like a nice, quiet, small town. Very slow-paced and mind-clearingly beautiful.

In the Morning

I walk downstairs to find Elizabeth curled up on the couch in her P.J.'s grading papers. She looks so comfortable, like this is all normal to her. Why can't I feel normal in my life in London?

We take the train into the center of Paris, which is twenty minutes from Chantilly. "This is the train I take to and from work everyday," Elizabeth informs me. "I'll show you my school, too."

Her school is very near to Notre Dame, which is located on a small little island in the Seine River. Her school day runs from nine to four, with a two-hour break in the middle of the day for lunch, rest, whatever. "I walk around this area of town a lot during lunch time, getting some exercise," she says.

We wander around, eventually making our way to Montmartre, the tiny mountain in the middle of Paris that offers panoramic views of the city. One side of the mountain is a park, with sidewalks winding down to the street below. The rest of the mountain is entirely paved. Extremely steep steps take us up and up and UP. The Basilique du Sacre Coeur sits atop Montmartre, looking out over Paris. The Eiffel Tower is lit blue. "Usually, it's lit with gold," Elizabeth explains, "but since France holds a seat of power in the European Union right now, they've got the Tower lit blue. After dark, every hour on the hour, there's a light show."

We stop to eat at a cafe. Again, the same slow eating ritual. Meals here aren't about getting in, eating, and getting out; they're about sitting and visiting with each other. So service is really freakin' slow, and no one seems to mind. I tell myself to stop being impatient; enjoy this time with Elizabeth.

Soon enough, she has to leave to meet some friends for a music festival in another town. We say our goodbyes, and thus, I'm left alone in Paris.

As she walks away, I notice that Elizabeth is wearing the exact same outfit she wore yesterday. A lot of European countries (the Netherlands and Germany, for example) wear the same outfit two days in a row before washing it. Just another prime example of how she has assimilated into the French culture. I'm envious. I want to assimilate into another culture. I want to feel at home when I'm not at home.

Why can't I do it?

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Photos

Halfway Up Montmartre
The Basilique du Sacre Coeur is barely visible in the background.

Halfway Up Montmartre
If James Bond drove a station wagon, this would be it!