A long time since I've written

Why today, on the 18th of December, am I beginning to readdress my long-abandoned blog- so cold and lonely out there in the inter web all on it's lonesome with no new posts to speak of- on this day that is rainy and quiet?

After a three month absence of a roomate (gone to Mexico for the semester to take in Ouaxacan cuisine and  spanish tongue) and the beautiful distraction of a wonderful companion in the past 5 months... I am choosing to reignite my blogging.

A lot has happened.

Grad school applications is the first big decision. I realized that my artistic practice has fallen, to my sadness, by the wayside. I love making art but my time has been consumed by work since I moved to this city. I am deeply inspired with many ideas that I haven't had the time to put into reality.

Also, a while back at a poetry reading, surrounded by intellectuals and creative, brilliant people I realized how my I missed academia. Granted, undergrad was not the freedom I fully desired. I still had to study subjects I wasn't entirely fond of. But now with the possibility of studying what I want and taking that direction as my full responsibility is my dream, my desire, my hope. Naturally, I'm terrified. Subjecting myself to the criticism of an institution is probably the last thing I would willingly subject myself to- out of the fear of rejection and criticism. But both of these things exist in the art world and every world.

I will apply with a full heart and honest soul. If they like my work, with hope I will be going to school in the fall....

In tandem with this grad school decision I have acquired a small studio space in which to make all manner of things. I bought a sewing machine for $40 and a desk and chair set for $21 and one can say I have successfully set up shop and I am creating my work efficiently and happily. The space is tiny, but with little to no distraction. The only distraction in the building could possibly be the enormous furnace in the bathroom/store closet that is 20 degrees warmer than the hallway/studios. Sometimes if I get too cold I make up a reason to go the the bathroom again, just to warm up. Of course, I don't actually need to justify this to myself of anyone else, but in the nearly absolute solitude it's important to break out of the rhythm from time to time and engage the mind in ways outside of pure concentration.

My hope is to join up with two other friends and open a stand at the Fremont market where we will each sell our wares under our "company" names. Look for stuffed animals and postcards at a market stand in Fremont SOON!

Outside of these business like things...

I have found someone dear with whom I am matched. Our adventure began at the end of August and has continued to be as magical as the first day we met, with the natural ups and downs of life. I hope he stays for a long time...

A Powerful Thought.

Math is the language of the stars, of the universe and all its makings. Music translates that language into the intangible tongue of human emotion, something we think entirely foreign to the rest of the universe, which we name cold and unfeeling.

                                                                                    But we came from the stars.

We are a way for the universe to know itself.

Our eyes are literally the eyes of exploded stars, the music we make was made by everything that erupted in the great cataclysm of creation some call the big bang.

       

              We are telling the story of everything, to everything itself.

-Brandon Lilya 

thank you, my friend. for speaking words I understand. when all I can do is hear. 

The Creepers ont the Bus, The Last Things and An Empty Room

Today is a unique day. Today is the day I not only attracted every single whacko and stoned wierdo in Downtown and Capitol Hill and had an intruiging and odd conversation with each (ok, it was only three people, but ALL IN ONE DAY.. and the conversations were REALLY wierd) but today I move my things out of my childhood bedroom and take away the things that I will use in my future life.

Granted, not everything is coming with me. There will, at some point, be a sizeable garage sale of clothing and other such sundries to clear out what I no longer use, while other things I can never part with. For instance, I have held onto every personal letter I've recieved since I was eight years old. These have, over time, filled many many boxes and while it is unlikely that I will go back and read every single letter again, simply reading the address bar with a friend's name on it makes my heart flutter in nostalgia. We live in a  time that doesn't honor the written word as it once was honored. There was a time when writting something in ink could be the deepest expression of love or a binding legal moment or the thin line betweeen life or death! Now, pens are just pens. Paper is just paper. But to look over the letters, even just in their boxes, brings me joy because these dear friends, some still in my life and others passed on into disconnection, took the time and care to pen their dreams to me, and I to them.

The pen can indeed be mightier than any sword.

AH! I'm so tired! I haven't slept fully and consitently in days. No, I haven't stayed up obscenely late every single night, but I am suffering for the necessity of my recent activities. Two jobs and moving into a new apartment don't blend well. FYI. But, in a few days I will be settled and continue settling and just... living.


In a few days I will also be celebrating my 23rd birthday. How quickly they come... As I reflect on 22 I see growth through hard times. 22 marked the end of undergrad as well as the end of some relationships. It breaks my heart to lose someone, and to seemingly lose many was a trigger for a deep depression lasting for several months.

 France saved me, or rather, I saved myself by traveling there to be with close friends- friends who are and will be like family to me forever. Now I'm holding still again, after three months of transitional living, two moves and three living spaces... I'm home. My empty bedroom doesn't look sad or uninviting, but rather like it's waiting for something. As if it knows that it isn't ending... just trasferring to a new space. A reincarnation of itself through me. Material things, though intrinsically of no real value in the universe, do tell the story of those who inhabit their use. A table. An infinite possibility for creation, communion, love, intimacy, conflict, resolution and peace.

I'm not a materialist. Rather, as an artist I see the way that things around me can tell a story. it is the humans that give them value and purpose, and in doing so, grow in the opportunity to find an eternal home without objects or space in the soul.

Art without image

Space without light

Feeling without touch.

Simplicity.

Moved Into My Little Place

I'm moved in.

I'm very tired.

here is a picture of a neon sign for your enjoyment.


more soon.

The weeks between

Yes. I realize it's been a while since I posted. Things have been crazy. Here's the skinny:

Two jobs are about to downsize to one- two is simply TWO much!
I move into the Ballard apartment on Friday. woot.
I bought a new tote bag
I've continued to learn and grow, despite difficult times and stressful days

My aunt and uncle sold their house and we now live in a smaller apartment. The house was comfortably large and provided me with a whole basement to myself. That time of my life is now over. Oh, basement! I mourn your loss!

I miss the lake. We were right on the water. Traffic isn't as nurturing and soft as water sounds. Hopefully the sounds of boat horns in Ballard will soothe my water withdrawls. I was in Fremont this evening and the water was so soothing to be around. There were little boat houses and I WILL LIVE IN ONE SOMEDAY!

Also in Fremont, I saw this very fat pug outside a restaurant. Its owner looked about the same. The pug sat down in exhaustion right on my foot and its heavy, warm body warmed my toes inside my shoe. I then put together that the dog's butt was on my shoe, meaning the DOG'S BUTT WAS ON MY SHOE!
Oh well. I got a picture out of it. Three actually.

I'm ready for the next change. My apartment. One job. Simplicity. I crave the peace I imagine, and I know that while there are still rough spots to work out, and will always be, I am on the right track and I have much to be happy about. Depsite portly doggie bottoms in Fremont resting heavily on my shoes. Ew.

It's Business Time!

So.


I have a 13 hour day tomorrow.

Things I will need:

20oz coffee
comfortable shoes
inspirational playlist to listen to on lunch break (will take suggestions)
Pants (suggested by Sean)
Jazzy shade of lipstick
Pretty panties (because you just feel better when you're wearing pretty panties)

SEATTLE STREET FASHION: #1

These girls posed reluctantly. They were very giggly and shy. I think their outfits are the epitome of simple elegance with that hint of spunk and flirtation. So chic!


This second girl was coming out of my friend's apartment building. She had two dragon tats (one on each foor) and I loved her hair. I stared at it wishing I would cut mine short again. She worked those stripes! Didn't catch her name, but she was stunning!

Coming Soon: Seattle Street Fashion Posts

walking on Capitol Hill yesterday I saw the sexiest and most well dressed gay man I'd ever seen. He was totally fine and he KNEW it! I almost stopped him to ask for his picture. I didn't. And I regret it.

From now on I will follow these impulses and the result will be a Seattle Street Fashion portion of this blog.

Maybe, by chance, I'll find that dapper boy again and get his photograph...

Daily Bread (No Gluten Allowed)

So now that I am out of college and actually have time to do things I like AND a kitchen in which to do them (yes, I refer specifically to baking) I am taking it upon myself to engross my culinary aspirations into the world of gluten free bread. Growing up I never ate bread. When we found out I was gluten intolerant/celiac (the doctors never really figured me out) at the tender age of 7, all bread products were out. Slowly we reintroduced rice products into my diet and it actually became the cornerstone of my daily eating. Rice, chicken, apples, carrots... I was like a toddler again. We introduced other foods in too, but after being tested the results showed that I was allergic to over 200 allergens and these included about 100 foods. We later came to realize that my body had been in a reactive state from the gluten I was unknowingly eating as well as lactose, peanut and soy products. After several years and lots of weekly allergy shots my system calmed down, and I began to live and eat like a normal person. Today, I'm practically balanced out in terms of food, though I will admit that while in France the gluten temptation overwhelmed me a few times, and I paid the price. But even now it's easy to say "no" to those "little" amounts: chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream (Why???! Why must this have gluten in it!?!?), restaurant breadsticks, ect. ect.

Now I live in Seattle. Home of organic food junkies (a funny paradox) and pretty much any and every gluten free product you can think of. I even found a Gluten Free French Bread/Pizza mix a few weeks ago. It is amazing. Today I am making rosemary bread with brown rice flour. Tomorrow I could potentially make Challah Bread... My opportunities are endless, and I intend to take advantage of the gluten free culture that exists so wonderfully in Seattle to make my "dreams" come true.

Hopefully, the next time you see me I will not have put on 20lbs....
One of the beauties of not eating gluten is that it eliminates all that food that can make you fat.

Tuesday: Yoga, Gourmet Popcorn and Dating in Seattle

We'll start with Yoga-

the class didn't destroy me this time! Though I am very very tired and will definitely be sore tomorrow and the next day, I found that I was able to keep up this time around and the instructor, Troy, looked pleased to see me back. The class was huge today with a few "regulars" from the last time I went, including an awesome indian dude with surprisingly sweet body odor that I kind of don't mind smelling as well as an awesome beard, a huge bald guy that looks like he could be in Hell's Angels but also loves to eat organic granola mix before class and share it, as well as the instructor's poodle whose name I don't know- he's chocolate colored and has a mop of hair on his head and the rest of his body is short haired. He has big floppy feet that glop glop across the floor when he comes in to greet everyone. He even sniffed my mat today! I'll take it as a good omen that I'l fall into a strong yoga practice and attend regularly.



and then....


I had three soft tacos at Chipotle. A bit salty, but carnitas is like that. Add a rootbeer and a park and sunshine. The Park at Pike's Place Market was crowded with weirdos and the homeless today. I can't use humor when talking about the poverty in downtown Seattle, but for most, including a friend I met in the park for lunch who lives just above the market, it's a reality that is no longer shocking. A couple sprawled on a makeshift cardboard "bed" spooned and ate popcorn from an enormous orange garbage bag, no doubt from the dumpster behind "Kukuruza" on Pike and 3rd, a gourmet popcorn shop. It's things like this I'm still getting used to living in Seattle, which is without a doubt one of the prettiest cities in the world, but like other cities with their bliss and beauty, there is always the underbelly.


and finally....


this is an actual text conversation I had with a guy I met who asked me out. When I made it clear I wasn't interested (after he said that it was valid if I wasn't interested since I was stalling a bit and trying to turn him down politely), this was his response:

Guy: :(
Guy: *cries*
Me: Hey now. I usually have a hard time turning guys down. It's not easy. I worry about hurt feelings. But your comment (about it being ok to turn him down if I wasn't interested) made me feel like I could be honest.
Guy: But why turn me down? I'm a nice guy
Guy: U don't know anything about me yet and I'm attractive. Makes no sense.
Me: Look I'm not the only girl in Bellevue and this isn't personal
Guy: U should at least meet me for coffee and hear my story.
Me: Hey, you put the ball in my court
Guy: I wanted u to be after me
Guy: Well, your mom thought I was nice. Anyway. Your loss. Not gonna keep bothering you.
Me: OK. Bye.
Guy: Deleting your number. Rejection really hurts.
Me: I know. I've felt it before too...

SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!!!?!!?!??!

For the men of Seattle and the greater Universe: THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOR IS NEVER ATTRACTIVE! Sure, I turn down dates. AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH IT AND IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! I'M NOT INTERESTED, BUT YOU SHOULDN'T FEEL LIKE IT REFLECTS ON YOU SO DEEPLY!

I mean, I met this guy once. ONCE! And I gave him my business card because I started talking about my art (after he asked me what I do)- a professional gesture in my book (especially because it was an an open house in an apartment complex and he was a real estate agent and I could be a potential client). So he shows some interest the next day, and the day after that. And I turn down a date and it's like I told him I thought he was a rotten man and I didn't want to be around him. NO. I just didn't want to go on a date with him. Why? Because when I'm on the date it tells him that he's already sparked my interest. If I'm not sure I want to be on a date, I'm probably not really wanting to be there. Thus, I shouldn't go on dates that I'm not interested in. Did he catch my eye? No, not really. Yeah, he was nice and he was handsome. But I felt no heart pounding pleasure at the sound of his name (or the sound of my phone receiving another text from him). In fact, it became annoying. And quickly.

Men: Don't do this. Don't be "the girl". Don't ask why we aren't attracted to you. Don't tell us you wish we would "be after you" (honestly, who says that!? and in a text message!) and DON'T push. Pushy men don't get dates (unless they're asking someone who is very docile and perhaps even prone to giving into pressure).

You know who you are, you pushy men. Push someone else.

B is for Ballard

My future home:

Ballard, WA.
Sweet Sweet Haven and suburb of Seattle.
Folkish, warm, little shops,
and the smell of the harbor.
My happy place.
Perfect.


Only one more month until I move there! The apartment even has a patio (ground level) and planting beds! Green thumb time! I love Ballard and can't wait to be there and call it home. My mom, my future roomate and I perused the Ballard market yesterday and enjoyed its sights, sounds and smells. We even saw someone attack a tree (we think he was tripping on acid or something...) and Ballard is dog central of Seattle. I have never seen more pooches in such a concentrated area! Pups everywhere, and of every sort! French Bulldog, Pug, Lab, Akita, Chihuahua, Daschund, Laberdoodle, Yorkie... the list goes on! They're everywhere! The market is as much a place for human interaction as it is for canine flirtation! So cute!

We then went to the Ballard Locks and Salmon Ladder- it's one of my favorite things about being near the water. The smell is so full seaweed odor and gull feathers! There is no escaping the mist that wafts off the dam. Tourists snap pictures and gawk at boats as they wait for the equalization of the water levels to pass through the locks. The sun was shining. A perfect day to be near the water. We even saw a blue heron... oh, and more dogs.

The wonderful thing about moving to Ballard is the sense of community and the comfortable quiet of the neighborhoods. Right off of the main avenues it's so calm and the birds are audible. There's everything you need and a place to hang your hat at the end of the day. And my rent is the lowest I think I'll ever pay in my entire life, and for an apartment that is absolutely worth SO MUCH MORE but the rent is low, low low!! Yes, there are fancy apartments all around, and apartments with their swanky views and amenities.. but all I want for now is a comfortable bed, a good kitchen and a garden to get my hands dirty. And, of course, a caserole dish full of jellybeans.

Driving in Seattle is the Worst F*%#@!!!** idea Since Parallel Parking...... AND a pleasant update on the Job Hunt

Let me get this out:

WHY does it need to take me 20 MINUTES to drive 6 BLOCKS??? Also these situations make people SO DAMN PISSY! No, blonde chick, it is NOT my fault that I have NO ROOM to turn around and reposition my car so I DON'T hit for super shiny "status" mobile!! I'm sorry, why don't you use your massive boob job to honk the horn so you don't even have to take your hands off the wheel. It would be safer for all of us, really. Oh, and by the way- that shade of lipstick looks awful on you.

WHY OH WHY do we do this to ourselves? Statistics show that Americans have some of the highest stress of world citizens (as well as obesity, sleep disorders, ect.... but this isn't THAT kind of rant, I swear) and it seems that this whole traffic uselessness just ADDS to these numbers.

SEATTLE- you have the worst traffic I've ever driven in. Yes, I've traveled to Europe and 'witnessed' bad drivers/traffic, and even NYC has its 'nasty spots' in the city, but you, Seattle, the 405 makes Les Champs Elysées in Paris look like a f*%$#@*!! hot wheels track (in a good, organized, fun wholesome way). And don't even get me started on the 520 bridge... because it sucks.

END RANT.


JOB UPDATE:

I am happily employed...X2!!! I have a snappy, chic fun creative position as a "Customer Service Associate" at Paper Source- your one stop shop for pretty much ANYTHING creative involving paper products or stamps. I am blissfully employed there. I am fortunate to have found such an incredible employer that provides the means for me to be creative as I work.

My luck only continued to get better the following week when I had an "experiential" interview at BCBGMAXAZRIA (I basically 'pretended' or acted as if I were a sales associate and conducted myself accordingly- making sales, helping customers, ect). After the interview, the manager surprised me with a job offer. I took it instantly. I now have such an amazing balance of creative and fashion work between my two jobs- AND I GET TO DRESS UP FOR BOTH OF THEM!

Anthropologie never got back to me... so sad. Perhaps in the future. But for now, I have no reasons to complain and every reason to celebrate the beginnings of my still new life here in Seattle.

MORE TO COME ON THE BALLARD MOVE IN JULY...

Pooping in Public Potties- For a Friend: You Know Who you ARE

It has recently been brought to my attention by a close friend of mine that pooping in public places is somewhat of a strange choice, even detestable. She can't understand why one would choose to defecate in a public restroom, but my thoughts on the matter are quite simple and straight forward. I fully support Public Restroom Pooping. I am not ashamed.

I can understand the discomfort one would feel experiencing the private functions of nature in a place where most activity could potentially be audible. But who hasn't passed wind in a bookstore? Personally I just wander away slowly and quietly, leaving the stink behind to its own destiny. We are no longer a part of each other, the wind and I. This is not to say that I wish to impose my bodily functions on other people. No. I don't believe in making a spectacle of myself or my gastric tendencies. One must be courteous.

The truth of the matter is: if your on a crowded bus (as I often am) or browsing Historical Fiction at Barnes & Noble, you must give yourself grace. And lest "the call" becomes urgent and you are required to use the public (shudder) restroom... well, it's your choice- sweet relief or potential gastric complications from holding yourself back. Don't suffer- it isn't necessary. Chances are NO ONE will even trace the flush to you. I think I have better things to do that peg "the pooper" in the public restroom. Wondering "who done it?" won't make the smell go away, nor will it stop YOU from being "the pooper" next time.


When nature calls, there is no voicemail.

Interviews and Biscuit Bitches

It's true what some people say about practicing things in your head before you do them, or rather "envisioning" them. I tossed and turned quite a bit over a phone interview I had today with Nordstrom, but what finally got me to sleep was the lulling mental enactment of the interview in my head. On the cranial stage I introduced myself, presented my qualifications, answered the questions... Then I was asleep dreaming my usual weird dreams. It was amazing! And when my alarm went off in the morning I had been dreaming about getting up and taking my shower. It was one of those moments when you get confused because you think you already did something and then you find out you didn't... I realized this, of course, because I was in bed- NOT dressed and prepared for the day as I had been in my dream- and my hair looked like an animal on my head. Is that kind of like lucid dreaming? Cruel lucid dreaming.. it felt a little like it took my twice as long to get ready!

The phone interview went well. I was really nervous about reception on my cellphone and so before the interview I was driving around trying to find a place to park with a solid 5-6 bar signal.. am I reaching for the stars here?! I quivered and jumped when my phone rang/vibrated a few minutes early, but by that point I was in a sparsely occupied level of a parking garage and the reception was perfect for the conversation- also it was a very non-distracting location. It's weird though- during the phone interview I talked a lot with my hands- I do this in person and for those of you who know me well you can support that statement. I found myself gesturing and emphasizing with what was an invisible hand to my interviewer. Even so, I read some phone interviewing tips that said to talk like you usually would in person and to smile while you talk. Well, "smile" in a way that is still conducive to talking.

My NEXT interview with the company is tomorrow. Woot. And this one is the "in person" interview, so tomorrow I will make sure to "put my best foot forward" which will automatically mean wearing heals. Funny thing though.. when I was driving around in the car trying desperately to find a place where I could have the interview I was WEARING my heels... perhaps it was a mentality thing. Though, it made logical sense because I was going around "soliciting" myself and my résumé to nearby companies and I did have to look nice for that. Even so... if you want to feel good during a phone interview- DO dress up. Just... do it. It makes you feel great. Yes, you COULD be at home in your Jammy-Jams on the couch petting the cat nervously while you conduct your phone interview... but you won't feel as professional. Trust me, I considered doing the whole couch thing... without the cat- I have no cat because I am very allergic to them.

In celebration I went to Downtown Seattle and had a drink with a dear friend! (OK... I submitted my résumé to ONE more company for the day.. but it was RIGHT THERE in downtown- it seemed convenient!) I have never REALLY liked absinthe, but this drink, called a "Voyager"... or something, was more like an absinthe margarita. I vote YES. It had that tinge of anise with the familiar refreshing POP of citrus. Thank you, "Voyager" for safe passage into deliciousness.

My new favorite coffee shop in downtown Seattle as of Saturday is Café Lieto- Also called "The Biscuit Bitch" for it's late night biscuits and gravy on Friday and Saturday nights. So chill. They also have velvet couches and free internet (for the first 15 minutes with purchase). I recommend. And with the purchase of a t-shirt, YOU TOO can be a "Biscuit Bitch"! SOLD!

Over. Haul.

New Blog Title. I moved. My blog needed to keep up with the times. We had a bit of a tiff over it. We both said things we didn't mean. Now we're back on track and happily starting over in a new city- Seattle.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Seattle? After Paris, she moves to... Seattle??". Funny.. you're not the only one. However, despite my deepest desire to live in Paris, that time isn't now. I miss the Pacific Northwest, even when I'm here! I ask myself "Isn't there a beautiful mountain scape you should be enjoying right now? Why aren't you taking advantage of the incredible beauty you're surrounded by!?"- at which point I look out my window and it's all ok again.

Reasons for Seattle:

The job market- yes, it isn't in it's prime condition. We're looking at a sparse economy, but even so I have found thus far in my job search that companies really ARE hiring. But what they want is people who are willing to chase after jobs. This is not an economy for online applications (though that is unfortunately one of the only ways to get your name into their system) but a time to walk into a company and boldly brandish your résumé and tell them WHY they SHOULD hire you (but politely and not in such a stand-offish narcissistic way).

The... weather- True, it rains here. A lot. But to tell you the truth, I LIKE the extra water. Besides, you can't spell water without WA, which is the abbreviation for the Evergreen State! EVER green. This garden likes it's moisture. And being near the Pacific Sound is a dream. I'm a water sign- I like water. My solution of dealing with the overcast weather is light box therapy. It's a box with a light in it that gives my body extra energy. How? I don't know. I just have a light box and I use it every morning so I don't fall asleep at 1pm or get depressed.

Community- Almost every close friend from high school now lives on the West side. There are a few back in Yakima, but most of them are here. And the group is small and intimate. To come to a community where there are already established ties is priceless- AND I missed these people so much!

Need I say more? There's even an aquarium and a zoo! Sold. Plus this city has so many health food sections in its stores it's overwhelming! On Saturday I ate at a Vegan, raw food restaurant! I couldn't eat that way every day, or even every other day... but it was STILL so cool to eat in a place like that. Plus, the culture here is so colorful. I bought a newspaper from a transvestite on Capitol Hill on Thursday! WIN!

There is a lot to discover here. And much room to grow. I'm currently on the hunt for a job and if all goes well I'll move into a two bedroom apartment in Ballard with a friend by July. Things are going well, and I am blessed and amazed to be where I am. Even with the rain.

Tine after Tine- The Food of France

I have, I think, dropped some "mild" hints that I did a lot of eating while in France. It is unavoidable. Truly. Around each corner a croissant is begging you to make love to it, wafting smells of pastries seep into the street air, the chinking sounds of china and silverware tempt you into cafes, and the dark, seductive displays of chocolate in perfectly clear windows call your name endlessly. You just can't avoid these things.

Here I include the many meals of France for your visual pleasure. Please, stop drooling on your keyboard.

Jetlag Catchup

So, it's 6am and my body is still adjusting to the time difference and recovering from traveling for almost 17 hours. While my system battles it out, I figured this would be a good time for more reflections and some catchup on the trip. I was unable to post as much as I would have liked. In retrospect, however, it would have been a waste to spend my time in France in front of a computer screen. Also, those internet cafes are expensive my friends. I think I spent the most money on this trip in cafes in two senses- coffee, which has left a lovely stain on my teeth- tis the strength of espresso, and the cyber cup of joe I would take every few days. Needless to say, I am here now, home, with unlimited internet and lots of time to recall the details that slipped through the cracks.

I was pleased upon my return home to find out that I had so many followers! I have heard from several people how much they loved reading my blog, and even one person who said that she was disappointed when she would check the blog and see that I hadn't written anything new. When making a blog there is the sense of thrusting your thoughts into staggeringly vast cyber space and wondering if anyone will happen to stumble upon your thoughts. I have my mother to thank for telling her friends and friends of the family and the whole family about my blog. My grandparents are reading it too! Ha! Hooray! I am honored to be read- thank you all.

To begin I'll fill you in on the last several days of the trip in Belgium, my return to Paris and last day there, and other stuff I think is important to tell.

Easter in Belgium:

In Europe Easter is a big deal- as a religious and cultural tradition... and food. Food is a HUGE part of Easter in Europe. Cholesterol is risen, it is risen indeed. Chocolate eggs, pastries, that really really really big Sunday dinner... oh yes. However, before eating, Kate and I went to church. I haven't been to church on Easter for a while. To be honest, I have preferred celebrating Easter alone. It isn't that I feel "shame" or "discomfort" worshiping in public, but I'm a private person when it comes to the things closest to me, even my faith. No, it isn't that I don't want you to know my beliefs, but rather I have seen the consequences and reactions of people when someone only represents their faith. I prefer to be "spiritual" than "religious" because I find the history of religion to demonstrate principles that are so far from what Christ had in mind. In any case, yes, I do like fellowship with other people of like minds, hearts and souls, and Kate is one of those people- therefore it was a pleasure going to church with her.

I delighted in meeting her friends as well- Denisa, a fiesty Romanian who I think, deep inside, is a descendant of the most fabulous Romanian royalty! She is just a delight- full of energy and passion, and the most beautiful skin I've ever seen. Her boyfriend, Tim, is from Belgium and was a bit more shy, but as the afternoon went on he opened up a little. And finally Pierre Ettiene, a frenchman and mutual friend of all parties above. Alas, I don't know what it is about the french but give me a frenchman and I will be a shameless flirt. I think I like frenchmen because they flirt back. After church, we were set to go eat at Denisa's apartment. I asked if Pierre was coming too ( a point I was later teased for relentlessly for reasons you will soon understand). He came along as well and we set out. I realized much much later, after flirting all through lunch, that Pierre has a girlfriend. I laughed. At myself mostly. This is why Denisa and Kate teased me so much later. Kate says I'm "shameless" when it comes to flirting. Yes, yes I am. But, what else can one do when confronted with a handsome frenchman? I ask you- would you not also flirt?

Moving on. We had a huge, scrumptous meal at Denisa's apartment, followed by the sexiest chocolate cake I've ever seen, eaten, smelled or touched. It had pear cream, ganache and fluffy cake inside. Oh Lord have Mercy. It was divine. Denisa, Tim and another friend, Sarah (who is as cute as a button and is as close as a sister with Denisa) all drove to the evening service early to practice and warm up for singing that night. Kate and I took a stroll in a magnificent park and stopped for a pick-me-up coffee in a chic cafe. It was a wonderful day, an Easter day, and a day of friendship and light.

Our last evening with Isaac and Norette (his beautiful roomate, also from Burundi) was laid back and fun. Kate called her hubby on Skype and there was a lot of fun and joking around for a few hours. We scarfed down a meal of mixed leftovers and canned veggies (still tasty, in my opinion- I like the peas) and drank tea and talked while packing until it got late. Before falling asleep, Kate and I had our final "pillow talk". Now, I know this phrase is usually reserved for lovers, but it took on something special for Kate and I during our time together. We would settle into the sheets and blankets, and slowly sinking into our pillows we would simply talk. I remember some of the conversations, but the more important fact was that we just... talked. Without agenda, discussion or resolution. Our voices would get softer and softer until we fell asleep side by side. It was one of the most wonderful aspects of my time traveling with Kate.

The next morning we all awoke early to say our goodbyes and Isaac and Kate went with me to the station to see me off at the train platform. Saying goodbye was difficult, yet I was filled with an unrelenting hope and almost a certainty that these two beautiful people in front of me would soon be seen again. I delivered my love from the open door of the train as the doors were just about to close. Tears, kisses, embraces, and the long looks given right before you turn away. And then, my train pulled away.

My last day in Paris was spent with Silas and Juan and several other friends who met for a grand lunch. So much food, and it was a wonderful way to spend the last day. Afterwards we strolled through a park for a few hours. It was a beautiful day. I smoked a small cigar as I strolled. It was a delightful walk, and afterwards Silas and I returned to his apartment for tea. I met Aurelie and Oliver one last time to say goodbye and we shared company at my cafe, Cafe Martin.

That evening Silas and I ordered out sushi, danced, talked and watched an old french film from the 60's. It felt like a peaceful way to end. We had our own pillowtalk before drifting off into deep sleep, me waiting for the morning and my long journey home to begin.

Home again

10 hours flights. As a number it seems impressive, and as a reality it brings the agony of sitting to a new level of realization. Spine, legs, hips... am I getting old? I think my body was already exhausted so the stress of sitting for over 10 hours (boarding time, waiting time, blah blah blah) and getting so little sleep (3 hours of feverish dreaming and one jolt into wakefullness that startled my neighbors) all accumulated to cause total and utter lethargy and discomfort.

However

Upon my arrival home, I took the most exquisite shower and rinsed away the stench of air travel with warm soap and nice smelling things. Purified.

There will be more to come, but I am so exhausted at the moment and quite frankly surprised at my ability to even type!

Goodnight, for now, from my chair in front of my mac in the US of A!

A Recap of Mischief and Incidents

I've mostly reported the emotional and philosophical side of this trip. It's kind of like drinking canned milk after a while- so I apologize readers, now I will fill you in on some of (and there's a lot) of the funny stuff (like the falling in the bathroom incident- which by the way has left my black and blue! eek!).

Dior in Paris- When Kate arrived in Paris I told her that I NEEDED to go into at least one designer store and try something on and take pictures of the fabulous garments JUST to say I did it and to try on elegant clothing I'll NEVER be able to afford. We were in the Gallery Laffayette and we went up to the designer floor. I made a B b-line for Dior and an incredible pink satin and beaded lace gown. It was decisively the most expensive thing in the store. I asked to try it on. The woman looked at me and said she didn't think it would be my size (snort). She was a tall, thin Russian looking woman with blonde hair and bright red lipstick. I put on the dress (which was actually three layers!) and it fit- IN FACT it was too big! HA!

I put on each layer- silk. Pure silk. It looked and felt like and expensive slip. Honestly, without the lace part it could be something to wear in the bedroom (though I doubt there are many women who would pay 38,000 euro for a nelige!!). After putting on the whole dress I walked out to model it. I explained in my best lying voice possible that I was looking for a gown for a Gala. (she didn't buy it for a second). After admiring it in the mirror for a few minutes I explained that I wanted something to I would be able to dance in. She smirked. Oh well, I still got my pictures.

Metro madness- In Lille on Wednesday we stayed with a friend of Kate's (another American! Yay!) named Lina who is teaching english in France. We got day passes on the metro. However,Upon arriving at the metro station we were greeted by the "metro gustapo" (the guys who check to make sure you've payed for your pass). We presented our tickets, not expecting any issues. He looked at our tickets and scowled. Apparently you have to "compost" (stick it in a machine and verify it) your ticket and we hadn't done that- an honest mistake. Howeverm he thought we were trying to cheat the system.

I have never gotten into an argument with French "officials" before. This was the exception. The guy tried to rake us for 28 euros each. I explained that we had gotten into Lille that afternoon and even tried to show him our train tickets (Hard PROOF that we hadn't had our day passes for longer than that day!!!!) and he just ignored them. He even (he even) asked for our passports. He asked me why I wasn't carrying a french "carte bancaire" (bank card) because I told him I had been living in Paris- I explained that I was not a citizen of France and didn't live here fill time. He then asked "well, why aren't you carrying more money? How do you pay for things?". I showed him my visa- hello, it's a credit card. He asked why I didn't have cash (I was yelling at this point in sync with Lina while poor Kate stood there not understanding the French frenzy- she even tried to calm me down and Lina said "no, you NEED to get mad").

The event ended with him taking a bribe. I didn't even offer him the money. I just showed him that all I had was 15 euro. He snatched up the five and said "we'll just pretend this never happened, have a nice day". All I could think in my head was "You f******g a*********e **************************************************************************" There was a lot of french swearing when I left the station. I have never been that mad at the French. The thing is that they follow a system- often like blind dogs. This is the frustrating aspect of their traditionalism. For the most part it is beautiful and, even though silly, enjoyable. This was the nasty beaurocratic nonsense side.

I suppose it had to happen once. I laugh now at how rediculous the situation was, but at the time I was literally fuming.

There are (and probably will be) more to come of these absurd incidents and mischievous happenings. I'll post as they come.... but for the moment, those are the highlights.

Brussels Klutz

I seem to be falling a lot these days. I don't know why this is happening so much in the past week, but here are the incidents as they have happened thus far:

Tuesday- the metro- I was wearing shoes that have in fact been notorious for slipping on the Paris cobblestones, but I jumped up to click my heels in a jaunty sort of manner... and fell.... on my face... in public. Later that night I twisted my ankle walking. Just walking. No silliness involved. So it began.

Thursday- Lille Gare Europe. I was on the platform taking pictures. It must be understood that at this point in the day I was exhausted and getting to the point of absolute silliness. We were out of energy and out of our minds. I began dancing around the platform taking pictures. Then I fell. On my camera. The lense is now broken. Good job, Nina.

Friday- walking into the bathroom after waking up from a nap. The rug slides on the floor a lot, and I've almost fallen three or four times since I've arrived. Today, I slid and my feet weer suddenly in the air and I was on the floor. My first thought was "ow" my second instinct was to laugh at myself and ask "Nina, why the hell are you on the floor???". KB heard the noise and came into the bathroom to see what happened. I think I need to sit still for a while. I keep running into things, dropping things...

It's strange. I have found so much mental balance and grace mentally and emotionally on this trip, but when I think about it I have not been "on my feet" as much. The slipping and sliding on the pavement, tripping... I suppose it's possible one must sacrifice some things for others, but I, as a dancer and long-legged beast, have often found walking and dancing to be among the most natural things possible. It seems my grace mojo is broken. What can you do?

While I have been successfully on my feet I have experienced Brussels under the kindest and most fun tour guide. Isaac is a friend of KB's with whom she stayed last year when she was in Belgium. He is so lively and happy- always singing and energetic. He is from Burundi and has a fabulous accent and fabulous coffee colored skin and a deep gentle voice. He is an instant friend to all and loves people with a genuine spirit rare in this world. Between French English and the frequent interjection of his native tongue, we have passed the time already here in Brussels with so much energy and life. We cooked for him both nights already and it has been wonderful to be in a new and warm environment. I even took a hot bath with vanilla bath salts last night when we arrived in Brussels. The neighborhood is poor- immigrants from various parts of Africa, Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Even so, in Isaac's tiny attic there is a warmth and friendliness one could never find in a hostel. I am so deeply grateful for the old friends I've kept (KB) and new friends made (Lina- a friend of KB's in Lille, Isaac, and all of Aurelie's friends).

This trip has been a blessing to me, and one I am finally learning how to accept into myself. I often prefer to give, and the idea of receiving is difficult for me to accept because I don't like the idea of "taking". Yet I realize that accepting and taking are not the same thing. Neither in and of themselves are "bad". The apartment, the open hospitality of new friends and the eagerness of all to share their lives- I accept it graciously and feel thankful for it all.

Now if I could just get back on my literal feet... ha!

Catch Up and Oles in Paris

It's been a week since I last wrote. So sorry. It's strange but I really am "busy" while I'm here. I like it. It makes it feel like home.

Alas, I'll start with the weekend. Friday night was my night with my drea friend from Argentina, Silas. One of his best friends (also Argentinian) joined us. It was a meal of rice and foie gras stuffed quail. For dessert a delightfil apple tarte. Then there was music and dancing. Things got silly as we listened to Rossini's "meow" aria- an aria in which to women sing back and forth to each other... only in meows. We tried among the three of us, and we succeeded fro about 20 minutes, to speak only in meows. It was a lively evening and a precious time with Silas.

Saturday and Sunday it seemed that I did nothing but eat. Ratatouille, Mussels, Lasagna, Fresh Fruit, Macarons, Esgargot and Lamb... that's not even all of the food I tasted and ate. Holy shit. Needless to say, I have returned to nomal gastronomic intake and my meals have been delightfully simple since the feasting.

On Sunday afternoon a close friend of mine from St. Olaf arrived here in Paris to spend a few days in the city with me. I loved showing her around to my favorite places and spending evenings cooking, talking and enjoying wine. Time has passed so much quicker with someone else around, and it makes me more aware of my surroundings strangely enough. Perhaps I have become almost wholly introspective since my time in Paris and seeking the company of others serves to rejoin me with an outside world.

Kate and I "did" Paris- and so efficiently! We went to the gardens at Versailles, picknicked under the Tour Eiffel, shopped in Opéra, went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Co. (more on that to come) and smoked cigarillos on the Quai St. Michel.

The poetry reading at Shakespeare and Co. was a British poet reading from his introspective work combined with guitar lusic and drawings by his younger brother. We had the best seats in the house. The creaking, leaning bookshelves stacked to the ceiling rose above our heads and a thunderstorm and downpour clattered and spittered on the roof. It was a wholly satisfying experience, and KB and I lingered long enough to talk to the author about his work, and he sincerely asked us about ours and to send him samples of writing. I personally intend to and have felt very inspired to write since the reading.

Paris looks beautiful in almost every light, and today as the grey-blue light camein through the windows I whispered my temporary farewell to my city. Leaving the apartment and going out into the street a violent wind swept up behind me, as if my city is telling me to go- to leave and explore. I leave with KB to go to Lille and then Brussels. it is time to put on my backpack again and look to the horizon. KB asks me if I'm sad- sad to leave. I reply, somewhat to my surprise, that no, I am not sad. In fact, I'm content, in almost every way.

Silas KB and I had drinks last night in a café and both of them commented on how much I've grown and changed. In many ways, I am the same as I always have been- tehre are the quirks no amount of time can erase. But looking back over the time I've spent with these friends and the phases of life I've experienced therein, I can see how my life is both mapped by my solitude, in cities abroad or home, and in loving company with my dearest friends.

I return to America in six days. I am neither sad nor happy. I just am. It's a state I wouldn't have understood a month ago, or even last week. It is like enlightenment and hox Buddhist teachers often say that it cannot be described- you simply know it, yet cannot express it beyond yourself, because there is no longer confined self. There is only you and the universe looking at one another. I'm not enlightened, at least I don't think I am. Bhodisatvhas haven't appeared to accompany me to the Western Paradise, but I feel a peace inside me that is new and sweet, yet something I feel has always been there, waiting to be discovered.

Versailles, Place de Madeleine, and notes from a tiny apartment in the XXéme

I had a royal day yesterday. I woke up and decided to go to Versailles (to be completely honest I considered it before hand but I wanted the effect of waking up and just going- I literally planned nothing aside from asking for the right train). It was a gorgeous day in the French countryside south of Paris. A bit overcast, but warm spring air touched everything and made the stones of the Chateau toasty and inviting. I sat by several ponds throughout the day and contemplated the green water and floating swans aimlessly. Tourists of all kinds were on the train and on the gournds. I utilized three of my fluent languages to help at leave five tourists get on the right train at the Tour Eiffel RER train station. I felt très international.

The Chateau is undergoing restoration, and some of it was completed. The front gates of the palace have all been re-guilded with bright gold and the rion work has been polished and painted. It looked new. Brand new. I imagine that this is what the palace looked like when it was completed by Louis XIV. There are details on the Chateau itself (guildings on windows and roof lines ect.) that have yet to be completed, but I know the palace will look incredible just from the small section that had been finished.

I passed the lines to go into the Chateau and made a B-line for the gardens. To be honest, I find the Chateau interesting, even exquisite, but it seems strange experiencing such a monumental work of architecture alone. I can't turn to someone inside in the hall of mirrors and gush about the Braoque interior, nor can I comment on the silk tapestries and intruicite mouldings in the royal bed chambers, or point to a friend's reflextion in the flawless parquet floors. I can do none of this because I am alone at Versailles. It doesn't make me unhappy, but I did wish there was a friend there to share it with me.

In any case, I passed the day contentedly on my own. After a fabulous lunch in the small "village" (which used to be the stables) in a renovated café (stable interior gone gourmet- yea or 'neigh'?) I sauntered to the bycicle rental and chcked out a bike with a handsome basket perched on the front. I felt very "Sound of Music". I was dressed in all black and felt very elegant perched on my bycicle floating past lines of trees, ponds, fields... the extent of the palce grounds is staggering. After two hours of riding, photo taking and getting splashed by a snot nosed brat in a passing boat (I called him a "meanie" (in french) and he giggled in that way that naughty children do when they are completely satisfied with themselves)I settled into another café for a half an hour to enjoy raspberry juice and to catch my breath. The sun shone brightly and in the late afternoon the bustle of the café mixed with the sounds of singing birds gave me such peace. I never 'want' to leave Versalles. It is a place unto itself. Incomparable. Nothing else like it exists.

This morning I awoke after a thorough night of sleep to hop onto the metro and get out at a stop I hadn't yet done this trip. I chose Medeleine- a ritzy quartiér near the Place de Concordes. I found my third CHANEL boutique there and went inside. Each boutique has many of the same things in it, yet I always feel like I'm going into a gallery or museum. I always feel like I'm letting somone down when I turn down assistence from one of the boutique workers. In my head I think "Why NOT try on that gown? Will they know that you don't have 17,000 euros?... well..." Instead I reach out every so often to touch details of the clothes and smell the leather of the purses.

This trip in Paris is less and less about CHANEL. I imagined it would be so. The realizations I'm now having of my beloved Paris are reality- not shocking, upsetting reality, but an adult, intelligent mature reality. My love for Paris will never go away. This city is special, even in the most banal of its details. There is a life force here that attracts and entrances me. Yet I am actually proud to say that I no longer see Paris exactly the way I did as a naive 14 year old meeting her first love for the first time. Paris still takes my breath away, yet it is more measured and steady. No longer am I dizzy in the lights and in love with each street, but rather I look at Paris and see something old and perhaps wise.

I understand why the French are so proud. If anything the most constant of French things is their traditions- even tradition of thought. History is important and this city boasts of it- breathes it. Perhaps these traditions, truly borderline compulsions are misread and misunderstood in the greater picture of the world, but in this little paved stone world they all make sense. This is why I love Paris. It is not a logic that can be written or divulged, it is a logic that one can only taste in the bread and wine, smell in the air filled with the scent of the river and cigarette smoke, see on the flower laden tombs of icons loved and passed, and feel in the embrace of the deep city hum... from the bottom of the deepest metro line to the top of the Tour Eiffel...

Evil Chicken

a slight hitch in the trip- the only on thus far- and also a word from the wise and experienced traveler and eater:


Yes, Paris is the center of delicious food and incomparable pastries, yet one must always be wary. Oh! evil chicken in a corner bistro near Le Marais... you anger and crush me...

I have never been so sick in my entire life.

Glad it's over. I am still recovering and feel very tired and weak after vomitting for 8 hours.

Even so, yesterday was not a total loss. I stumbled upon the historic home of the great Victor Hugo (such stumblings happen every day in this city- I recently discovered that Edith Piaf began her career in this quartiér!!!) and I also found an amazing bookstore in the Jewish quarter. I plan on returning to purchase something ere I leave.

All in all, the week has begun roughly. Alas, with such an active weekend it's understandable. Today I'll stay close to my apartment lest I need to collapse into nap, and nice, simple food is the course for today.

This little American in Paris shall prevail...

The Coast- Normandie and Bretagne

There are several elements to the northern coastal regions of France. There may be more than I discovered this weekend on my trip to Mont St. Michel and coastal Bretagne, but that which follows is what I now know:

Sea- cool Atlantic waters with warm winds....

Stone- worn away with time and waves, the stone of the coast is always wet and mossy. The stairs of Mont St. Michel, the monastery, event he base of this little village are all dependent on stone. Smoothe and sturdy. The stones on the coast of Normandie and Bretagne have worn away centuries of time. Covered in algea and salt, the rocks off the coast of Bretage are savage and beautiful. Tangible by sight and even more so by touch. Juxtopposed with golden sand the longstanding pillars and planes uder the sea are exposed with low tide when we can truly take in their beauty.

Salt- one cannot visit the coast without smelling, tasting or seeing salt. It's in the air you breathe, it settles on your skin and into each strand of hair. The wind carries it and each bite of food you taste has salt in it. Not to an excess, but in a maner of subtle and constant taste. My favorite quickly became the raw salt crystals infused with seawead. Sprinkle it on an oyster or over poisson gratiné (fish gratin) or even two or three grains on the tip of your tongue and the richness is understood.

Oysters- the richest I've yet tasted. Grown in little farms on the coast, the little portable house creatures are a favorite in Cancale, a small town on the coast in Bretagne. I am not a fan, personally, but I believe that if you have the opportunity to experience something rare and beautiful, there should be risks taken, especially for food. The worst that can happen is that you won't like the taste. (Unless you have food allergies, which I do. In any case, knowing these limitations helps and finding room in between, well, that's the fun part).

I am with Aurélie's parents in a restaurant in Cancale. We order fish and oysters- "les fruits du mer" (fruits of the sea) in this coastal area. I hesitantly take the oyster into my hand and poke its little body with my fork. A squeeve of lemon and a small dash of salt, I lift the shell towards my mouth and 'squiff squiff' (that's the sound I make when I slurp oysters) into my mouth. A burst of rich flavor paired with stinging citron, I chew and swallow the little morsel boldly. A pause. "Do you like it?" Aurélie's parents ask enthusiastically, hoping for a positive response. I reply that, yes, I like it. But I also explain that it is incredibly rish for my mouth. It is delicious and I am pleased.

Butter- the sister of salt. Butter in Bretagne is salted with the large grains of raw salt crystal. Soft yellow color- real butter. "I can't believe real butter is this good". That kind of butter. Add warm ciabatta... well, you know the rest.

Cider- the folk in Normandie and Bretagne have fluched red cheeks. Why? They like their distilled liquor. Cider. Made from the apples in Normandie. I believe they get the apples drunk and then squeeze them into bottles. I sampled a very very very small serving and my throat was on fire. That stuff is for studs only. Or the the people of the coast. In any case, I don't think I'd 'keep up' on a night out with them.

I missed the ocean. It was a good trip to take to escape from "city life". It was hard to leave it too. In any case, I felt refreshed and happy. Climbing the stairs of an ancient moestary (founded in the 10th century!) and seeing landscapes that have kept up with time itself, I felt very alive and all at once seperated from any sadness of the world. One must descend from these places- we cannot remain on the mountain top. Even so, to glance at heaven from a high place was a joy for the heart.

Smokers in Cafés

Up to this point I think I've kept the content of my blog tactfully positive. Not tonight.

Smokers: No. It's not okay for you to hold your cigarette, though stylishly, right next to me. Your smoke gets in my eyes, my hair, and most importantly my nostrils. You'd think they'd make a law about this or something... oh wait! They did! Even though you're in an outside terrace, let's be polite, shall we? I'm sorry I don't love nicotine (no I'm not) and I'm also sorry I'm not as cool as you (... I'm not as cool as you, but I don't care) but I would prefer to keep my lungs pretty and pink. Also, I like breathing. It's kind of important.

Angelina's and Rue Cambon

At last- my chocolate love of a lifetime consumated in the old chocolaterie of Paris. Angelina's. I arrive and choose a table where I can look out into the mirror and mural lined salon. Sharply dressed waiters bring porceline bowls and cups to customers. I order the most sinful- the specialité- Africaine hot chocolate. Melted milk chocolate in little caraffe, accompanied by a little dish of fresh whipped cream. The liquid pours slowly into my cup. I take the spoon and stir in my whipped cream. A little drop of stray chocolate sits balanced on the spout of the caraffe. I rescue it with the tip of my finger and bring it to my lips. It is the smoothest chocolate I've ever tasted. To eat chocolate is delightful; to drink it is simply decadent. My belly already feels full after two or three sips. I can't finish it. I shouldn't finish it.

The chocolate tastes like the happiness of a child when given a treat. It is thick and soft and the color is pure.

I don't finish my chocolate cup. It's really impossible. Perhaps if I ate nothing for a day or two, I could go to Angelina's and finish it. But no. I can't, and I'm glad. The chocolate left in cup and caraffe seems fitting for such a salon. The polite portion taken; the decedant leftover remains as a symbol of its worth. My tongue will miss you, Angelina.



After leaving chocolate bliss, I set out to find CHANEL's original boutique. I stumbled happily upon rue Cambon and eagerly traversed the street. I began searching for the boutique. I pass 18 rue Cambon. A little further. Then 21. Nearly there. I find it at last. A well dressed man opens the door as I walk into the most beautiful boutique I've ever seen.

They were kinder here. I wandered and looked at everything. Everything. I even tried on a necklace. It looked beautiful. I felt proud that I had been brave enough to ask. I felt less excluded here, yet I also felt like I was in an art gallery. It truly took my breath away.

At last, Coco, we meet in person.

Nicole

The other evening I met a fabulous French woman in a Brasserie near my apartment. I was still having trouble sleeping so I went out to the café for a little glass of kir before bedtime to relax. I sat alone under the awning of the smoke-filled street side café. A woman next to me also gazed out into the night, cigarette in hand and half-filled glass of wine. As I arrived I asked her if she was saving the place next to her for someone, and she replied no. I squeezed in between the crowded tables, bumping her boot once or twice. In this way our conversation began.

She was preparing to leave when she turned to me and asked why I was all alone and if I was waiting for somebody. I replied no, I was simply relaxing and enjoying the evening. She heard the little hint of an accent that still remains in my spoken french and asked where I was from. She then offered to sit with me for a while if I cared for the company. This is how I met Nicole.

I shared my love story for Paris as she beamed proudly at the mention of her beloved city. She shared her life and history- jewish, musician, loving mother of three, adopted and familiar with the catastrophes of life. Despite her troubled history of love and heartbreak, she seemed to me to be one of the strongest women I'd ever met. She'd grown up in this quartier and spoke of its rich history- Edith Piaf began her career a mere few blocks away, the cemetery Pere LaChaise with its lineup of star-studded graves... and through each of these she weaved her passion for Paris- a passion I understood and felt. Over this eternal love, we bonded.

She offered to dine with me- and so we ordered. I partook of the delightful poached pear in warm chocolate, and she of the cheese plate (which she kindly shared). Another kir for me, a glass of red wine for her. The evening lingered on. I enjoyed every moment of the conversation and food. Slowly, I chewed my sweet pear andlet the flavors sink into each tastebud. When she offered me some of her Camembert, I took a piece and contemplated the creaminess as long as I could before swallowing. She told me of "old Paris"- what she called "the real Paris". Belleville, Pigalle, Montmartre- she knew them all as they had been. I told her I wished I could see them as they were. She explained that Paris has changed so much. I agree with her. The youth of Paris, she explained, don't see it with the same eyes as the previous generation. The city is changing everyday. Even the Paris I knew eight years ago seems somewhat distant. Now MacDonalds, KFC and Starbucks are becomong as common as the lovely aged Brasseries lining the old streets. It makes me sad yet there is nothing I can do.

The conversation turns personal when Nicole asks if I have a boyfriend. I reply, sadly, no. Yet she encourages me not to be sad. Her life story of love, rejection and triumph through music make my heartbreaks feel petty and immature. She explains in such understandable terms that life brings both good and bad- a cliché message, yet somehow far more truthful when said in French. Walking out of the cafe after we finish and we exchange numbers. I never hear from her again, and when I call I receive a text message back that says I dialed the wrong number. Even so, when Nicole and I said our goodbyes and embraced, I felt as if I were saying farewell to a long-acquainted soul. In Nicole I see much of myself- a spirit that is constantly young and old in unison. I tell her how I am happy to be young and in Paris. This, she says, is what matters. I think people like Nicole will be young forever.

Dungeons and Dragons with a Side of Sushi

This trip has already held some interesting new experiences for me. I've spent a lot of time with my friend Aurélie and her boyfriend Oliver at their apartment. We've cooked together, watched some TV and now we have made sushi and played Dungeons and Dragons together. I didn't know they were into it until they asked me if I had ever played. Until yesterday, I had not. But now, oh now, I am a Ranger Elf with expert agility and wicked archery skills. I didn't really understand quite how the game is played, though in my defense it was all of the magic swords and enchanted gauntlet vocabulary but in French.

We also made awesome sushi two days ago. Delicious indeed, I ate many pieces as we spent the evening with another couple, a Canadian (Quebeqois) and African (of a country I can't recall) respectively. I had another embarassing French moment (even though I've spoken the language for twelve years, I still make stupid mistakes, Such is language)- The Canadian's girlfriend was named 'Jolie' (which means 'pretty') so when she introduced herself I thought she said 'Hello, you are pretty' (instead of 'hi my name is Jolie'- yes these phrases CAN sound the same in rapid French) and thus I replied giggling 'You are too!'...

All in all it really is just a matter of being comfortable with mistakes and comfortable with yourself. I'm finding my place in the city. Not in the sense of finding my way around- that is the easy part. What I mean is that this city moves differently than a city in the United States. It's incredibly busy, yet the French know very well how to stop and relax. It was actually physically hard for me to sit for more than a half hour in a café (and I succeeded- I stayed for over an hour!) or even to just sit down from time to time! This city is teaching me to slow down. A lot. Not in the sense of the deep south slow down, but rather the way one can still move but savor things more deeply, even the banal or obnoxious things. Sirens. I kind of hate them, but at three in the morning I'm a little comforted to hear it. Paris has literally caused me to let my hair down, and it's good for me. For two months after college I felt like I was waiting for something (well, in a sense I was watiting to be here) but now, in the same situation as I was when I letf home- jobless and financially limited, and depressed. I find a new vigor to life, even when I'm slowing down. Granted, it IS the place. Paris. It's special. But I see now the side of reality in Paris, one without the goal of tourism or school- simply being here and being in the state I am in my life. It's very good.

This city isn't perfect. I used to let mysellf think it was. Now I see it as still my beloved, but with it's dingy details revealed I love it more still. It is a love I hope to preserve for a lifetime, and I hope to see the rest of the world and its inhabitants this way as well. Such are the hopes of an artist.

Arrivée à Paris

Bojour de Paris, my friends. Yes the City of Lights and I are happy to be back together again. Arriving here was as strange as seeing a friend from long ago, even though I never knew Paris in such a cold month. Now, yes I went to college in Minnesota, but we didn't spend our time outdoors for longer than 10 minutes if possible. 30 degrees in a city with windy streets can be quite overwhelming, even for so,eone familiar with the unrelenting prarie winters.

My arrival:

After a grueling 9 hour flight on which I got a total of 2 hours of sleep (and also... I watched 'New Moon', and I am ashamed. BUT it was on a plane. I have no other excuse) I arrived totally exhausted but excited in Paris CDG. After whisking through passport control and finding my way to the RER train platform, I sat on the rumbling train waiting to arrive in the city.

I met my very good friend Aurélie at her office. She works for the Senat building RIGHT next to Luxumbourg Gardens. She gave me a remarkable tour of the building and I even got to see some things that tourists don't get to visit. I took many pictures all of which I will post when I come home and reunite with convenient electronic access.

The apartment:

Leqving the Senat we took the metro to the 20émé (20th district) where the apartment I'm using is. The scent of aged urine, cigarette smoke and 'metro rot smell' (it's really not the worst metro I've been in, but some stations are worse than others) filled the air as we waited and then shot through the intestinal system of Paris at high speeds. All of this seemed to happy so quickly and before I realized it, we were at the apartment building. I was hardly surprised by how small it was. Cozy is the proper word. A small red couch that pulls out as a bed, ikea minimalist closet, teeny kitchen complete with a tall table and stolls, and a bathroom made for one person to stand in. Also, the ceiling is falling off in the bathroom. A piece fell into the shower (luckily I had JUST gotten out) last night. It's a perfect little space for me. My two bright windows look out at the other building across from mine (a more attractive building, but I'd rather look at an attractive building than be inside one and look at a plain building). Again, it's perfect and I love every quirk.

After seeing the apartment, Aurélie showed me around the neighborhood. We stopped in a bakery where I had an incredible tarte with egg, tomato, zuccini and cheese. Apparently I was starving because I ate the tarte like I hadn't eaten anything in days. Also, my tastebuds were excited by the new and wonderful mix of flavors. And finally, I xas high on adrenaleine and doing almost anything to keep it up. Snarfing down tartes in a glutunous manner was one way I chose to do this.

Encounter #1 with CHANEL:

two days ago I took the metro to Opéra, arguably the most expensive quartiér in Paris, to look around and enjoy myself. Opéra is of course the place where the world famous Opéra Garnier is found (also the 'stage' for the well-known 'Phantome de L'Opéra')as well as some of my favorite architecture in the whole city. Each building has flowing rows of wraught iron balconies and towering marble buildings. It is also the home of 'Les Printemps', a high-end fashion 'gallery' where all of the world's best designers can be found. Naturally I gravitated towards EACH of the CHANEL boutiques (jewelry, handbags/accesories, clothing, ect.). I felt like the ragged Cinderella in her tattered clothes next to the exquisite diamonds and endless chains of pearls. I reached out gingerly to touch the seems of a black tweed jacket. I basked in the art. Before leaving 'Printemps' I bought a sigle macaron (as seen in Marie Antoinette) in the flavor of rose petals from the famous little café in the store called 'Ladurée' (I highly recommend the experience if you like clothes, pretty things, or cookies of many diffferent colors). There was this whole promotional display for the new 'Alice in Wonderland', complete with a giant tea table where you can take tea like Alice and eat macarons to your heart's desire. I didn't ask how much it would cost to have this experience. I noted the slough of Japanese tourists and thougt of better uses for my supply of Euros. Perhaps I'll recreate the experience when I come home.

CHANEL encounter #2 (In the same day!!!):

Walking away from Opéra is yet another expensive quartier. I must say, this one is probably more expensive than Opéra. I stumbled into 'La Place des Concordes' (gorgeous- do take a moment to google it for an image) and to my left was a CHANEL boutique. I trembled with excitement. I hadn't thought to go in, but I asked myself 'why not?'. It was a strange experience, though beautiful still. Apparently this was the boutique for CHANEL in Paris specializing in diamonds!!!! It was amazing! Even so, I couldn't help but feel the scornful looks of the patrons and staff. 'What is she doing here?' their expressions seemed to say. I will admit that while the boutique and its diamonds were exquisite, I felt out of place. I felt somewhat sullen, but I tried to remember that CHANEL herself was once very poor. Would she appreciate my bold entrance into a world that is not mine but one I adore? I'd like to think she would. If not, I appreciate the juxtaposition, and I'm glad I can peek into the beautiful satin boxes of places I don't belong and enjoy them without shame.