Champagne, Chateaux, and Chicha
In Class
Obviously Not Paying a Damn Bit of Attention
Seriously, I Didn't Do ANY of the Reading
Drinking Coffee
Wanting a Cig
Almost Over, Almost Over . . .
18:50
10.18.05
Champagne, Châteaux, and Chica
How about we don’t even get into the drama/excuses/reasons I haven’t updated this bitch in a long time. I’m doing it now, so let’s just get over it and move on, kay? I know you’re all dying to know what the hell we’ve been up to, right? Losing sleep, can’t eat, driven to distraction, crying inside, wanting, WANTING to know.
Calm down dude. Let me fill you in.
Champagne: It what has become a bit of a tradition, we’ve taking to going out and getting quite shitty on Thursdays. Seems to be a bit of a thing here: we were not the only ones drinking wine straight from the bottle, on the Metro, at 8:00 pm on a Thursday. I swear to you. This last Thursday we went to an “international party” because the cards that littered the Cité were annoying as fuck, and because they happened to contain two magic words: open bar.
By we, I’m don’t mean just Lauren and I. We had quite a U of C turnout, and I think that it must be some sort of unstated requirement that to come to the Paris program you have to dress an iota better then your average U of C etudient. Needless to say, we all looked hot.
And, free champagne didn’t hurt either. In the end, it was a bit disappointing. There were 5,305 people there, each with their own contingency of other international students, all wearing little identifying country nametags. It was nearly impossible to make it to the bar for those free drinks, and once you got that hard won coup de champagne, it was hard to meet people since everyone was clamoring for the bar. So you wade your way out, trying to not to spill or burn yourself or others, and by the time you can breath again, it’s time to turn around to try and wrangle your way back to the bar, hoping to catch the bartenders eye so that he’ll fill your glass instead of the 62 other glasses being held out in his direction. It was a bit intense.
But, the music was good – or at least loud and full of bass – so after the free bar ended, I actually *gasp* payed for a drink, and danced. We had a nice little group going, getting our groove on. The most hilarious part was the that there were these little islands raised three or four feet off the ground, complete with poles for dancing with. At first there was your average group of slutty-ish females trying to get laid. BUT THEN there were some pretty cute boys of unidentifiable European origins shaking their asses, using the pole, the whole nine yards, with looks on their faces that said, “I am the hottest thing in this club. Oh, just watch me rub my ass on this pole,” It was hilarious. Disturbing, but hilarious.
Châteaux: It was a Castleicious weekend. The whole thing left me feeling quite plebian. But at least I’m being bettered by the culture of my superiors, right?
Friday we visited le Château de Blois. I took many, many pictures but as I seem to have left my computer cord at home (possibly, Alii doesn’t seem to want to answer my questions about its whereabouts). I can’t get them on the computer yet. At some point, yes.
I won’t get into all the historical stuff, as you aren’t in this class and probably don’t care. The best part was our guide: Steve, a former U of C student. He called people out for nodding when they weren’t really paying attention, made fun of us for needing coffee to wake up at 11:00 am. (In our defense, the bus left at 8:00 am which is damn far cry from having class at 4:30.) He made the castles very enjoyable and approachable while not diminishing the gradeure that was all around us. It made me want to be a tour guide. It would be the greatest job ever if I were to live in France for a bit, but then again I’d have to learn more French history. But that’s cool.
At le Chateau de Chambord, we ate. Oh, did we eat. Fois gras, carnard, cake au chocolat, café, vin, vin, vin. It was amazing beyond all belief. When all first sat down, there were bottles of white and red wine on the table. Being the responsible young adults we are, we all take half a glass of each to taste it, no one being greedy. This killed a bottle, and low and behold, another one appeared. And another, and another. Instantly, everyone’s filling their glasses, drinking deeply and getting to know those sitting around them. I really enjoyed getting to know some of the other people in the program that I haven’t hung out with yet, while also having a great time with Lauren, Nina, Lance and Monica. Poor Monica – she’s not a big drinker, and once she told us that, we all made it our mission to keep her glass as full as possible. Two hours later, she’s rather sloshed, we’re all socially lubricated, and hey, let’s go look at this castle.
The 26 of us emerge from our castle dining room, giggling, laughing and generally being a bit drunkenly at 2:30 in the afternoon. Steve tells us to settle down: “You are all being very American right now.” That was all he had to say: we all suddenly tried to be as cultured as possible. But, since he’d had a bit to drink too, it didn’t last long. So with wit and insight abounding, we stumbled around the castle, which was amazing. Again, pictures will be forthcoming at some point. So far, it's definately my favorite chateau.
Did you know that you can buy a French chateau for not too much? I mean, compared to say, buying land and building a house. I'm not kidding. You can buy this huge catalog with all the castles that are up for sale. There are so many of them -- you weren't cool unless you used your serfs to build a monument. The only problem with owning one now is heating it. It's not the actually of buying the chateau that kills the wallet, it's the upkeep. Yea, I want one.
Sunday, Lauren and I went to le Chateau de Versaille. Oh my God. To repeat: Mon Dieu! If you’re going to be the absolute ruler, and build castles and generally live like a God, you want to do it like Louis XIV. I want to build myself a little hut on the garden grounds somewhere and live there for while. It blew my mind. The scale of it all, the sheer gaudynes was enough to make any old-money Tylerite feel a little smaller in the world. Beautiful – I mean, maybe he was a tyrant, but Louis had good taste. There was a huge terrace that over looks a canal and French country side, with woods, statues, nitches filled with fountains, orchards, small children, flowers, and carriages. I could have stood there forever contemplating the history of the world, feeling the majesty of all those who came before us, finding my place in the universe. To repeat: it was amazing.
Chicas: oh do I love Hookah bars. Friday night, we found a really fantastic one. Cheap, comfy couches, fantastic tea and friendly service. Also, it’s within eyesight of the Metro. Lauren and I keep saying, “Oh, yea, we’ll go the Hookah bar and do our work.” Yea right. We may be missing out on European history, but we’re getting pretty good at smoke rings. I belly danced a bit even, which was pretty entertaining, and we made friends with the dudes sitting next to us. Like most people I’ve meet here: très gentiles.
One of the waiters took a bit of a fancy to me, and starting proclaiming the only phrases he knows in English. To me: “I Love you!” To the dudes we met: “I hate you!” Lauren says, “Why is it that all the waiters fall in love with you wherever we go?” Dude, I have no idea.
And as if random proclamations of love from people I’m completely NOT INTERESTED IN (seriously, maybe I should make a sign that says, “No Way in Hell”) wasn’t enough, I met someone at the bus stop. We talked, exchanged numbers, and I proved to myself yet again the wonder that is flirting with your eyes. Oh the French are so good at it, and I’m not bad myself, as is evident by me picking up random dudes at bus stops at 4:30 in the morning. It’s really amazing: you just have to look at someone a certain way and then. . . I’ve been trying to teach Lauren, but il ne marche pas.
Julian text messaged me last night, and it was very obvious that he’s a native French speaker. The first message said “Amelie do you want to take a drink in this week? Julian, the boy of the bus,” which may be the cutest SMS ever. After some scheduling issues, we’re going out next week. Oh man, so hot.
I introduce myself as Amelie here because Mia doesn’t quite translate with French verbs, or at least in a pleasing way. I may continue with that when I return to the home continent. Thoughts? I’ve always figured I would make the switch at some point in my “adult life.” Maybe that time is now?
Now that I’m just rambling to pretend I’m paying attention, I should go. Since I didn’t do the reading for today AT ALL, maybe listening for half a minute wouldn’t be completely out of line.
Obviously Not Paying a Damn Bit of Attention
Seriously, I Didn't Do ANY of the Reading
Drinking Coffee
Wanting a Cig
Almost Over, Almost Over . . .
18:50
10.18.05
Champagne, Châteaux, and Chica
How about we don’t even get into the drama/excuses/reasons I haven’t updated this bitch in a long time. I’m doing it now, so let’s just get over it and move on, kay? I know you’re all dying to know what the hell we’ve been up to, right? Losing sleep, can’t eat, driven to distraction, crying inside, wanting, WANTING to know.
Calm down dude. Let me fill you in.
Champagne: It what has become a bit of a tradition, we’ve taking to going out and getting quite shitty on Thursdays. Seems to be a bit of a thing here: we were not the only ones drinking wine straight from the bottle, on the Metro, at 8:00 pm on a Thursday. I swear to you. This last Thursday we went to an “international party” because the cards that littered the Cité were annoying as fuck, and because they happened to contain two magic words: open bar.
By we, I’m don’t mean just Lauren and I. We had quite a U of C turnout, and I think that it must be some sort of unstated requirement that to come to the Paris program you have to dress an iota better then your average U of C etudient. Needless to say, we all looked hot.
And, free champagne didn’t hurt either. In the end, it was a bit disappointing. There were 5,305 people there, each with their own contingency of other international students, all wearing little identifying country nametags. It was nearly impossible to make it to the bar for those free drinks, and once you got that hard won coup de champagne, it was hard to meet people since everyone was clamoring for the bar. So you wade your way out, trying to not to spill or burn yourself or others, and by the time you can breath again, it’s time to turn around to try and wrangle your way back to the bar, hoping to catch the bartenders eye so that he’ll fill your glass instead of the 62 other glasses being held out in his direction. It was a bit intense.
But, the music was good – or at least loud and full of bass – so after the free bar ended, I actually *gasp* payed for a drink, and danced. We had a nice little group going, getting our groove on. The most hilarious part was the that there were these little islands raised three or four feet off the ground, complete with poles for dancing with. At first there was your average group of slutty-ish females trying to get laid. BUT THEN there were some pretty cute boys of unidentifiable European origins shaking their asses, using the pole, the whole nine yards, with looks on their faces that said, “I am the hottest thing in this club. Oh, just watch me rub my ass on this pole,” It was hilarious. Disturbing, but hilarious.
Châteaux: It was a Castleicious weekend. The whole thing left me feeling quite plebian. But at least I’m being bettered by the culture of my superiors, right?
Friday we visited le Château de Blois. I took many, many pictures but as I seem to have left my computer cord at home (possibly, Alii doesn’t seem to want to answer my questions about its whereabouts). I can’t get them on the computer yet. At some point, yes.
I won’t get into all the historical stuff, as you aren’t in this class and probably don’t care. The best part was our guide: Steve, a former U of C student. He called people out for nodding when they weren’t really paying attention, made fun of us for needing coffee to wake up at 11:00 am. (In our defense, the bus left at 8:00 am which is damn far cry from having class at 4:30.) He made the castles very enjoyable and approachable while not diminishing the gradeure that was all around us. It made me want to be a tour guide. It would be the greatest job ever if I were to live in France for a bit, but then again I’d have to learn more French history. But that’s cool.
At le Chateau de Chambord, we ate. Oh, did we eat. Fois gras, carnard, cake au chocolat, café, vin, vin, vin. It was amazing beyond all belief. When all first sat down, there were bottles of white and red wine on the table. Being the responsible young adults we are, we all take half a glass of each to taste it, no one being greedy. This killed a bottle, and low and behold, another one appeared. And another, and another. Instantly, everyone’s filling their glasses, drinking deeply and getting to know those sitting around them. I really enjoyed getting to know some of the other people in the program that I haven’t hung out with yet, while also having a great time with Lauren, Nina, Lance and Monica. Poor Monica – she’s not a big drinker, and once she told us that, we all made it our mission to keep her glass as full as possible. Two hours later, she’s rather sloshed, we’re all socially lubricated, and hey, let’s go look at this castle.
The 26 of us emerge from our castle dining room, giggling, laughing and generally being a bit drunkenly at 2:30 in the afternoon. Steve tells us to settle down: “You are all being very American right now.” That was all he had to say: we all suddenly tried to be as cultured as possible. But, since he’d had a bit to drink too, it didn’t last long. So with wit and insight abounding, we stumbled around the castle, which was amazing. Again, pictures will be forthcoming at some point. So far, it's definately my favorite chateau.
Did you know that you can buy a French chateau for not too much? I mean, compared to say, buying land and building a house. I'm not kidding. You can buy this huge catalog with all the castles that are up for sale. There are so many of them -- you weren't cool unless you used your serfs to build a monument. The only problem with owning one now is heating it. It's not the actually of buying the chateau that kills the wallet, it's the upkeep. Yea, I want one.
Sunday, Lauren and I went to le Chateau de Versaille. Oh my God. To repeat: Mon Dieu! If you’re going to be the absolute ruler, and build castles and generally live like a God, you want to do it like Louis XIV. I want to build myself a little hut on the garden grounds somewhere and live there for while. It blew my mind. The scale of it all, the sheer gaudynes was enough to make any old-money Tylerite feel a little smaller in the world. Beautiful – I mean, maybe he was a tyrant, but Louis had good taste. There was a huge terrace that over looks a canal and French country side, with woods, statues, nitches filled with fountains, orchards, small children, flowers, and carriages. I could have stood there forever contemplating the history of the world, feeling the majesty of all those who came before us, finding my place in the universe. To repeat: it was amazing.
Chicas: oh do I love Hookah bars. Friday night, we found a really fantastic one. Cheap, comfy couches, fantastic tea and friendly service. Also, it’s within eyesight of the Metro. Lauren and I keep saying, “Oh, yea, we’ll go the Hookah bar and do our work.” Yea right. We may be missing out on European history, but we’re getting pretty good at smoke rings. I belly danced a bit even, which was pretty entertaining, and we made friends with the dudes sitting next to us. Like most people I’ve meet here: très gentiles.
One of the waiters took a bit of a fancy to me, and starting proclaiming the only phrases he knows in English. To me: “I Love you!” To the dudes we met: “I hate you!” Lauren says, “Why is it that all the waiters fall in love with you wherever we go?” Dude, I have no idea.
And as if random proclamations of love from people I’m completely NOT INTERESTED IN (seriously, maybe I should make a sign that says, “No Way in Hell”) wasn’t enough, I met someone at the bus stop. We talked, exchanged numbers, and I proved to myself yet again the wonder that is flirting with your eyes. Oh the French are so good at it, and I’m not bad myself, as is evident by me picking up random dudes at bus stops at 4:30 in the morning. It’s really amazing: you just have to look at someone a certain way and then. . . I’ve been trying to teach Lauren, but il ne marche pas.
Julian text messaged me last night, and it was very obvious that he’s a native French speaker. The first message said “Amelie do you want to take a drink in this week? Julian, the boy of the bus,” which may be the cutest SMS ever. After some scheduling issues, we’re going out next week. Oh man, so hot.
I introduce myself as Amelie here because Mia doesn’t quite translate with French verbs, or at least in a pleasing way. I may continue with that when I return to the home continent. Thoughts? I’ve always figured I would make the switch at some point in my “adult life.” Maybe that time is now?
Now that I’m just rambling to pretend I’m paying attention, I should go. Since I didn’t do the reading for today AT ALL, maybe listening for half a minute wouldn’t be completely out of line.
posted by Mia at 9:39 AM
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