My absolute favorite thing about Paris is their preservation of Open Space. In New York, everything is crowded together, and even in central park there are always boulders or playgrounds or giant signs scattered throughout the park. However, Le Jardin des Tuileries has a series of massive gravel walk-ways. The fountains are not structures, but rather clear circular ponds that can sprout water on a warm day. Today I walked from one end to the other and, because it was actually sunny outside, the green of the trees and grass looked absolutely spectacular. I know, I'm gushing, but really, I'm in love.
I've moved in with my host mom and she is as sweet as sucre. Every morning thus far she has set our breakfast for me (un croissant, du Café with cream because I'm American, la nutella, and jus d'orange) and tonight I am meeting her daughter and we are going to eat dinner together. It smells absolutely delicious and I cannot wait. I will admit, the language barrier is beginning to frustrate me, particularly because I feel like so much of my personality is missing from my short, present tense, subject-verb sentences. We communicate well, but for now it's mostly her talking and telling me stories while I giggle and make responsive facial expressions (luckily I feel my being Italian has gifted me with very expressive body language). I think she understands that I'm good for more than a smile and nod, but I'm still eager to allow her to get to know me better. I can't wait for French classes to start on Tuesday.
On Friday, we went on a long long walking tour around the city. Yes, we were gathered in giant groups, yes the tour was in english, but if there were to be a time where I'd like to scream "I'm a Tourist!" I'd prefer it to be now. This tour was the Paris that I remembered, old buildings, monuments and museums. History is absolutely everywhere, every bridge and building seems to have a story. At night, a bunch of us gathered up and stormed the Bastille. (Ok, that wasn't funny, but the Bastille area is actually very lively.) I kept thinking "This is insane that the French Revolution stared right next to whichever cheap bar we decide to settle at." This is what else I love about France, the seamless mix between the old and the new.
I must admit, there are a few adjustments. For one, the metro completely shuts down exactly at 2am rather than running 24/7 in NYC, meaning that in order to take the metro home and not a very expensive cab, I need to get on the train by 1:30 to make sure you get home. Not bad, but when our train decided to evacuate for no reason at 1:45...let's just say it took me the entire metro ride home for my pulse to settle down. Not to mention, the trains start running every 10 min rather than ever 2 min at night. All was well for me, however, until I come to my next challenge, the doors. I got inside the building no problem, but I could not understand that key. It looks more like a wrench than a key, and apparently there's quite a bit of jiggling and pushing involved in opening one of these beautiful old heavy doors. After a half-hour struggle and several failed attempts to gain the courage to ring the doorbell, I finally mastered the french jiggle-turn method and unlocked that blasted door.
I'm going to go eat now, I'll upload some pictures of my beloved Paris (ALWAYS pronounced Par-EE way now... Pear-iSS just makes it sound gross) soon!
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