Pictures!

Above: Me at Sacre Couer, a beautiful old church in northern Paris. Above Right: Ann and I on the fourth floor of the Georges Pompidou, Paris' modern art museum (It's AMAZING! We spent over three happy hours there yesterday afternoon).

Left: Jen and Ann at the fountain near the Pompidou. Right: Jen on her bed in her apartment, shortly after we arrived.

Sorry these are somewhat out of order; I'm still getting used to the whole picture-posting process. Ann and I are off to the south tomorrow. I'm sad to leave Jen but excited for to be in the countryside again. As much as I love the bustle and activity of the city, it's still exhausting sometimes. Until next time.

Good Eats

Best kiss witnessed yet (and there have been many to choose from, believe me): Two people on a motorcycle, making out at a stop light - WITH their helmets still on. Safety first!

Lest you think from the last two posts that my life is all roses and music, allow me to describe a lowly moment last night: I was in Odeon (where we were salsa dancing the night before) with Ann and Jen. It was 11pm, my back and my entire body ached, I was exhausted, I hadn't had much opportunity to speak French that day, Ann and I had two metro mishaps, I'd just spent 4 Euros (close to 7 dollars) on a cup of coffee at a bar, and I was still hungry but didn't want to spend any more money. I felt like I had been stared at and laughed at for most of the afternoon and I was tired of feeling like an outsider. I wanted something to eat but couldn't figure out what it was. A slice of pizza for 4,50 euros? A scoop of gelato for 3,50? The three of us wandered the streets of Odeon looking for the mystery that would satisfy my vague longings. Every bar we passed brought more stares. Finally I exclaimed, "I just want some cheap food!" That was it. Cheap food. But alas, as of yesterday I hadn't found any cheap food anywhere in this city (today I did much better, and am feeling much more at home here). In the end I ordered a delicious crepe sallee with ham, chesse and an egg for 5,50. It was well worth the expense. As I said, today was much better. The hard part of travelling is feeling like an outsider, which is something no one ever wants to be. But where else but on the outside will you meet new people and encounter new cultures? The awkwardness is worth it, in my opinion - especially when I can experience it with two of my dearest friends.

My "outsideness" disappeared for a while today when I took the metro to the outskirs of Paris to meet with a family in need of a nanny. We spoke French nearly the entire time! My brain hurt but it was a blast. The family was a lot of fun. Three wild kids and a baby; we'll see how everything pans out.

I'm off to bed. We met Jen at the Arc de Triomphe when she got off work at 10pm and walked up and down the Champs Elysees. I've taken to sampling perfumes at expensive stores as a way to hide the scent of my un-laundered clothes. My coat and most-worn jeans currently smell like a strange combination of Secret Obsession, Magnifique, and a nameless Vanilla from a make-your-own-perfume station.

For those of you that care: I fit my hair into a small pony-tail today.

fortunately, unfortunately

I lost my voice.  A sign that I'm trying hard to speak with as many people as possible?  Or just a result of walking around in the rain yesterday?  Maybe yelling over salsa music at the club last night?

The three of us locked ourselves out of the apartment yesterday.  After getting shot down by the landlady (who, by the way, actually did have an extra key but refused to help us because it was after 9pm), we did what anyone in similar circumstances would have done:  salsa dancing with some new friends.  Unfortunately for my partner, I am as awkward at salsa dancing as I am with French.  I'm afraid he may wake up this morning with severely bruised knees.  But we had a great time.  

Ann and I wandered around the older areas of the city yesterday: the Louvre (which is apparently closed on Tuesdays), Le Palais Royale, Les Tuileries, Le Musee D'Orsay (I need to figure out how to type accents on this computer).  I've never been to Paris in the Fall and the leaves in the Tuileries were lovely.  I was surprised to discover that I actually have memories associated with these places - sketching outside the Louvre, watching Jake skate and a nine-year-old Anna run around humming and jumping off curbs.  I can't believe that I'm back here again.

My French is coming along slowly, and to improve it further I've taken to striking up conversations with store owners.  People are so interesting.  You never know what kind of individual works behind the counter.  How long has she lived in the city?  What brought her to Paris?  Why sell pottery and not something else?  I have encountered very little of the "Parisian attitude" that people warned me against when I chose to come here.  For the most part everyone is very forgiving of my sloppy French grammar and eager to learn what brings us here.  To be honest, I'm eager to learn that as well.

C'est la Vie.

After a strange combination of planes, trains, and super shuttles, I find myself in Paris.  Notables from the trip over:  Linda and Bill.  Linda and Bill are the names Ann and I gave to a late-middle-aged couple sitting in our row, on the far side by the windows (we, naturally, were squeezed in dead center - seats D and E).  They first attracted our attention when they pulled out white construction workers' masks at the beginning of the flight to Paris.  The germs on those airplanes will kill you.  Then, "Linda" produced no less than three blow-up pillows of various sizes and descriptions, as well as a large clear plastic bag full of different snacks - mostly nuts (and, undoubtedly, hand sanitizer).  They seemed to be enjoying themselves throughout the trip and - you will be happy to know - slept and chatted with ease despite their anti-germ gear.  Ann and I passed the time by making up stories about them, most of which I will spare you from.  Suffice it to say that even after watching the second half of Sex in the City, all of Made of Honor, and the second half of Sex in the City again (this time in French), I still had not slept a wink.  So I had plenty of time for creating various back stories to Linda and Bill's Parisian adventure.  

Wanting to beat the jet lag, we kept ourselves awake with a "tasse de cafe" and lunch of a massive baguette with ham, eaten on the Ille de la Cite within sight of Notre Dame.  Not a bad start to our adventure.  We are staying with Jen (for those of you who don't know her, she's a close friend of mine from California); it's been wonderful to see her and get caught up, not to mention the benefits of having a friendly place to sleep or nap or use the internet.

Ann and I are off to explore the area a bit until Jen gets off work.  Pictures to come.

Favorites

"The Waking" by Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Lists

My life is ruled by lists these days. Packing list, purchase list, expense/budget list, “to do” list, “people to call before I leave” list – it’s gotten kind of ridiculous. I measure each day’s productivity according the number of items crossed out, the number of times I seize my black pen and draw a thick line through the finished task. It’s such a satisfying feeling: One less thing to do! One step closer to France, to an organized life, to a greater sense of self-accomplishment. My achievement-driven heart beats faster with each new cross-off.

This morning I witnessed a regular ritual in the Woodruff household: the Saturday morning list combination. Every Saturday after a breakfast of baked good and eggs of some description (this morning it was pumpkin muffins and scrambled eggs with garden vegetables), my parents “combine lists.” It’s gotten more and more comical as the years progress. My mother’s handwriting was never very legible, but now even she can’t read it because her late-middle-aged eyes are no longer up to snuff. She seems to forget this every time, however, and tries to read the list without her glasses, pushing herself back from the table in order to hold the piece of paper at a readable length from her eyes. But once it’s a full arm’s length away, the paper is too small. Her right arm comes up in indignation and she reaches back to the counter to find her glasses. My father then removes a pair of spectacles from his freshly-gelled head of hair, and the two begin comparing chores, errands, and weekend projects. What emerges is far too long for any two people to complete in two half-days of work, but each Saturday they set about cleaning the kitchen and tackling the lists with the same vigor.

Coming from such master list-makers, my small obsession seems easy to understand. So I will continue, in these last few days in the States, to add and remove items from my list. I love the concrete nature of a task scribbled down and scratched off; it's my one sense of certainty as I move closer and closer to my vague dream - living in France.