Defining 'Home'

Yesterday after class, with the help of a couple friends, I made the inevitable move from my apartment in the 15th to my new home for the remainder of my time in Paris in the 5th. For the days leading up to the move I had been battling my dislike of packing with my yearning for the ability to finally settle down and fully nest; trading my awesome roommate for a host family; being able to walk to school in 10 minutes versus...well, I still haven't figured out how I'm going to get there from the new place. In short, there were and still​ are many mixed feelings. 

The new neighborhood seems a lot more lively, and I'm not just saying that because when I moved in there was a police barricade around the corner. ​There's a better Sunday farmer's market, more brasseries and bars, and of course the mosque down the street that serves excellent mint tea. But, as a creature of habit, I don't like my daily routines getting interrupted and having to find new ones. 

This summer when I logged into Facebook I felt a small pang of jealousy ​each time I saw someone post pictures or a status about moving into their new studio/apartment/house. I wish I had that stability of permanence and the independence that comes with having one's own place. Not to mention the fact that many of my school friends live relatively close to each other and get to hang out and do "grown-up" things like go to happy hour together. I think one of the hardest things about living abroad is that, no matter how much fun you're having, there are times when you can't stop thinking about everything you're missing out on at home.

As I write this I'm sitting in an American-style bakery/coffee shop, the type that serves brownies, cupcakes and coffee in to-go cups, and that I used to spend hours at with ​friends while allegedly writing papers and studying for exams. I've missed the people from home since, well, maybe week 2 of class. But it's only now that I'm beginning to miss the other things, even those that I usually took for granted. 

An Australian friend recently asked me if Starbucks is much of a fad at home.​

Being from Seattle, I replied, "It's not a fad. It's a way of life."​

My peers at school sometimes make fun of me for shelling out €4 for a tall soy latte, but I say you can't put a price on nostalgia. And anything that keeps me awake during an 8:30am class is a worthy investment.​

Mistakes Taste Better With Maple Syrup

When I got home from Italy, one of the first things I did was go food shopping. I guess I was just tired from the airport shuttle having dropped me off past 1am, because when I went to Monoprix (basically the French Target) later that morning, I grabbed buttermilk instead of regular. How did I realize that something was amiss? With my first bite of cereal. I used to like drinking buttermilk as a kid, but now...not so much. So what to do with an entire liter?

Having found maple syrup at Monoprix, I decided pancakes were my best bet for using up the buttermilk. But following recipes here is much easier said than done. There are no measuring accoutrements in my apartment (but besides, the French don't use cups and tablespoons anyways), and I left my scale in my locker at school. So it was time for some freestyle cooking.

​Les ingrédients

​I had some apples in the fridge. Why not use them too?

​Caramelizing in butter and sugar just like we learned in class.

​Voilá!

In the end it turned out pretty well, despite my guesstimations, but I barely made a dent in the buttermilk. Either I'll be eating pancakes for days, or it's time to find some other buttermilk recipes. Biscuits, anyone?

Burgers in Paris, Part Deux

Les nomz

Just when I was starting to get used to living in a French atmosphere I went away to Scandinavia, where everyone speaks nearly flawless English. In some ways it was almost like being at home, except that they use strange currencies and everyone is very blonde and blue-eyed...

Okay, so I guess it was more like being in an alternate universe, but the point is that I could communicate with people without wildly gesticulating and looking like an idiot. And then I returned to Paris, where my brain now struggles to form simple sentences in French. 

If you asked me during my first week here whether I would ever want go to back home, the answer would probably be no. But now that the blinders have come off a bit I'll definitely be ready to leave by next summer. There's no denying that Paris is a beautiful city, but one tends to spend most of the time looking down at the ground avoiding piles of dog poop - seriously, it's worse than Manhattan.

Le camion. Probably easier to spot by the long line that forms at lunch time.

For these reasons and more I've been feeling a little homesick, which is why I decided it was time to seek out Le camion qui fume - one of only two burger-grilling mobile food joints in Paris. Whereas Cantine California focuses more on...California/Mexican-influenced street food, Le camion qui fume is all about straight up burgers. Oh, and their fries are better than In-n-Out's.

Yes, I went there. Come to Paris and prove me wrong.

For more objective assessment on the cultural significance of food trucks in Paris, I suggest you read this NYT article.

Bastille Day

Met up with a group of friends from class for a picnic on the Champ des Mars while we waited for the fireworks to start. Truly a French experience with baguettes, cheese, fruit, chocolate, bottles of rosé that we managed to smuggle in and, of course, a French flag courtesy of A’s “five finger discount.” The fireworks were pretty impressive themselves - a solid 30 minute program set to disco music. Festivities ended close to midnight, and the mass exodus from the park afterward was enough to convince me it was a better use of time to walk home than try to force my way onto a packed train. I probably would have been fine going it alone, but two friends kindly walked all the way back with me, even though one lives in the complete opposite direction.

Overall: good people, good times, good weekend.

 

Of Rainy Nights and Partying with Firemen

Friday night after baking a kilo of brioche dough in various shapes and sizes for practical, a couple friends and I met up in the 6th for a strange Bastille Day tradition: the fireman’s ball at the fire stations. Apparently the night before and of the holiday, fire stations across the city open their gates and host what basically amounts to a huge dance party complete with DJ and drinks.

I think I mentioned before that the weather’s been pretty un-summery, and Friday was no exception. Pushing your way through the station’s packed courtyard was made even more difficult by all the umbrellas. (I gave up pretty quickly and accepted the fact that I would get drenched over the course of the evening).

I don’t usually enjoy club/frat-like environments, but the party was actually pretty fun. The firemen didn’t engage much with the crowd, mostly staying behind the bar and serving drinks. But the few that we talked to seemed very nice, not to mention ridiculously good-looking.

We left around midnight in search of some hot food to warm our rain-soaked exteriors, ending up at a little Italian place where we shared penne carbonara and lamb skewers. Definitely a step up from my usual drunk food of choice, chicken nuggets.

Sometimes the best nights are the ones that are most spontaneous.

 

I'm in Paris!

After some mobile phone troubles and an unintentionally long nap (forgot to change my alarm from AM to PM), I met up with my future roommate and subletter, whom I’ll call A and M, at la fontaine Saint Michel (pictured above). They are both French psychology students who will be entering their final year of school in the fall. M is going abroad for an internship at a hospital outside Montreal, so I’m renting her room for the summer. For about two hours we wandered around the Montparnasse area and Latin Quarter, first heading up to Notre Dame, then to the Pantheon and finally to the Jardin du Luxembourg. I didn’t take any pictures of these, but I plan to go back real soon with my DSLR.

We talked about a lot of random things but the conversation ultimately reminded me of how very easy it is, by comparison, to make friends at school. At school you have the guaranteed common denominators of having class together, living in the same dorm, participating in the same clubs etc. etc. But outside of that, in the real world, there aren’t the same underlying social forces bringing people together.

This is not to say that we didn’t get along. On the contrary, A’s personality seems very bubbly and outgoing. M was a little more reserved, but I think this was because she felt self-conscious that she was a bit out of practice speaking English. (Pretty much how I feel speaking French). One of the more interesting parts of the conversation was when M mentioned that her older brother is studying to become a doctor. Curious to see how it compared to America, I asked what the training was like. First of all, medical school in France is free. Secondly, it takes 14 years. Granted, from M’s description it sounded like the last bit is basically residency. But still, even considering the fact that French students start med school younger because of how the education system works…becoming a doctor takes quite a lot longer than it does in America. Anyway, because a lot of my friends are pre-med, that’s some food for thought. Longer and tuition-less versus…less years but insanely expensive.

We parted ways at the Metro station near my hotel, where we agreed that I would move in on Sunday. And now I’m off to go watch some Sherlock - trying to catch up before school starts on Wednesday.