I'm not sure if I should be disappointed in myself for taking over a week to blog or if I should be proud of myself for occupying my time so well and enoying my time in Paris to the fullest. Again, I'm sorry mom. Here's a new one for the scrapbooks.
This past week has been a whirlwind of events and emotions, full of highs and lows, fireworks and ballets, wine and chateaus and a triple attempt quest for a decent cheeseburger. Allow me to connect the dots and fill in the blanks.
Last Tuesday, after a group of us ventured to Montmarte, the red light district that is overgrown with tourists, tacky souvenir shops, scantily clad women and home to the famous Moulin Rouge, we decided we needed to class up our day and walked down to the National Opera House of Paris in the hopes of securing last minute tickets to the ballet. After being told the only seats still available were in the nosebleeds and had extremely obstructed views but only cost 8€, the broke yet eager college student spirit within us decided to take a chance and we bought 6 tickets in the back of the side balconies.
The interior of the opera house was breathtaking and grandiose in every sense of the word. Although we were all still in our street clothes, covered in sweat and dust from the streets of Paris, stepping inside you couldn't help but feel elegant and exquisite, twirling around in your imaginary ballgown as your jewels catch the light off of the dozens of magnificent crystal chandeliers. Large marble pillars, grand staircases and beautfiful frescoes catch your glance at every turn and as you descend the staircase, for a moment you indulge yourself in a fantasy and make-believe that you are Kate Winslet in Titantic, walking towards an awe-stricken Leonardo DiCaprio, feeling more beautiful than ever.
We made our way to our seats, which were, as promised, in the nosebleeds. Our balcony was directly on the left side of the theatre, meaning we could only really see the right side of the stage from where we were sitting. Additionally, the seats left no leg room whatsoever and the four rows of people sitting in front of us forced us to constantly shift from left to right in our seats in order to catch a glance at the occasional arabesque. To our surprise, we thought we had purchased tickets to see L'autonomie, a contemporary ballet about the works of Francis Bacon, full of lust and sexuality. To our surprise, the curtains opened to a scene from the 18th century to the accompaniment of a joyful and upbeat orchestra and we quickly realized we were about to watch Les Enfants du Paradis, realizing our intended ballet was being performed at an entirely different opera house across the city. After a good laugh throughout the overture, we quickly fixated back to the ballet and the throngs of beautiful ballerinas leapings and twirling across the stage.
I must have moved my seat at least four or five times in the hopes of finding a seat that had visibility and leg room, luxuries that were never designed or intended for an 8€ ticket. Exasperated and feeling the glances from annoyed patrons around me, I finally found a small space in the back of the last row where I could stand and see a decent amount of the stage. After forty minutes or so, my feet began to throb with the melody of the orchestra, but I didn't mind because I was so enthralled with the beauty of everything happening before me. I always say that people have a great appreciation for talents they could never possess, which is why I have such an admiration for dancers. The body itself is a work of art, but to be blessed with the ability to twist, turn and bend it into the most beautiful shapes and forms is not only a work of art, its a masterpiece.
After leaving the ballet, a few of us decided to grab dinner at a restaurant just off of Boulevard St. Michel. Eager for a grilled cheese sandwich, I was instead presented two pieces of bread slathered in mayo and covered in emmental cheese, the French equivalent to Swiss cheese. Hating both emmental and mayo, I munched on my frites (frenchfries) and looked longingly at the gelato place a few stores down. After finishing my "dinner," I made a beeline for the gelateria and met a man named Bubby who is incredibly friendly yet sometimes a little too forward. Regardless, he was taken by my appetite for gelato and my "American friendliness" and now gives me quatre boules for the price of deux (four scoops for the price of two). I think its probably one of the best things that has happened to me since I have been here.
Skipping ahead, last Thursday was Bastille Day, France's national holiday. All of us were incredibly eager to celebrate considering we had missed our own independence day festivities and we were craving the celebratory spirit. We loaded up on several bottles of wine and baguettes while my friend really took to the holiday spirit and dyed her hair blue and red with food coloring. Feeling festive, we walked to the Eiffel Tower where we were hoping we could find a grassy spot to picnic with our bags full of wine, bread and pastries. Unfortunately, we weren't permitted to enter with our adult beverages and decided there was no way we were going to let perfectly good bottles of wine go to waste. So, upon improvisation, we took to the park across the street from the Invalides, set up our blanket and spent the next few hours enjoying cheap wine and good laughs with new friends. Around dinner time, we decided it was time to eat because the baguettes, as delicious as they were, were no longer cutting it. Everyone decided on a Thai restaurant, and true to form as the pickiest eater in the world, I ordered a small bowl of plain white steamed rice.
After appeasing our wine-induced appetites, we rushed back to our residence hall and went up to the library balconies where we had an exlcusive and yet amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. After a few more glasses of wine, we were all ready for the fireworks show to begin. The lights on the Eiffel dimmed until the sky eventually went black and only a few seconds later, the skies ignited with explosions of red, blue and white with the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower behind it. As the sky burst open with beautiful showers and eruptions of color, we all toasted to good health, new friendships and to the most amazing summer of our lives.
After Bastille Day, we were all still a little groggy from the previous day's festivities. Everyone was slow and sluggish in the morning however we all eventually found our groove later in the afternoon. We had hoped to go see the ballet again (the correct one this time), however it unfortunately sold out earlier that morning. Disappointed, a few of us decided to wander in the Hotel de Ville district in the hopes of coming across a pleasantly crowded street full of shops, restaurants, art galleries and boulangeries. We found exactly that and with tired feet and empty stomachs, decided to have dinner at a quaint jazz restaurant where three musicians played their hearts out for the diners before them. I ordered my first french cheeseburger. It was dry and tasteless. But yet again, the frites were delicious.
Saturday morning, we woke up early once again for another planned excursion to two chateaus, Fontain Bleu and Vaux le Vicomte. The first chateau was incredibly regal while the second felt very tourist imposed. However, the gardens at Vaux were extravagent and stretched out for hundreds upon hundreds of acres before you, filled with ponds, fountains, statues and rosy pink flowers. It was freezing that day, so I wrapped myself up in my travel blanket and through my shivering, took in the beauty around me, wondering why on earth someone would ever need a house or garden that large, but secretly knowing perfectly well how wonderful it must have been. I ordered another cheeseburger for lunch, this time I received a small square ground beef patty, no bun, no cheese. I dipped it in ketchup and enjoyed my frites, which are never disappointing.
Yesterday was another bad weather day in Paris, as most of them have been, freezing cold with occassional showers. Regardless, it didn't deter me from wandering throughout the Latin Quarter and traversing my favorite street in all of Paris, Rue Moufftard, lined with boulangeries, patisseries, chocolateries and the occassional strolling musician. Bright eyed, I walked along the street and came across a jazz trio performing various songs from the 1920's, its lead singer blessed with the raspy soulful voice of Louis Armstrong. I watched for a few songs, danced in the circle with a very kind old man, a left them a few euro in a tattered hat laying on the street. Afterwards, I picked up a deliciously flaky almond croissant, buttery and sweet, and while licking my fingers I flicked through shelves upon shelves of used books at a vintage bookstore. When the rain started coming down, I knew it was time to head home. I quick ducked into a music store, full of vinyl records from decades past, and after admiring the vast collection of musical genius, I met up with two girls from my group and craving greasy American nostalgia, we went to the Happy Days Diner, a retro 1950's, blue and pink checkered Parisian hotspot. I ordered a cheeseburger, hoping the third time would be a charm. It came out, with poppyseed bun; a slice of cheddar cheese and a plate of frites. It was juicy. It was meaty. It was cheesy. It was home. Ironically, I took the top part of the bun off. One can only handle so much bread.
Today has been, thus far at least, a series of unfortunate events. Despite studying for a few hours, my test this morning seemed impossibly difficult, I realized I have almost run out of money and got lost going to my phoentics class...in the freezing cold rain. I have always hated Mondays but this one seems to want to give me a run for my money. Regardless of how wet, cold and disappointed I was, it didn't deter me from getting another deliciously flaky almond croissant, just as buttery and sweet as yesterday's. A group of us are leaving for Pompidou in about an hour, a modern art museum that is full of crazy colors and installations.
I have exactly two weeks left in Paris and I am now on the downward slope, making sure that I enjoy every single croissant, bottle of wine, moonlit river and sparkling light before I leave. Life is Paris is like a dance, with countless clumsy missteps, romantic twirls and dips, somedays a foxtrot and other days a waltz, but at the end of every dance, you bow and thank your partner for a wonderful time. I'm not quite ready for my final bow yet, however I know that no dance will ever be the same, because Paris, although sometimes a little clumsy, has wrapped me in its arms, twirled me and dipped me as no other city has done before.
Until next time, de Paris... avec l'amour.
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