tperkins's blog

It feels weird to be saying goodbye, doesn’t it?
 
This experience has been… oddly life changing. I mean, I expected it to be life changing, but the ways in which it has changed me are definitely things that will stay for a while. Thinking about doing things on your own never really quite feels as hard or as anxiety inducing as when you actually do have to do things on your own.  I am 100% glad I had this opportunity to come and figure out learning on my own and navigating a new city without the aid of my GPS on high speed.
 
It feels so weird to say that it’s all over! After taking my last final yesterday I think I can properly reflect on the academics of it all instead of focusing on all of the social changes that happened throughout the semester. The Art of Travel has definitely been a really cool experience, and I’m glad I was able to find out about it! Blogging about everything that’s going on while having direction for our thoughts has put a lot of little facets of life here into perspective. I realize I definitely appreciate my ability to navigate the city more after the navigation post!
 
As excited as I am to go home in a few weeks (I’ll be travelling for a while throughout Europe), I know I will miss certain aspects of life here in Paris, and I will definitely try and incorporate some of that in my life back at home. It’s not as cumbersome to bring your own bags to a supermarket as I thought, so that will definitely be a change in a greener direction for me. I will miss hot baguettes on virtually every street corner and the really cool window displays at the Gap (seriously, the Gap here is really fashion forward for some reason. Why can’t they sell some of this stuff at the one at home?).
 
It’s hard to say what I might remember years from now, since it’s often odd details we keep with us instead of well-rounded memories. I hope I will remember this feeling of independence I feel now, and I hope I remember my appreciation for having a comfort zone. I can get pretty down on America from time to time, like most of us do, so I hope I can remember the appreciation I feel now for it.
 
It was really amazing getting to know you all. Hearing about your adventures everywhere helped me to feel like I was a part of something awesome. Really! I know most of us don’t know each other’s names/really know what each other looks like, but I know at one point or another we will see each other in Gallatin whether we know it or not. So see you all back in New York!

Picture is not by me, but it is the obligatory Eiffel Tower picture!

Tips on coming to Paris, huh?
 
Hmmm… This takes me back to when I first decided I wanted to study abroad. I wasn’t sure why I decided to come here exactly except for the fact that I felt I had some sort of unfinished business here and wanted to experience the city in the way I had always dreamt of. Looking back on my experience, I think I was able to do just that, although I definitely adapted my original goals to be a bit more… realistic. Anyways, for anyone considering NYU in Paris, here is my advice.
 
1. Stay, and live, in Paris. I know, this probably should go without saying, but I can’t tell you how many of my friends here jetted off every weekend to different countries around Europe and never even got to see the beauty of one of the most enchanting cities on Earth. They don’t have their favorite spots they go to on a weekend night, they don’t know where to take their parents out to eat when they visit, and they certainly don’t know where to get good coffee (coffee is not exactly France’s strong point). Luckily, they have me for this.
 
2. If you’re going with NYU, watch out for your housing and be prepared with a plan B. Since housing here isn’t exactly regulated, it’s important just to have a plan B in case any emergencies pop up and you need to move on the fly. I wish I had thought of this before I came since I was in that very position back in January. Things always have a way of working themselves out, especially instances like these, but it can be a damper on your precious time here.
 
3. It’s okay to aspire to be like a really cool French chick or a really suave French dude, and its okay to do your damndest to bring that aspiration into fruition. I had dreams of wearing my hair all shaggy and cool like the girls here and sporting all the striped t-shirt dresses I could find once I turned into a French toothpick from a lack of eating due to the exchange rate. Now, brace yourselves for this cliché, but it really wasn’t the cool hair or the gamine clothes that make the girl- it’s a bit of that self expression and joie-de-vivre that makes up the essence of a typical cool French girl. These girls are in no way perfect, remember that, but that certain “je ne sais quoi” is real and you have it, too. It will come out during your time here.
 
4. Do something in this amazing city on your own. Back home I always needed a buddy to check out a museum with me or see an obscure movie so I wouldn’t be sittin alone in the audience. Studying abroad is not just about getting to live someplace amazing- it’s also about putting yourself in really foreign situations. Because the group is so small here, sometimes your limited number of New York friends may be genuinely busy/ already saw the exhibit, movie, whatever/ off to Prague for the weekend. It’s okay. Go see it yourself, and see how awkward it isn’t to do it.
 
Anyways, those are my tips for travelling abroad to Paris…. And really to anywhere. 

Picture was taken by a friend of mine in Marseilles.

I love America.
 
An ugly sentence by itself, I know. A few months ago, before arriving in Paris, I wouldn’t have let these words slip out of my mouth. The days before my departure from New Jersey (I’m leaving a few seconds for your Jersey jokes…. …. … Okay, done), I was feeling pretty ready to leave my American roots behind and start a new life in Paris. I was sure I would find everything I was missing in Paris, like appreciation for art and culture in everyday life, and somehow through osmosis I would lose 10 pounds and start taking all of my fashion cues from French Vogue. I wanted to understand the allure of Paris that so many Black American ex-pats in the early and mid 20th century had tried to explain in their journals back home, to see for myself the city they called truly color-blind, and fall head over heels in love with Paris.
 
As the semester winds down to an end, my love affair with Paris has blossomed as I had hoped, but not as I thought it would. I didn’t end up stepping of the plane looking like a French model; my clothes didn’t magically morph into designer wear when I unpacked them from my suitcase; and I saw glimmers of a city that once promised color-blind treatment of ALL of its people without knowing exactly how to deliver on that promise. I found that throughout this semester, like so many of you all, my love for America has grown quite unexpectedly, too.
 
I guess my epiphany, here, is that while a new love for a new city has grown, my love and respect for where I come from has grown as well. I found that I appreciate America for all of its crazy quirks, including its attitude about its past and future. France is not known for being exactly forthcoming about its faults, especially about its colonial past, the government’s role in World War II, and the recent Algerian War, which has caused a lot of tension to come to the surface this past decade or so.   About a week ago, France passed a law making it illegal to wear any ostentatious religious garb in public, which is mainly directed at women who wear headscarves. As I have come to learn more about the social and cultural history of France and have gained an understanding of its current political issues, I realize nowhere is perfect. Every country has similar problems to what we face on a daily basis and are figuring it out as they go along, like we are, in their own way.  For all of the flack I get here about George W. Bush, I get have great conversations about President Obama. For all of the whispered talk about the foggy future of the Socialist Party here and the growing allure of the scary National Front, I am proud we can speak about our differences quite plainly back at home. I even have given up coveting the ultra-slim Parisian body!
 
I will say it again: I love America. And I love Paris, too. I am glad I got to see all of our craziness from a distance, and learned to love it anyway. It’s a comfort to know things can be just as crazy in a different way somewhere else, and that I could love all of that craziness, too.

Now, this story might sound a little creepy, but I swear to you this guy is awesome.
 
There is a man that frequents the casino across the street from me every Wednesday through Sunday. He comes out for a smoke break between the hours of 6 and 7, 9 and 10, 12 and 1, and between 3 and 4 AM on rare occasions. He is older, my guess would be he’s in his late 60s or 70s, and wears a fedora no matter the outfit. He is pleasant, chatty, and tells every child under the age of 12 that they look like his grandchildren.
 
Until about a week ago, I saw this man come out for his smoke break at least 3 times a week for the entire semester. We have exchanged a “bonsoir” a few odd times, but I have never had a real conversation with him. I regret this a little bit now because I haven’t seen him for a while- and since I decided to use him for this post, I have peeked between my shades to keep an eye out for him. I think he has helped me more than he realizes.
 
I have never been a fan of the casino across the street for many reasons, the most important being that there are always 15+ old guys hanging around outside until about 6 AM when it closes. Normally I wouldn’t bat an eyelash at the casino or the crowd hanging around it outside, since they have a right to exist, of course, but the noise of old men speaking quite forcefully at 3AM gets really tiresome after a while. One night in February was particularly loud (I think there was some sort of party going on in the street with these guys, they were playing some crazy opera song), and at around 2:45 I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and flung the windows open on my apartment. My friend with the Fedora was puffing away on his cigarette when he noticed me looking helplessly on at the ruckus going on underneath my window. He waved to me and then turned to the guys on the street, spoke in a low voice for a few seconds, and they all turned around to look at me in the window. A few of them shouted, “Desolée, mademoiselle!” as the rest of them went to turn the music down. The noise went back down to a quiet din, and I returned to bed very grateful to my new friend.
 
After that night the noise level never went above a normal level (and trust me, y’all, I am one heavy sleeper and no old lady when it comes to parties happening next door- I think my neighbors in Lafayette had fun with my sleep-induced deafness). Even if he stood up for me that one random night, I like to think the Fedora man is responsible for helping me maintain my sanity through all of these red-light district nights. Wherever he is now, I thank him!

Picture is mine, the view from my window. He used to stand right next to the gold ashcan.

NYU in Paris has a rather lengthy spring break (as we are on the University of Paris schedule and get a full two weeks!), so I thought it would be perfect timing to visit my dad in Abu Dhabi. He was lucky to find a job out there two years ago after the financial mess of the century, and I was the first of my family to be able to go out there and visit him. Abu Dhabi is so different from anywhere that I have experienced, so I thought for this post I would take a little vacation from Paris both physically and verbally and instead talk about the spirit of Abu Dhabi.
Firstly, I am in love with this city. It lacks a bit of the hedonist glitz and glamour of Dubai (only a bit), but makes up for it in community, city layout, and cuisine.  As I walked through the cramped streets of the old side while my dad was at work, I marveled at how different the way of life is here to my existence at home. Behind the larger buildings of the new side were hundreds of tiny shops, stalls, and carts displaying goods from all corners of the world with none of the pretension of the open air markets back in the states where I'm from. I was incredibly surprised at how different everyone was at first, since I imagined the city's makeup to be almost entirely Emirati. What I found, however, was that Emiratis only comprise about 10% of the UAE’s population, so the culture of the city is infused with influences mainly from India, Pakistan, Sudan, South Africa, England, Germany, Australia, America. The corner stores that line the blocks regularly stock Gujarati vegetarian dishes alongside plates of bratwurst, making even the smallest store a hotspot of cultural mixing. The smells emanating from the restaurants on Elektra street (“Lebanese Flower,” “KFC,” “Bombay Time,” and “Quincy’s English Pub,” to name a few) changed every few feet; the city skyline is marked with traditional Arabic architecture alongside cutting edge structures still being built; and everywhere advertisements are displayed in several different languages. The true spirit of the city is in how dramatically different each corner of it seems to be!
I can, however, mange to assign one property to the “genius loci”- mint lemonade. It’s typically thicker than regular lemonade with lots of crushed mint and always served in a giant glass. It embodies the spirit of Abu Dhabi because it is sold EVERYWHERE- literally, in every type of dining establishment, you can order a mint lemonade. It transcends its origins, which I don’t know where it came from, and each culture here as appropriated it to make it their own. Apart from being absolutely delicious, I think it is representative of the incredible mixture of transient people (a little Casablanca style) and one of the threads that bonds them all, including my dad, together.
All pictures are my own.

Ps. In case you guys were wondering, the Abu Dhabi campus is pretty cool, although it's a temporary location for them. They're building the big one on Saadiyat Island, which is going to be b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l. Well, the plans look beautiful anyway.

I was really excited to read something a little less traditionally academic and a little more fun, so I decided to go for something more modern (and comical) for my second book. I chose A Year in the Merde by Stephen Clarke, a funny first-person narrative of a year in the life of a British business-guy in Paris.
 
I ended up liking the book for reasons I absolutely did not expect. Hemmingway’s poetic rose-colored depiction of Paris is right on target, but Clarke’s cynical outlook on the city reads just as true. As a mini-expat here in France, living abroad is not without its difficulties no matter how cushy your host country is in relation to your home. I know I am outrageously lucky to be able to spend any amount of time here in Paris, but no city on Earth is perfect, and it can be quite troublesome to navigate through life here when little things inevitably go wrong.
 
I found myself cracking up when reading about all of the bureaucratic processes Paul West, the story’s protagonist, had to endure. Like most European cities, Paris is known for their strikes, long lines for any administrative handling, and month-long waits (often by s-n-a-i-l mail) for the simplest of approvals.  This little story illustrates this perfectly: One of my best friends who is also studying abroad with me here had to purchase his monthly NaviGo metro pass this week. He went to a new station, figuring the line for an attendant would be shorter, and paid with his American credit card as he normally does. The attendant, who was unfamiliar with non-Carte Bleu cards (they have the little gold chips) since it was a less-frequented station, charged him several times for one month. Instead of being able to rectify the situation at the station, he was forced to go to the RATP headquarters outside of Paris, make several appointments, fill out countless forms, and is now waiting for a check in the mail that is scheduled to arrive after he leaves. It’s the little things.
 
Despite all of the awkward incidents and rough patches West endures throughout the story, he finds he loves the city more than he could have imagined by the end, and some of Hemmingway’s magic makes its way into West’s quotidian Parisian life. This bit was the most easily relatable. For all of the frustrations we leave out of life abroad stories for our families and friends back home, it is thanks to these instances that we are able to really “grow” to love the cities we’ve already had our hearts set on before stepping off of the plane. For all of it’s weird ticks and poo-filled streets (for those of you in similar cities with lax dog laws, you know what I’m talking about), there is no place quite wonderfully and romantically eccentric as Paris!

*Picture is of a street sign in Paris reminding people to pick up their dog crap. It doesn't really work.

It’s hard to pick a singular great place in a city that is, in itself, a great place. I think most of us are at this weird stage where we’re not quite new, so we’ve been able to filter down our favorite spots, but we’re not quite members of our cities, so we can’t necessarily lay claim to “our” great places. For me personally, I have about 10 spots I can gush on forever and ever about, and it feels pretty strange to pick just one to talk about since I feel like I don’t really know these places all THAT well. I’m going to do my best!
 
When it boils down to it, my favorite “great” place here in Paris is this hole-in-the-wall bar named “Panic Room.” Yes, it may seem a bit contrived to pick a bar for this post, but there are so many special things about this place that make it a great spot for anyone to go and understand young Parisian city life. After several attempts to see the city nightlife here and miserably failing (for a myriad of reasons- some places were way too expensive, others were empty, some of the other places were just downright rude), I stumbled across a write-up of this bar on a local city-dweller blog. It didn’t look like anything special in the article, but I figured it was one more place for my friends and I to try.
 
Since our initial visit (described in the front-stage/back-stage post), Panic Room has become a staple in our casual-night out itinerary. At the risk of sounding like a guidebook, the vibe at this place is the most relaxed I have experienced since getting to Paris. Like New York, a lot of places here pride themselves on being inaccessible and snobby, which is completely unappealing to me. This place describes itself as being a true neighborhood bar that allows its regular patrons to add their designs to the walls, which gives it a real communal feel. I was surprised how accepting most of the people that come here are, another rarity in a city that holds their language in HIGH regard, and found it easy to test out my language skills without worrying about sounding completely stupid. We almost always meet a group of college kids that are willing to talk to us!
 
There are plenty of other neighborhood-y bars like Panic Room that I would have loved to include, but I figured a place like this is indicative of small unpretentious cool bars that this city has to offer, a welcome relief from some of the other painstakingly hip places. I can’t wait to hear about the gems in your cities!

*Picture from the Panic Room Facebook page. The blog editor doesn't like the url, so I included the blog for Panic Room underneath the picture.

One of the most beautiful museums I have ever gone to has got to be the Rodin museum here in Paris, near the city center. His works are housed in the most beautiful building, the old Hôtel Biron, where he used to work until 1908 or so (information taken from the Museum pamphlet). If anyone is coming to visit Paris for their spring break (or is spring break over for everyone? We don’t have ours for another two weeks), I highly suggest checking this place out.
 
Unfortunately, I was very late on getting off my butt and getting to see the sights of Paris. Two months ago I could have blamed my laziness to explore the “touristy” treasures on settling into the city, but as we received our official student ID cards with free access to a multitude of museums and sights, I decided it was time to finally see some of the priceless art that is literally crammed into the city limits.
 
I am not an art history buff by any means, so any information I have on any great works was gleaned from introductory art history courses freshman year. I remember having a strong penchant for sculptors while taking the class, so I was especially excited to check out the Rodin museum when I finally got out with my camera. The museum itself was absolutely breathtaking- it is a chateau plunked down right in the middle of a sprawling courtyard that is designed to lead from one famous sculpture (The Thinker, 1902) to the next (Monument to Balzac, 1891-1898). My personal favorite is the cluster of sculptures entitled The Burghers of Calais (1884-1889), which many of you will probably have seen if you’ve taken any of the intro art history classes at NYU.
 
Rodin’s style, in my opinion, embodies the elegance and class of turn-of-the-century Paris. His incredible attention to detail in the form and movement of his works are breathtaking! He was known for the tortured facial expressions and awkward body positioning of his marble sculptures, which was seen as an avant-garde take on classical marble construction that came before him.
 
Paris, of course, is known for its art. There is a gallery for every genre of art you may possibly be interested in- contemporary? Look no further than the Marais, where there are small modern art galleries on every corner. Craving impressionism? There’s the Musee D’Orsay. Desperate for a slice of antiquity? I don’t even have to tell you to check out the Louvre. What really surprised me about most of these galleries, though, is that they are free for students studying either in France or any card-carrying EU citizen under the age of 26.  While I am sure many of these museums receive substantial government subsidies, it’s nice to see that high art is taken seriously enough to be offered freely to those who otherwise couldn’t afford to see it.

*The picture is taken by me, a close-up of one of the faces from the Burghers of Calais.
*Any titles and dates listed here are taken from the English pamphlet given out upon entry to the museum.

After three solid months here, I think the line between tourist and temporary resident is beginning to blur.
 
It's hard to separate the back region from the front region in a place like Paris, just like how it may be difficult to separate the two in a city like New York. For those of us not originally from New York (Manhattan or any of its boroughs), at what point have we left the “front” region as newcomers and entered the “back” region as New Yorkers? The line is not so easily drawn in an urban setting like these. As long as I keep my mouth shut (as to not showcase my awful American accent when I am called upon to speak French), I can imagine myself leaving the frontal region on my commute to school as a 5-month study abroad student and pretend I feel as though any native Parisian would on their daily travels. In cases like these, I suppose, the front and back regions are more often a state of mind than they are clearly defined physical spaces.
 
Even though I often catch myself feeling like I am slipping away from the tourist category from time to time, I am still incredibly intrigued by the idea of a back-stage area in a constantly “on” city like Paris. A few weeks ago a few friends and I decided to try out a new bar that was mentioned in some obscure French nightlife blog as being for the “kids of Paris,” rather than the “touristy-sell outs” a few blocks away in the notorious Oberkampf quarter (the quotations are all translations from the French, of course). To our delight, we were the only English-speaking patrons in the entire two-floor establishment. At one point during the night we were asked how the hell did a couple of Americans find this place by an intrigued group of French students, which sent my friends and I absolutely over the moon. Little victories like this help me to feel like I am starting to permeate the back regions of the city.
 
On the other hand, other back regions of Paris can look all too familiar to me. In an effort to recall memories from a study abroad program I did in high school, I travelled back to the small suburb we stayed in called “Issy-les-Moulineaux,” a little town just outside of the city lines. As I wandered through the town’s streets, it became very clear that some of the rest of France had little to do with the aged sophistication of Paris.  Instead of old, ornate buildings and boulangeries on every corner, there were huge shopping malls and supermarkets. SUV’s and suburban houses that looked just like the ones from my hometown lined the small winding streets. In comparison to the chic-ness and pompousness of Paris, towns like these seem to be the city’s back region. It was as if to say, “No, we don’t all ride our bikes to work and live in cute pied-a-terres. Contrary to popular belief, there is life outside of Paris. If you want to see how France looks, you can start here.”
 
Front and back regions are relative to each individual. While I thought I had entered the back region of Paris by finding spots where the number of Americans was greatly limited, I believe I entered the back-back region of the city when I left to visit the suburbs. All of these ventures contribute to the traveler’s experience, and I encourage everyone to check out their city’s borders to get the full effect!

*My image of the multi-plex mall in Issy. Doesn't quite look like Paris, huh?

First off, I have to apologize for my two consecutive posts. Classes here just got way out of control these past two weeks!

I started on Hemingway's A Moveable Feast on the plan ride over to Paris and finished it about two weeks into my arrival. I was never much of a Hemingway fan (A Farewell to Arms just never really did it for me), but I know he is near and dear to the Anglophilic literature circles of Paris. I ended up liking the loose storyline, which was surprising, but I what really impressed me was the framing of life in Paris for an American from the Midwest. I was enamored with the romantic descriptions of simple walks along the Seine with his then-wife Hadley in the spring time, meetings with cohorts at Harry's New York Bar (still here in Paris at 5 rue Daunou), and the feeling of anything being creatively possible in the Parisian spring.

I believe I was both consciously and unconsciously inspired by his detailed descriptions of his day-to-day actions. It felt nerdily cool to incorporate some of his simplistic joie-de-vivre in my daily routine as described in my last post. Throughout the different chapters, Hemingway searches for the perfect café to write and eventually lands on one in particular, La Closerie de Lilas in the Latin Quarter. I prescribed myself the same task of finding the perfect café in Montmarte for my not-so-important homework writing ventures. The café next door was too close to home, the Pere et Fils on rue Lepic was too crowded, but the St. Jacques café on the corner of Abessess and Germain Pilon was just right. I found myself getting off at the St. Michel stop one day after class for an afternoon of exploration to see if I could understand Hemmingway's Latin Quarter (the 5th and 6th arrondissements) the way it was so beautifully described in the book. The area is no where near as fashionable or as intellectual as Hemingway explains it to be or as the guidebooks claims (for example, Shakespeare & Co. is in a new location a few blocks down, although they purport it to be the original store with a recreation of the "Sylvia Beach" room), but the vestiges of a 1920's literary Paris are still there.

All in all, I am glad I chose A Moveable Feast as my introduction to Parisian life, even if it was a little hard to overcome my ambivalence towards Hemingway. I can't wait for spring to start in a few weeks so I can sit outside of Harry's with my café-creme and imagine myself as another American blown East to look for inspiration in the wonderfully magic ways of Paris.

*Shakespeare & Co.

After two solid months in Paris life has slowly started to orient itself around meal times. I have found that lunch and dinner (or frequently in my case, a combination of the two) have become solid anchors in my daily routine. The NYU in Paris program does not offer any meal plan and kitchen access varies depending on your living arrangement, so finding reasonably priced food in Paris has become somewhat of a daily challenge. Within the past few weeks I have struggled (and succeeded!) to make cooking apart of my daily routine. Before I came to Paris I was the master at boiling water and heating up leftovers, skills that I have had to greatly expand and incorporate into my life since coming here. Everyday or every other day I head over to the local Picard (a preservative-free frozen food store.... that only sells frozen foods) and local market to get my vegetables, meat, and bread for the night. Through a little hard work and improvisation I am now able to create an edible meal. On the weekends I am relieved from cooking duties and allow myself to enjoy a few meals out with friends.

Beyond food, my daily routine consists of exploring all of the well-planned metro routes of Paris, finding French equivalents for goods and services I use at home, and doing my very best to incorporate a little "je ne sais quoi" into my own life. A few days out of the week I head to my favorite cafe a few blocks away from my apartment and sit outdoors under the heat lamps to do my homework, have a coffee, and people watch (a tradition which was inspired by our independent reading, but more on that next week). Because I have much more free time on my hands than I do in New York, I use a few free hours in my day to coerce my friends into getting off at random metro stops and exploring different areas for neighborhood gems like restaurants, cool bars, or interesting local activities.

Other mundane tidbits, like laundry, food shopping, and oh, the cost of the euro, have been a little weird getting used to. However, it has been an easy transition for the most part. I am fortunate enough to have a washer in my apartment, but in order to dry my clothes I have to get creative and lay them all around my studio for a day or two to air-dry them. France has long adapted to ways of eco-conscious living, and most supermarkets don't stock a lot of plastic bags for bagging groceries, so it is necessary for me to remember my tote bag when I head to the Monoprix or Carrefour down the street. The cost of living here is astronomical in comparison to New York, so really being on top of every penny is incredibly important here.

I don't feel that developing a daily routine has made me feel any less of a tourist here, but I do feel that it has provided me a level of comfort that I was missing just a week into the program. Hitting certain markers in my day (food markers) helps create a sense of normalcy and distances me from life at home, but the language barrier here still keeps me from completely forgetting my place as a temporary American traveler.

Picture is by me, taken at a restaurant. Delicious.

What is considered "approrpriate", anyway?

1. I left my frist apartment, across the street from a local elementary school, and started down the steep incline to the metro station. It was like any other January day in Paris- cold, a little rainy, with parents and their nannies (older women, usually from the Maghreb) pushing little tots to school. As I neared the corner I spied a father with his child in a frontwards baby carrier  (an example is here: http://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/product.asp?sku=16321133&utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=shopping), puffing away on a cigarette. Truly a picture for the Truth campagins.

2. My new aparment is steps away from the red light district in Paris. Moulin Rouge does exist somewhere along the infamous Blvd. de Clichy, but in order to walk the four or five blocks to the historical cabaret, one must pass dozens of not-so-savoury storefronts. I decided to explore my area to see if there were any cafe gems among the sex-shops and pornography cinemas (since afterall Pgialle is one of the best places for people watching). I didn't find a cafe along any of the side streets, but I did find another elementary school. Go figure.

3. Both the bars and the metro in Paris close around 2 a.m., so in order to get home without paying an extraordinary cab fare one must plan to say goodbye around 1:30 a.m. On one patricular night making my way home from a bar near a friend's place, I noticed a few parents getting on the metro with their strollers. The kids were between 1 and 2, wide awake between the hour of 1 and 2. Another culutral difference that was a little hard for me to grasp.

I am using examples including children in my question of "appropriateness" because I feel that it is hard to question what is appropriate when talking specifically about adult-to-adult behavior. We can hope that after a certain age we are all mature enough to walk pass stores like "SEXODROME" and can decide for ourselves if we are interested in a smoking. Cultural behaviors become more stark when thinking about how different countries relate with their children. Because Paris and New York are similar in so many ways, culutural differences between the two cities can become even more jarring since it is easy to expect behaviors to be the same. Who is to say that either behavior is better? We may scoff at keeping children awake past 9 PM- Parisians can't understand why we haven't figured out an effective way to teach green living in elementary school systems. I've noticed in these minute details the real differences between New York and Paris!


*The picture is from a blog, not mine, as I have yet to buy batteries for my camera. This is Blvd. de Clichy off of the Pigalle stop, the "red light" district in Paris everyone talks about.

I usually don't go anyhwere new, at home or New York, without checking google maps for distance first. This is, of course, after I've checked Yelp or New York Mag for reviews and found the perfect combination between highest rating, proximitous location, and number (always the lowest amount) of "$" signs. I take comfort in knowing that the margins for error are lowered when I have done my research on any particular location. Getting lost is not an option for me, either. I carefully count the number of streets even when walking to my destination to ensure the most direct route to and from starting point. I am typically the friend who has found and vetted the place when deciding where to go for a night out, for dinner, or to a movie.

You can imagine my immense panic when after a rather unfortunate and random chain of events, I was left internetless (and sort-of homeless for that matter, but for the purpose of this blog I will focus on the internet) for a month in Paris. This of course meant no google maps. No Time Out Paris. No Yelp. No Hop Stop. There would be no way for me to plan where I was going and how I was going to get anyhwere without taking a chance and walking the streets. I would have to use a real map, one that didn't point out your location and orient the space accordingly, in order to meet my friend at a cafe near her place. If I wanted to find a place that actually offered take out in Paris, I was going to have to find it myself.

I have never been comfortable with letting go and finding my way organically, let alone in a city where I am only beginning to speak the language. The first few days wandering without a clear idea of where I was going was incredibly nervewracking, but also oddly freeing. I lead my friends blindly from one street to the next trying to find the perfect restaurant for diner without consulting an online Paris guidebook first. We have found some amazing restaurants (and some awful ones, too) through our search-and-destroy method, as well as helping to make the city a bit smaller for ourselves through taking it purely on foot. Now when my friends come to visit, I can be the cool pseudo-Parisian that happens to stumble across gems through serendipitous chance!

I signed up for Marseilles and the Mediterranean (a class offered by NYU here in Paris) on a whim, intrigued by the promise of a free weekend-long trip to the south of France and vaguely interested in stories of antiquity from a Francophone perspective. Classes in general have been interesting, yet I couldn’t shake this unsettling feeling I was having in the pit of my stomach which I attributed to general anxiety over another big change in our daily schedules. The last class I had to attend on Thursday was the first meeting of the Marseilles class. I was surprised on the first day of class when my professor an academic free session for the next 3 hours.

“I am interested in how you guys are doing now that you’ve all had time to settle down in Paris. Or are you settled? Let’s forget about Marseilles for a bit and talk about you. How are you doing?”

How am I doing? This question took all five of us in class by surprise. As lucky as we are to be in Paris, the “culture shock” (I use this term loosely since Paris is more similar to New York than some of the places you guys are studying) of the first week was starting to wane and we were beginning to feel like our old selves in this new city. None of us had vocalized the weirdness of not feeling quite all that different, since the difference is what propelled many of us to come abroad, and issues that we were all dealing with individually had not simply decided to wait in New York for us. They came, too.

“I would like to read you a poem you all might find interesting. Feel free to close your eyes if you would like, we can talk about what we think it means at the end.”

The City

You said, "I will go to another land, I will go to another sea.
Another city will be found, better than this.
Every effort of mine is condemned by fate;
and my heart is -- like a corpse -- buried.
How long in this wasteland will my mind remain.
Wherever I turn my eyes, wherever I may look
I see the black ruins of my life here,
where I spent so many years, and ruined and wasted."

New lands you will not find, you will not find other seas.
The city will follow you. You will roam the same
streets. And you will age in the same neighborhoods;
in these same houses you will grow gray.
Always you will arrive in this city. To another land -- do not hope --
there is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you have ruined your life here
in this little corner, you have destroyed it in the whole world.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1910)


She was silent for a few seconds, letting us digest Cavafy’s hard words.

“In order to move forward here or anywhere else, you cannot forget who you are or where you have come from. To be here and be present, to let this city change you, take care to understand why you wanted to come. A change of scenery will not fix the problems of your hometown. Only you can.”

That was the first day I took a critical look at other less obvious reasons why I came to Paris and what I intended to do with my time here. Wise words from my professor that I thought I would share with you all!

"Bonjour, et bienvenue à Paris!"

I cannot believe almost a month has gone by (NYU in Paris starts a bit earlier than the other programs) in this bewitching city. Where to begin? The food, the people, the clothes, the food, the art, the architecture, the food...

Beginnings, however, are probably best left for introductions. My name is Taylor Perkins, class of 2012, and I am relatively new to NYU. I am from a small town in New Jersey twenty minutes outside of the city,  and grew up with a deep love for New York. I transferred Spring of 2010 from Wellesley College to study film, television, and entertainment business. If you ask me next week what my concentration is you might get a slightly different answer, as the best part about Gallatin is our concentrations seem to evolve with our experiences.

It was hard at first to explain my reasoning for studying abroad in Paris for the semester- I don't speak much French and I was fortunate enough to have travelled through Paris  a few years back. There are so many beautiful cities in so many wildly different countries which all would have made for vastly different experiences. Was I adventurous enough for Accra? Ready to learn Spanish or Italian? Or was I craving to revisit a foreign but familiar place, prepared to experience it the right way this time?  I didn't get enough of the Louvre or get to try that chantilly crepe during my first visit. There were still restaurants I remembered the name to but never got a chance to look at their menus. Paris, for me, has that same magnetism New York has, and being able to spend five months roaming in the second city I fell in love with seemed right. The rest is history!

There is a lot I hope to accomplish in this short 5 month period, and a lot I feel that I am starting to accomplish in this first month alone. Some things are silly, some are things everyone learns at some point in time. One thing I am dying to learn how to do is cook more than boiled pasta and marinara sauce out of a can. I would like to know how to properly shop for groceries and whip up tasty meals Rachel Ray style without breaking into a cold sweat looking at a recipe. I am hoping to make more NYU friends and get to know a smaller campus away from the city (I think most of us are hoping for the same thing too). I hope I will fly back in May a little bit different, maybe more independent, a little less New Jersey and a little bit more cultured.

I can't wait to get to know all of you guys and hear your experiences!

Until next week,
Taylor

(Photo Cred: My friend Bianca Murillo. I'm the girl!)