Day 27
Saturday June 11
Its sunny outside. Bleh. Shut up Paris. Rain for me, so its not so impossible to leave. Early morning wake up call, meet with a friend of Emilie's to check on the apartment and return the security deposit.
Then, I take my last trip on the 5 line from Oberkampf from Gare du Nord, take the RER to Charles De Gualle, stand in 12 different lines and pay $100 to check my bags, barely make my flight, miss my connection in Orlando, cry 8 times throughout the day, finally get to LAX at 10:30, then continue my moping over American wine and pass out (jetlag is less silly and more aggravating in Los Angeles).
Voila stupid day 27.
Now accepting donations to the "Send Corinne Back to Paris" Fund. Seriously.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Final Farewell
Day 26
Friday June 10
Wake up, mope because its my last day, cook my last egg/toast/camembert/mustard breakfast (this time with added bonus of chorizo), and shower. Then I had to assemble my portfolio, all the final edits of poems I've written and drafts and free-writes--it turned into a 22 page document. That's a lot of work for four weeks.
Since we're leaving bright and early in the morning, we had to clean our apartment, pack, and get our affairs in order before the big reading at Shakespeare and Company tonight. But I couldn't let my last day in Paris be full of boring obligatory housekeeping. So I met I friend for lunch at a traditional brasserie. We feasted on escargot, steak tar tar, four incredible cheeses that I cannot pronounce, some sort of dessert with rum and chantilly, and of course, a bottle of wine. It was so fun to be out amongst the Parisians in their natural habitat. Then we strolled through the galleries, streets of shops covered by two story high glass awnings, popped in on the auction house (watched a pair of bowls be sold for 18,000euro), and then it started to rain...I took that as my cue to go home and get ready for my reading, so we parted ways.
That night, we all gathered at 6:30 at Shakespeare and Company for our reading. All of our guest professors/poets were in attendance, Cecilia's friends, all of the friends we had accumulated throughout our trip, Christelle our ISA coordinator, and others packed the house. Standing room only. Ha. Touche, Cecilia. She started out by reading a poem of her own, then she introduced each of us individually with facts from our anti-bios (greattt), and we each had 5 minutes to read some of our work. I read a poem I'd written about a homeless man, and that sestina that gave me so much trouble.
Afterwards, we mingled and chatted with our adoring fans (ha), and then jumped on the train to Cecilia's for the after-party. There was dinner and wine and some sort of chocolate torte that I probably could have eaten all of, but would have been killed by the other party-goers. The poets were there, and all of our closest Parisian friends. It was bittersweet--very sweet. We said goodbye, to eachother, to Paris, and to our lives here, and headed on home.
Voila (crying inside) Day 26
Friday June 10
Wake up, mope because its my last day, cook my last egg/toast/camembert/mustard breakfast (this time with added bonus of chorizo), and shower. Then I had to assemble my portfolio, all the final edits of poems I've written and drafts and free-writes--it turned into a 22 page document. That's a lot of work for four weeks.
Since we're leaving bright and early in the morning, we had to clean our apartment, pack, and get our affairs in order before the big reading at Shakespeare and Company tonight. But I couldn't let my last day in Paris be full of boring obligatory housekeeping. So I met I friend for lunch at a traditional brasserie. We feasted on escargot, steak tar tar, four incredible cheeses that I cannot pronounce, some sort of dessert with rum and chantilly, and of course, a bottle of wine. It was so fun to be out amongst the Parisians in their natural habitat. Then we strolled through the galleries, streets of shops covered by two story high glass awnings, popped in on the auction house (watched a pair of bowls be sold for 18,000euro), and then it started to rain...I took that as my cue to go home and get ready for my reading, so we parted ways.
That night, we all gathered at 6:30 at Shakespeare and Company for our reading. All of our guest professors/poets were in attendance, Cecilia's friends, all of the friends we had accumulated throughout our trip, Christelle our ISA coordinator, and others packed the house. Standing room only. Ha. Touche, Cecilia. She started out by reading a poem of her own, then she introduced each of us individually with facts from our anti-bios (greattt), and we each had 5 minutes to read some of our work. I read a poem I'd written about a homeless man, and that sestina that gave me so much trouble.
Afterwards, we mingled and chatted with our adoring fans (ha), and then jumped on the train to Cecilia's for the after-party. There was dinner and wine and some sort of chocolate torte that I probably could have eaten all of, but would have been killed by the other party-goers. The poets were there, and all of our closest Parisian friends. It was bittersweet--very sweet. We said goodbye, to eachother, to Paris, and to our lives here, and headed on home.
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| The Adieu, Rodin |
Voila (crying inside) Day 26
The Thinker
Day 25
Thursday June 9
Well since today started last night, or last night began today, I'm a bit loopy. After our abbreviated nap, we had to wake up and write our anti-biographies for class. An anti-biography excludes all the boring facts like "she graduated from the University of Southern California with a B.A. in English Literature and a minor in Business Law" for more interesting details like "she was 5'3" in second grade (taller than the teacher) and has narcolepsy." Putting all my fun-facts on one page makes me seem just a little weird...oh well. Off to class in Monmartre for a bit, then together we all took the train to the Rodin Museum to meet Jeffery Greene, poet/professor at the American University in Paris. He gave a beautiful lecture/workshop in the gardens of the museum, then we were free to explore (fo free. woo.)
After that, Diana and I met Kelsey at home, then we went back to Monmartre to a reputable little fondue restaurant. While it was delish, the idiotic Americans that crowded the place were unsettling. Being in Paris surrounded by bratty med students from Indiana that love to cackle and one-up each other about how many shots they can take before they pass out (which, let me tell you, is unimpressive) makes me want to become an ex-pat...or at least say I'm from Britain.
Then, I met a friend for wine and foie gras and got into discussion number 173 about politics. The french know more about American politics, or at least world affairs, than I do. For shame. But since my tv has been stuck on CNN, I knew a little something about french politics, so we had a pretty good discussion going. The wine didn't hurt either.
I was still super fried from the night before, so it was an early night for me.
Voila, Day 25
Thursday June 9
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| Rodin Museum |
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| The Thinker |
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| The Kiss |
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| Inside the Rodin Museum, one of my favorite galleries |
Then, I met a friend for wine and foie gras and got into discussion number 173 about politics. The french know more about American politics, or at least world affairs, than I do. For shame. But since my tv has been stuck on CNN, I knew a little something about french politics, so we had a pretty good discussion going. The wine didn't hurt either.
I was still super fried from the night before, so it was an early night for me.
Voila, Day 25
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Louvre: check, Eiffel Tower: check, DEADMAU5: check
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| Who doesn't have this picture? |
Day 24
Wednesday June 8
Today, we decided we NEEDED to do two obligatory Paris-y things: the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower. We'd been here for almost four weeks and hadn't made it over there yet. Its time. So we head on over to the Louvre, wait in a minimal line, and set to exploring.
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| drool |
We spent a solid six hours there, with a little break to find the most delish artisan boulangerie. I had this pizza-ish pastry, with olive oil, butter, lemon, smoked salmon, and some sort of creamy cheese and herbs. Carb heaven. I ate the whole thing. I am not sorry.
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| The standard Eiffel Tower pic |
Got home at 6, prettied up and left at 6:30, got to the venue THE MOULIN ROUGE at 7, were told by the ticket lady that the tickets go on sale at 11 (contrary to the 8oclock report we got on the phone). So faced with 4 hours of standing outside in a yet-to-be-formed line, we found our wine (the wine of choice for homeless people), and posted up in the park across the street in direct view of the front door. We were ready to pounce if we saw any activity by the ticket line. Parisian men are very forward with their intentions, so after fending off many hopefuls, when the ambling homeless man approached we were ready. He didn't speak any english, but his intentions were clear---he was offering us money. For a homeless man in Paris to offer us a euro, we must have looked pretty...something...I choose not to think about it...
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| DEADMAU5 |
Around 9pm, we were too antsy, so we crossed the street and started the line. First in line for Deadmau5--do electo DJs have groupies? Then another group of Americans gets behind us. Then a German, and a couple Parisians. Within minutes, the line is a mile long, but WE DON'T CARE BECAUSE WE'RE FIRST. ha. So bottle number two is popped, and we wait and get more and more excited. 11:11pm, tickets in hand, we take a moment to freak out, and let the party commence. Deadmau5 went on at 1:30, and he played until 4:30. It was an awesome set--so much fun. We were two feet in front of the stage, and its pretty hard to describe how incredible that is. He took off his signature mouse head for most of the set (probably because it was so hot). Ah. After he was done, we listened to the closing DJ for an hour while we waited for the metros to start up again for the day, got on the first train at 5:30, home by 6am, little cat nap til class, then we started our Thursday.
Voila Day 24
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| Deadmau5 without the mouse head :) |
Feel it in my bones (inset Tiesto reference here)
Day 23
Tuesday June 7
Today we took our second stab at the Catacombs. Since we were going home on Saturday, I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure to maximize every second I had left in Paris. (which is why I couldn't find the time to blog until now...back in Los Angeles) So we make the trek out to La Defense, which is at the very end of the train line, and we saw some people outside the tres subtle entrance to the Catacombs. We approached and found that little cluster we saw from afar was actually a GIANT TWO BLOCK LONG line up close. So we make the five-minute walk to the end of the line, and it started to rain. Blah. Over the next hour, we make about 20 feet of progress. Awesome. So to make the time pass, we sent Diana on a wine run. She comes back with an uber convenient twist off pinot grigio, and we get to work. The next hour passes much faster, and before we know it we're being ushered in. Now. I had never been carded a single time in Paris--all the clubs, bars, markets, museums, etc...no problem. So, four weeks in, I finally stop carrying around my passport (its not very safe to have it on your person for fear of pick pockets). But now, at the Catacombs, the uberjerk woman behind the ticket counter refused to give me the reduced price for people aged 14-30 without picture ID. How old do you think I am, lady? Apparently two university IDs aren't enough to prove my youth either, or the advocacy of my similarly young friends, who happened to have their passports. Thus begins my downhill slide into old age and wrinkles. I knew 22 was a bad age.
Ten euros and a huffy descent down hundreds of stairs later, I found myself ducking to avoid hitting my head on the damp rock roof of the too-claustrophobic tunnels beneath Paris. As we walked through the dark and dank labyrinth (its probably my greatest fear to get lost and stuck down there), bones started appearing on either side of the tunnels. The bones of 6 million Parisians past. Gross. Yes I touched one. Yes I debated smuggling one out in my bag, but its a good thing I didn't because we were searched on our way out. Apparently disappearing skulls has been a problem for the good people at the Catacombs before. While they were cool, I was excited to emerge from the slimy, dark, creepy tunnels.
At this point, we were desperately hungry. I LOVE fancy cheese and baguette and butter as much as the next Parsienne, but something fresh was starting to sound realllly good. Sushi. Done and done. We feasted at a little place off Saint Germain with old Brittney movies on tv. Then we found yet another little bookstore that Diana's guide book recommended (Abbey), but since it was raining, the place was packed! Too crowded for us, so Rose and I wandered around and window shopped and tasted artisan sweets and olive oil, and we stumbled upon Cafe La Perle. We sat with a glass of wine, then headed home to meet a friend for dinner. Allison is a lovely french girl we met on our adventures, and after dinner at Cafe L'Industrie, she came back to our place and hung out with us before heading out for the evening. We drank our usual wine, but since she is from Bourdeaux, she couldn't handle our cheap taste. Ha. Again, our wine offends the French. She told us that one of the bottles we had on hand is the stuff the homeless people drink.
Anyway, we headed out to Andy Walhoo's a trendy little bar in the Mairie that has the most delish mojitos. We danced etc, then hoofed it home for some late night baguette and sleep.
Voila, Day 23
Tuesday June 7
Ten euros and a huffy descent down hundreds of stairs later, I found myself ducking to avoid hitting my head on the damp rock roof of the too-claustrophobic tunnels beneath Paris. As we walked through the dark and dank labyrinth (its probably my greatest fear to get lost and stuck down there), bones started appearing on either side of the tunnels. The bones of 6 million Parisians past. Gross. Yes I touched one. Yes I debated smuggling one out in my bag, but its a good thing I didn't because we were searched on our way out. Apparently disappearing skulls has been a problem for the good people at the Catacombs before. While they were cool, I was excited to emerge from the slimy, dark, creepy tunnels.
Anyway, we headed out to Andy Walhoo's a trendy little bar in the Mairie that has the most delish mojitos. We danced etc, then hoofed it home for some late night baguette and sleep.
Voila, Day 23
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The Two Windmills and Tumbleweed
Day 22
Monday June 6
Class today--we workshopped the last of the Normandy poems, and then guest lecturer Christophe Lamiot came to talk to us about translation. We ended up learning a lot about having dual nationality in France and the States, and how even if you have two PhDs you can end up eating nothing but pasta at an ex's place in Belgium for a year. I wish I spoke French. I must say, though, 90% of the time I can understand what people are saying to me in French--but only about 5% of the time can I string together a sentence of my own...aren't poets supposed to have a way with words? Oh well.
After class, a group of us headed through Monmartre and found Cafe le Deux Moulins (two windmills) from the movie Amelie. Our waiter was the penultimate frenchman, "pfft-ing" between words, rolling his eyes at our english, and sending the flirty barman over to try his hand at charming us. Ha. All in good fun. I ordered oeuff au saumon, a creamy egg dish with smoked salmon and chives, served with baguette (naturally) and fresh salad. It occurs to me that this salad was the first serving of vegetables I've had in forever--it was delish. Normally if I eat nothing but calorific treats for three weeks, I feel like hell, but all my cheesy, carby, chocolaty, etc food feels just right. We feasted, then headed down the hill to the metro to go to shop-hopping.
Diana and I wanted to go to a bookstore called Torn Pages and Tattered Leaves, an english bookstore with a tea room. When we got there, we were greeted by a ginger cat with a giant feather-duster tail. He hung out with me while I posted up with an Anais Nin biography for a bit. Then Kelsey wanted to go to Le Bon Marche, Paris's first department store, whose name translates roughly into "cheap," which it is not. Bon Marche is like a Barney's--everything is beautiful and upwards of 500euros, which is about $750. Unfortunately, that is just a tad out of our price range, so we headed to a different bookstore in retreat. The store is called The Red Wheelbarrow, and there I found the Fernando Pessoa book that has been on my list of things to buy called The Book of Our Disquiet.
On the next street over, we found a little store that specializes in high quality wooden puzzles and brain teasers. Awesome--just up my alley. Here's the kicker: its called Tumbleweed! Woo. I talked to the lady who runs the store (she's originally from Philadelphia), and she knew all about this blog's namesake (the tumbleweeds at Shakespeare & Co), and she put me to work on a puzzle---the puzzle is four pieces of wood, and the idea is to shape these four pieces into an uppercase letter T. I swear it could not be done. Diana and Kelsey bummed around the stores and bought gifts and trinkets, and an hour later I still hadn't figured out this stupid T. I had to buy it. I refused to lose to this thing.
So we took our loot home, and I continued to play with that (insert profanity here) "T" while I talked to Mom (hi Mom!) on the phone until I figured it out (tres gratifying).
Then Kelsey, Diana, and I decided to go to a night club we'd been hearing about since before we got here. It's called "Queen" and it was once a gay club (which we like going to), but now its only a gay club on certain nights. We got all cute and drank our wine, and we took the metro all the way to Champs D'Elysees, but Queen was terrible. It was empty and pretty dull (only studded with the random group of girls that could have passed for us in a heartbeat), so we decided to take advantage of the fact that the metros were still running (until 1am) and head on home.
Voila, Day 22 (we're finally getting this down)
Monday June 6
Class today--we workshopped the last of the Normandy poems, and then guest lecturer Christophe Lamiot came to talk to us about translation. We ended up learning a lot about having dual nationality in France and the States, and how even if you have two PhDs you can end up eating nothing but pasta at an ex's place in Belgium for a year. I wish I spoke French. I must say, though, 90% of the time I can understand what people are saying to me in French--but only about 5% of the time can I string together a sentence of my own...aren't poets supposed to have a way with words? Oh well.
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| A book I found... I have an Uncle named Dutch, but my uncle has only one ear so I'm not sure this is him... |
Diana and I wanted to go to a bookstore called Torn Pages and Tattered Leaves, an english bookstore with a tea room. When we got there, we were greeted by a ginger cat with a giant feather-duster tail. He hung out with me while I posted up with an Anais Nin biography for a bit. Then Kelsey wanted to go to Le Bon Marche, Paris's first department store, whose name translates roughly into "cheap," which it is not. Bon Marche is like a Barney's--everything is beautiful and upwards of 500euros, which is about $750. Unfortunately, that is just a tad out of our price range, so we headed to a different bookstore in retreat. The store is called The Red Wheelbarrow, and there I found the Fernando Pessoa book that has been on my list of things to buy called The Book of Our Disquiet.
On the next street over, we found a little store that specializes in high quality wooden puzzles and brain teasers. Awesome--just up my alley. Here's the kicker: its called Tumbleweed! Woo. I talked to the lady who runs the store (she's originally from Philadelphia), and she knew all about this blog's namesake (the tumbleweeds at Shakespeare & Co), and she put me to work on a puzzle---the puzzle is four pieces of wood, and the idea is to shape these four pieces into an uppercase letter T. I swear it could not be done. Diana and Kelsey bummed around the stores and bought gifts and trinkets, and an hour later I still hadn't figured out this stupid T. I had to buy it. I refused to lose to this thing.
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| word |
Then Kelsey, Diana, and I decided to go to a night club we'd been hearing about since before we got here. It's called "Queen" and it was once a gay club (which we like going to), but now its only a gay club on certain nights. We got all cute and drank our wine, and we took the metro all the way to Champs D'Elysees, but Queen was terrible. It was empty and pretty dull (only studded with the random group of girls that could have passed for us in a heartbeat), so we decided to take advantage of the fact that the metros were still running (until 1am) and head on home.
Voila, Day 22 (we're finally getting this down)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Museums are free on the first Sunday of the month
Day 21
Sunday June 5
Today we decided to check out the world's largest flea market at Porte de Clignancourt (which is translated to...guess..."flea market"). We were warned that the market's perimeter, no matter which direction from which we approached, would literally be flea ridden. They weren't kidding. We were greeted by a thousand aggressive street peddlers with arm loads of gucci knock offs. After dodging them for about ten minutes, we made our way through tents with polyester clothes and cheap bling. Nearly ready to give up (again it was ridiculously hot outside and it smelled bad), we wandered down one last-ditch effort street, where we found a table of interesting costume jewelry. The adjoining street had a collection of vintage purses. The street after that had an antique bottle opener with Napoleon's face on it. The street after that was brimming with flapper dresses and beautiful clothing from the roaring twenties. Then we found the old vinyl. Then the furniture and antique framed mirrors and musical instruments. Needless to say, we started to enjoy ourselves. I found a little store that was overflowing with vintage Jean Paul Gautier, Chanel, Hermes, and a thousand other beautiful dresses, feathery hats, bejeweled gloves, studded heels, and furs. Basically I would like everything I ever own for the rest of my life to be from this store. Alas, the prices were all in the 500euro range. I have decided to scrap this whole poetry thing and become a bandit, specializing in stealing pretty clothes.
Moving on: we spent a solid four hours perusing the good stuff, then realizing we were a tad fiesty due to low blood sugar and high temperatures, we hopped on the metro back towards our area and grabbed lunch (quiche au fromage et jambon for me) and a massive Evian and posted up at a park off Rue du Rivoli. And whatdya know, the park turns out to be the grounds for the Modern Art museum. Furthermore, on the first Sunday of every month, every museum in Paris has free admission. In we went. (duh).
The first thing I saw was an Andy Warhol. Then a Chuck Close portrait (shout out to Mrs. Fleenor's art class). Then a Salvador Dali. Then upstairs, MATISSE and PICASSO and KANDINSKY galore! I was geeking pretty hard. I was a kid in a candy store, bouncing around from one gallery to the next as if the paintings would vanish if I didn't get there fast enough. This museum was decidedly more "edgy" than any of the others we've seen thus far (Louvre on Wednesday though...stay tuned). I lingered as long as I could without being obnoxious (poor Diana and Kelsey), then we went up the outdoor escalators on the side of the building and got a panoramic view of the city from the Eiffel Tower to Sacre Couere.
We figured that the elusive falafel restaurant couldn't be closed two days in a row, so despite my minor grudge against it for smiting us the day before, we trekked back that way. Ouvert! (open). Yay. We sat and feasted and drank three carafes of water, then rollie pollied ourselves home.
For a split second I debated going out, but L'Embuscade seems to be closed on Sundays (lame), and I was suddenly feeling very boring. So we popped a bottle of wine, and began to wrestle with the DVD player...twenty minutes later after we got it working, we learned what a region code is. For those less-than-technically-aware people like myself, a region code prevents you from watching a dvd outside the specified region of the world encoded on the disk. It's a very mean little invention. In other words, we were foiled on our attempts to be mellow and domestic. Ironic. So we huddled around a laptop and drank our wine and watched Amelie.
By the time the movie was over, a new show started up outside. Lightning storm! Excellent. I love thunder and lightning. When the lightning cracked, the whole sky light up like broad daylight. I sat there with the window open with the rain coming in on my bed for an hour. Oh. And I found my glasses, so in putting them on and checking out the newly clear view from my window, I have discovered that I can see Notre Dame. Yeesh. Paris...
Day 21, voila
Sunday June 5
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| In case you ever wondered where you can get a dead armadillo... |
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| Matisse: one of many |
The first thing I saw was an Andy Warhol. Then a Chuck Close portrait (shout out to Mrs. Fleenor's art class). Then a Salvador Dali. Then upstairs, MATISSE and PICASSO and KANDINSKY galore! I was geeking pretty hard. I was a kid in a candy store, bouncing around from one gallery to the next as if the paintings would vanish if I didn't get there fast enough. This museum was decidedly more "edgy" than any of the others we've seen thus far (Louvre on Wednesday though...stay tuned). I lingered as long as I could without being obnoxious (poor Diana and Kelsey), then we went up the outdoor escalators on the side of the building and got a panoramic view of the city from the Eiffel Tower to Sacre Couere.
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| my morning face |
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| View from the top of the Modern Art museum note Sacre Couere in the distance |
By the time the movie was over, a new show started up outside. Lightning storm! Excellent. I love thunder and lightning. When the lightning cracked, the whole sky light up like broad daylight. I sat there with the window open with the rain coming in on my bed for an hour. Oh. And I found my glasses, so in putting them on and checking out the newly clear view from my window, I have discovered that I can see Notre Dame. Yeesh. Paris...
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| This isn't daylight... the view from our window as lightning strikes |
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| View from our window as lightning fades away |
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