And thus it begins...

Greetings, earthlings; I have entered the blogosphere. I have now fully adapted to the 21st century, after sending emails to various people about the same event resulted in information duplication. Well, here it goes: my life in Paris.

It's a saying in my household that if anything can go wrong, it will...for my sister. Well, that statement may have to be amended, because so far this trip has been wrought with mishap after mishap. From my very first touchdown at Roissy-Charles de Gaulle airport, things were off to an ominous start.

I should have known better when the woman at the Rochester airport said that though she couldn't merge my two distinct itineraries (one from Rochester to Newark and one from Newark to Paris), she could forward my luggage all the way to Paris; I should have known that something would go wrong. Indeed, something in my gut was telling me, "Rachel, you have five hours at the Newark airport--plenty of time to get your back and recheck it. At least that way you will know everything is kosher." But, of course, I ignored it. And I felt the effects later, when I arrived at Charles de Gaulle and watched bag after bag...after bag...after bag...after bag...after bag...come down the luggage ramp and be claimed by their owners. All, of course, except mine, which never arrived.

Thus began my first encounter with using the French language in a real-life situation. While the whole situation was rather frustrating, it was a little exhilarating at the same time to be able to conduct the entire conversation with the airport lady in another language. Granted, I didn't understand every single word, but I at least got the gist of every sentence, and the proper forms completed.

It was rather funny, though, taking the RER B train from the airport to central Paris to the DEFAP where I would be staying (a protestant mission coalition that houses people short-term). I had always heard of American tourists and their incompetence overseas; indeed, I had even participated in deriding them at length on several occasions. But when said tourists looked to me for help in deciding which train to take--both go to central Paris--and how to get to their hotel--there's a metro map right on the wall--something is out of whack. They appeared to appreciate my advice--until, that is, they asked how long I had lived in Paris. :)

I succeeded in arriving at the DEFAP, however, with no more issues. It was then 9 in the morning, and, I can never sleep on planes, I was eager to get walking around the city in order to ward off jet lag (seven hours ahead of CST). I dropped my stuff off in my surprisingly-clean and quaint little room (again, after having conversed entirely in French), and set off exploring.

For those who haven't been to Paris, one must forget any sort of geometric municipal idealisations when navigating through the city. The city is arranged around gigantic streets (boulevards) which connect round-abouts (places) in a way that is a little reminiscent of a shattered-glass pattern (with multiple loci of impact). The DEFAP is located just off of Denfert-Rochereau, a major place. So, I picked a boulevard and headed down one of the spokes towards central Paris. I first passed le Jardin de Luxembourg (Luxembourg Garden), renowned for its chess-playing, sculptures, sittable green lawns (not common in Paris), and palace/museum situated in the center. One of the coolest things about it is that the wrought-iron fence surrounding the garden features huge pictures from around the world, everything from polar bears, to the effect of drought in East Africa, to city lightscapes. They really are quite beautiful situated against the green backdrop of the garden's flora, and incite introspection from the passers-by (I love that word in the plural!).

Next came le Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), where all the students live amidst beautiful, Romanesque architecture. While there, I stumbled upon the Pantheon (insert accent here), where such notables as Rousseau, Dumas, Voltaire, Zola, Gambetta (for all you left-wing Francophiles:) ), and the Curies. Originally a cathedral, a huge pendulum hangs from the site's gorgeous dome. Known as Foucault's Pendulum, this provided veritable proof in 1851 that the earth revolves. As the pendulum swings back and forth, the Pantheon (and the whole earth) revolves below it, allowing it to be used as a clock. I finished my tour around 12, and thereby spent several minutes blocking the view of a young child trying to get the perfect shot of the pendulum lined up with the line indicating noon.

Paris is also the city of carb-addicts; baguettes have been and always will be the vogue. Any time of day or night, one is pretty much guaranteed to see someone cradling at least one two-to-three-foot-long loaf of bread underneath his or her arm. Usually, there is one and a half, as half of one is in the process of being devoured by the bearer (or his or her child). Being an Atkins-dropout myself, I partook of this Paris custom. My first meal was a very Parisian one indeed: a baguette avec du poulet et du crudite (again, insert accent). In other words, a hunk of bread with chicken, lettuce, and tomatoes. As far as sandwiches go, these are no Panera knock-offs; they are usually devoid of dressing (except for butter sometimes) and rarely have more than two or three ingredients (ham and camembert is exceedingly common, and plain hard-boiled eggs on a baguette is one French custom that should have been left on the scaffold, as far as I'm concerned). Yet, the bread is usually first rate, and it is easily the cheapest meal you can get in Paris. I think the cheapest one I saw was 2.50 Euros, though they usually range around 3.5-4.

Okay, it's getting late. Stay tuned for the next edition of...a summer à Paris!