Yesterday I went to the Salon du Chocolat, which is to say, a HUGE CHOCOLATE CONVENTION! Yes, it is for real! There were literally hundreds of stands and stores represented from all over Paris, and there was all manner of free chocolate, and you paid to get in, but then you could browse all the chocolateness!
There were clothes made out of or or sprayed/smeared with chocolate, there were massages given with chocolate, hair waxing stuff made from some sort of chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate fountains, mousse au chocolat, ice cream, a room decorated with chocolate pastries (HUGE ONES! Probably not real), lots of pastries, macarons (which are really, really good. They're not nuts - that's what I thought when I heard. MacaROANs, not macarOOOns.)
And I bought some stuff. For some of you. Or not. Maybe I'll keep it. I admit, though, that I came out feeling a little bit doozy. Perhaps I ate some chocolates with alcohol? They weren't labelled - just proffered. I took. I don't think I was really drunk, though. :) And I felt a tad sick. I think I'll stay from chocolate for a little bit after all that!
31 October 2006
Salon du Chocolat
Yesterday I went to the Salon du Chocolat, which is to say, a HUGE CHOCOLATE CONVENTION! Yes, it is for real! There were literally hundreds of stands and stores represented from all over Paris, and there was all manner of free chocolate, and you paid to get in, but then you could browse all the chocolateness!
There were clothes made out of or or sprayed/smeared with chocolate, there were massages given with chocolate, hair waxing stuff made from some sort of chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate fountains, mousse au chocolat, ice cream, a room decorated with chocolate pastries (HUGE ONES! Probably not real), lots of pastries, macarons (which are really, really good. They're not nuts - that's what I thought when I heard. MacaROANs, not macarOOOns.)
And I bought some stuff. For some of you. Or not. Maybe I'll keep it. I admit, though, that I came out feeling a little bit doozy. Perhaps I ate some chocolates with alcohol? They weren't labelled - just proffered. I took. I don't think I was really drunk, though. :) And I felt a tad sick. I think I'll stay from chocolate for a little bit after all that!
There were clothes made out of or or sprayed/smeared with chocolate, there were massages given with chocolate, hair waxing stuff made from some sort of chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate fountains, mousse au chocolat, ice cream, a room decorated with chocolate pastries (HUGE ONES! Probably not real), lots of pastries, macarons (which are really, really good. They're not nuts - that's what I thought when I heard. MacaROANs, not macarOOOns.)
And I bought some stuff. For some of you. Or not. Maybe I'll keep it. I admit, though, that I came out feeling a little bit doozy. Perhaps I ate some chocolates with alcohol? They weren't labelled - just proffered. I took. I don't think I was really drunk, though. :) And I felt a tad sick. I think I'll stay from chocolate for a little bit after all that!
28 October 2006
Little Red Riot-Hood
So yesterday was two things: 1) the two Paris wards' Halloween party (they don't celebrate Halloween here but there are enough Americans to at least merit a party for the kids), and 2) the one year anniversary of the Paris riots when the two children were killed. Both these things were significant in my life yesterday.
I decided that I could dress up as Little Red Riding Hood for the party, but with my meager resources and borrowed clothing, I ended up in a red shirt, red tights that were sort of fishnets, a black skirt, two braided pigtails, black heels (my only black shoes), a red hat and a red/pink scarf. Now, walking down the street to meet my friend to go into the city for said party, I must have looked a sight in my red and black and fishnets, which didn't even occur to me. A fellow driving by honked and slowed his car enough to grin and wink at me. I thought in despair, "Oh no! Little Red Riding Hood gone prostitute!"
To add to this, upon arriving at the party, someone asked me if I was supposed to be a hooker. I glared at them, and then decided to succumb to my fate. Someone let me use bright red lipstick and dark eyeliner, and then we found some masking tape and put a large letter "A" on my shirt. For those of you who don't know, I was now Hester Prynne of the Scarlet Letter, but I looked far more adulterous than she ever did. And that was me for Halloween. Bear in mind as I continue this story that this is what I wore on the way home, minus the tape which I pulled off.
Now, in various suburbs of Paris including one close to my little suburb, people have been burning various busses in response to this one year anniversary. This was not a safe night to be out alone and there were police EVERYWHERE. So though it wasn't a scary day, it was a tense day that made you more alert to be scared.
We stopped for a crepe at a stand that happened to be on the edge of the street that is filled with sex shops and the several blocks down is the prostitute area of Paris. This was right next to our metro stop, however, so it wasn't as though we were deliberatly asking to be solicited. My friend Esther had been the person in the haunted house who "killed" someone with garden sheares, so she had thick eyeliner, black lipstick, and all black clothes on. I noticed a greasy, oily, and scruffy looking man oogling her, and realized that the sorts of people who are on this street are the ones who are looking for certain things from girls, and indeed he sidled up to talk to her. He kept trying to talk to her but the creperie man (bless his soul!) kept interrupting and glaring at this man. Esther was oblivious that she looked like an easy girl if not a real prostitute due to her get-up.
Finally as we were leaving, the man asked if he could have another minute of Esther's time. Esther, just thinking "Oh, I can speak French!" said yes but the rest of us all said "NO!" and dragged her away from this man, who was rather sketchy. I think we all looked like rather easy girls, being dressed as we were.
On the metro home, the train did not stop in Nanterre (which is where some busses were burned and where those children who died last year lived) and there were so many police in all the stations - and scent dogs, too, even on the train. That was a bit startling. Getting off the train, my carte orange, which is my metro pass that costs a lot of money got stuck in the machine and we couldn't get it out and it's pretty much my LIFE, so thankfully some fellows stoped to help us. One of them looked at Esther, still blackly clad, during this and asked in English, "Do you want to go out?" and she said, "YES!" thinking he was referring to out of the station. But no, upon the lovely retrieval of my life, using bobby pins and eventually my earrings, the three men asked us if we wanted "to go, how you say?, drinking? or eat some crepes?" but we showed them the remainder of our crepes we'd just gotten. We felt a little beholden to them, them having saved my carte orange, but at least Esther said "no" this time.
I decided that I could dress up as Little Red Riding Hood for the party, but with my meager resources and borrowed clothing, I ended up in a red shirt, red tights that were sort of fishnets, a black skirt, two braided pigtails, black heels (my only black shoes), a red hat and a red/pink scarf. Now, walking down the street to meet my friend to go into the city for said party, I must have looked a sight in my red and black and fishnets, which didn't even occur to me. A fellow driving by honked and slowed his car enough to grin and wink at me. I thought in despair, "Oh no! Little Red Riding Hood gone prostitute!"
To add to this, upon arriving at the party, someone asked me if I was supposed to be a hooker. I glared at them, and then decided to succumb to my fate. Someone let me use bright red lipstick and dark eyeliner, and then we found some masking tape and put a large letter "A" on my shirt. For those of you who don't know, I was now Hester Prynne of the Scarlet Letter, but I looked far more adulterous than she ever did. And that was me for Halloween. Bear in mind as I continue this story that this is what I wore on the way home, minus the tape which I pulled off.
Now, in various suburbs of Paris including one close to my little suburb, people have been burning various busses in response to this one year anniversary. This was not a safe night to be out alone and there were police EVERYWHERE. So though it wasn't a scary day, it was a tense day that made you more alert to be scared.
We stopped for a crepe at a stand that happened to be on the edge of the street that is filled with sex shops and the several blocks down is the prostitute area of Paris. This was right next to our metro stop, however, so it wasn't as though we were deliberatly asking to be solicited. My friend Esther had been the person in the haunted house who "killed" someone with garden sheares, so she had thick eyeliner, black lipstick, and all black clothes on. I noticed a greasy, oily, and scruffy looking man oogling her, and realized that the sorts of people who are on this street are the ones who are looking for certain things from girls, and indeed he sidled up to talk to her. He kept trying to talk to her but the creperie man (bless his soul!) kept interrupting and glaring at this man. Esther was oblivious that she looked like an easy girl if not a real prostitute due to her get-up.
Finally as we were leaving, the man asked if he could have another minute of Esther's time. Esther, just thinking "Oh, I can speak French!" said yes but the rest of us all said "NO!" and dragged her away from this man, who was rather sketchy. I think we all looked like rather easy girls, being dressed as we were.
On the metro home, the train did not stop in Nanterre (which is where some busses were burned and where those children who died last year lived) and there were so many police in all the stations - and scent dogs, too, even on the train. That was a bit startling. Getting off the train, my carte orange, which is my metro pass that costs a lot of money got stuck in the machine and we couldn't get it out and it's pretty much my LIFE, so thankfully some fellows stoped to help us. One of them looked at Esther, still blackly clad, during this and asked in English, "Do you want to go out?" and she said, "YES!" thinking he was referring to out of the station. But no, upon the lovely retrieval of my life, using bobby pins and eventually my earrings, the three men asked us if we wanted "to go, how you say?, drinking? or eat some crepes?" but we showed them the remainder of our crepes we'd just gotten. We felt a little beholden to them, them having saved my carte orange, but at least Esther said "no" this time.
27 October 2006
A Night at the Theatre!
For my theatre/cinema class, we're reading some plays and then going to see them. A month or so ago we saw "Le Cid," by Corneille. Last night we went to go see "Cyrano de Bergerac." For those of you who are in the dark, this is a very famous play by Rostand and it's about a man, Cyrano, who has an exceedingly large nose. He is a poet/cadet, and he is in love with Roxanne, but Roxanne is in love with another cadet named Christian. Christian can't write very well, though, so Cyrano writes love letters to Roxanne which Christian signs and delivers, and so Roxanne falls more in love with Christian but it's really Cyrano whose words she loves! Aah! Anyway, so last night we saw it at the Comedie Francaise, which is the acting company instituted by Louis XIV, and they are always the epitome of great theatre.
The play was a very odd rendition, though, and they used little red polka dots thrown in the air for blood when someone got hurt, and odd little films of off-stage action, and they never covered up their sets off stage, so it was very odd. It never really settled on a time period, either. It was good, but in an odd sort of way.
However, some observations about theatres here, or at least the ones I've been in: thy are vey elaborate. There is a floor-level with perhaps 100 seats and then about five balcony levels, all spanning 3 sides of the room except for the stage. There are box seats which remind me of operas, and the balconies are guilded and sculptured and very elaborate. It doesn't really make a difference to the play itself, but it is indeed a very different atmosphere. It makes it somehow more cultured, and it gives you the feeling of being rich and privliged, going to a play in surroundings like this, but at the same time it makes you pay attention to how cultured the French are, since they're always going to plays and while they don't take the sculptures/guilding for granted, they EXPECT it. It makes me want to be more cultured myself.
The play was a very odd rendition, though, and they used little red polka dots thrown in the air for blood when someone got hurt, and odd little films of off-stage action, and they never covered up their sets off stage, so it was very odd. It never really settled on a time period, either. It was good, but in an odd sort of way.
However, some observations about theatres here, or at least the ones I've been in: thy are vey elaborate. There is a floor-level with perhaps 100 seats and then about five balcony levels, all spanning 3 sides of the room except for the stage. There are box seats which remind me of operas, and the balconies are guilded and sculptured and very elaborate. It doesn't really make a difference to the play itself, but it is indeed a very different atmosphere. It makes it somehow more cultured, and it gives you the feeling of being rich and privliged, going to a play in surroundings like this, but at the same time it makes you pay attention to how cultured the French are, since they're always going to plays and while they don't take the sculptures/guilding for granted, they EXPECT it. It makes me want to be more cultured myself.
24 October 2006
Paris at Night
Paris at night is much more the city you picture when you hear "Paris." I had been surprised at how almost un-romantic it was here, but when you go out at night, you really feel like you are in Paris. What clinched it for me was walking across a bridge over the Seine into the Ile de la Cite (the island that has Notre Dame on it) and looking out at the ships and the lights reflected on the water. It is beautiful! And all the sights by night look very different and much more imposing. But you're expecting them to be imposing, and at least at nighttime they fulfill your expectations! There really is something magical about walking around the city at night.
It doesn't feel very dangerous, either - no more than your other average big city. The only difference is the slight fear that, in essence, I don't really speak the language. It's sad - I really think I'm getting worse.
Anyway, the story is that last Friday I finally went up the Eiffel Tower. It was pretty expensive and I was indignant that they didn't have a student discount; I guess I'm too used to museums which let art students in for free or at least for a very very cheap rate. You take a diagonal elevator up to the second floor, which is where the legs of the tower end and it goes straight up. You then stand in a very long line for a very long time (but this is key: it allows for conversation with your fellow friends) and then you go up this amazingly long elevator. Tip: when coming down, don't look down the crack between the platform and the elevator or else you might very well swoon. It was very very cold at the top, but only on the side that the wind was blowing at, but we bore it because it was less crowded. It's fun to identify things from up there. And to have your friends ask you (I don't know why I am the one they always ask things, it's not like I know any more than someone else) "Sariah, what's that over there," only to have me look at say "I have no idea...?" and then they look at you accusingly for letting them down. I know everyone expects me to KNOW everything but it isn't true! It was very fun and very impressive.
Oh and since yesterday I added a few more pictures. You're up to date!
It doesn't feel very dangerous, either - no more than your other average big city. The only difference is the slight fear that, in essence, I don't really speak the language. It's sad - I really think I'm getting worse.
Anyway, the story is that last Friday I finally went up the Eiffel Tower. It was pretty expensive and I was indignant that they didn't have a student discount; I guess I'm too used to museums which let art students in for free or at least for a very very cheap rate. You take a diagonal elevator up to the second floor, which is where the legs of the tower end and it goes straight up. You then stand in a very long line for a very long time (but this is key: it allows for conversation with your fellow friends) and then you go up this amazingly long elevator. Tip: when coming down, don't look down the crack between the platform and the elevator or else you might very well swoon. It was very very cold at the top, but only on the side that the wind was blowing at, but we bore it because it was less crowded. It's fun to identify things from up there. And to have your friends ask you (I don't know why I am the one they always ask things, it's not like I know any more than someone else) "Sariah, what's that over there," only to have me look at say "I have no idea...?" and then they look at you accusingly for letting them down. I know everyone expects me to KNOW everything but it isn't true! It was very fun and very impressive.
Oh and since yesterday I added a few more pictures. You're up to date!
23 October 2006
Pictures!
Lots and lots of new pictures uploaded, with explanations! Click on the link on the right side of the page to see them.
19 October 2006
Tacos
On Tuesday my roommate and I made dinner for Madame. We decided that we should make something American for her, and somehow we both thought of tacos, which aren't really "American," but everybody in the US has had a taco, right? So we began.
First, you have to realize that the oddest things prove very difficult here: for example, locating and affording the ingredients. I spent about 9 euros (maybe 12ish US dollars) on the meat, which was only half a pound of ground beef. The store also only carried one size to choose from. Next, sour cream? No. Didn't happen. We couldn't even begin to imagine what that might be called in French, since it's just a description in English anyway. Cheddar cheese? You'd think in a country famous for its cheeses, it'd have them all but...not so! Only French cheeses, and zero cheddar. We refused to mix more cultures into this taco, so we went without cheese as well. My mom had mailed me a few weeks ago taco seasoning and tortillas, so we were set there since there wasn't any of either at the stores we visited.
We had a grand old time, us roomies plus a friend of mine who doesn't have a roommate who Madame said we coudl invite, in the kitchen preparing the food, listening to music on our computers, and generally bustling about and singing along. It's a good thing Madame didn't come home just then. My roommate wanted to put all the toppings in pretty bowls, but I wanted to be ULTRA un-French and keep them in pans, etc., but she won out on the end - I think Madame would have been shocked to actually see a pan of rice at the table.
We had to show Madame how to put it together (Oh and it was quite funny to watch her try to eat the chips and salsa) and she had a most difficult time eating it with her hands. Poor lady - she ended up scooping the lost toppings onto her fork surruptitiously with her chips after a taco. She was surprised when we kept eating, and we explained that pretty much this was the only course. We DID make dessert but really none of us have dessert every day. So she willingly dug in to yet another, exclaiming to me at one point, "Sariah, how do you keep it all in the, how you say, tortilla!?" and we showed her again how to fold it. She seemed to have fun, though, watching our obvious delight at something we all knew and loved from years of experience, and she kept commenting, "C'est delicious! Tres bon!" I hope she actually DID like it! And she was somewhat shocked at the spicy Taco Bell sauce my mom sent me. We tried to warn her...! Poor lady...but that was something I thought I'd never see, the image of Madame using her hands to try to eat a messy taco.
First, you have to realize that the oddest things prove very difficult here: for example, locating and affording the ingredients. I spent about 9 euros (maybe 12ish US dollars) on the meat, which was only half a pound of ground beef. The store also only carried one size to choose from. Next, sour cream? No. Didn't happen. We couldn't even begin to imagine what that might be called in French, since it's just a description in English anyway. Cheddar cheese? You'd think in a country famous for its cheeses, it'd have them all but...not so! Only French cheeses, and zero cheddar. We refused to mix more cultures into this taco, so we went without cheese as well. My mom had mailed me a few weeks ago taco seasoning and tortillas, so we were set there since there wasn't any of either at the stores we visited.
We had a grand old time, us roomies plus a friend of mine who doesn't have a roommate who Madame said we coudl invite, in the kitchen preparing the food, listening to music on our computers, and generally bustling about and singing along. It's a good thing Madame didn't come home just then. My roommate wanted to put all the toppings in pretty bowls, but I wanted to be ULTRA un-French and keep them in pans, etc., but she won out on the end - I think Madame would have been shocked to actually see a pan of rice at the table.
We had to show Madame how to put it together (Oh and it was quite funny to watch her try to eat the chips and salsa) and she had a most difficult time eating it with her hands. Poor lady - she ended up scooping the lost toppings onto her fork surruptitiously with her chips after a taco. She was surprised when we kept eating, and we explained that pretty much this was the only course. We DID make dessert but really none of us have dessert every day. So she willingly dug in to yet another, exclaiming to me at one point, "Sariah, how do you keep it all in the, how you say, tortilla!?" and we showed her again how to fold it. She seemed to have fun, though, watching our obvious delight at something we all knew and loved from years of experience, and she kept commenting, "C'est delicious! Tres bon!" I hope she actually DID like it! And she was somewhat shocked at the spicy Taco Bell sauce my mom sent me. We tried to warn her...! Poor lady...but that was something I thought I'd never see, the image of Madame using her hands to try to eat a messy taco.
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