This blog marks the end of Kristen's Paris escapades, at least for this time.
Sorry to have left you all hanging over the weekend, but there wasn't that much to report. Friday night I went out with a girl from work and some of her friends to see a movie. At 10 PM, they decided they wanted to get food, so we ended getting in one girls, Claire's car... that was the most white-knuckling experience I have ever had. She wasn't a terrible driver, but Paris is a precarious place to drive even with the best driver; the French call cars "poissons," or fish sometimes. Anyway, of course the three girls ordered a huge bottle of white wine and took almost 2 1/2 hours sucking it down... which meant another night of sucking the last three sips of my Coke in and out for my straw for 1 1/2 hours. Nate was freaking out by the time that I got home at almost 1 AM, but the metro was more packed than it usually was when I took it in the morning.
The Friday was a funny day on the metro, actually.
Trip to Work: This African woman was singing to her little kid gospel revival choir style on the metro. She was clapping her hands and singing like she was in her shower.
Trip from Work: I always pick the car with the accordion player in it, who loudly plays his accordion (with varying degrees of actual ability) and then walks around begging money off people. A few times, I just wanted to tell them I would give them 20 euro if they didn't play until the St. Phillip du Roule stop.
Trip to Movie: Another accordion player in my car... and this one was AWFUL. Granted, I know nothing about how to play the accordion, but SERIOUSLY...
Trip Home: A group of very drunken but completely harmless kids started singing like college fight songs or something... and kept it up for 5 stops, and then got off at the same stop as me. La chance!
Saturday, it was mostly a lot of cleaning and packing. It's funny how grungy 18 meters squared can get. I had a fight with the ancient French toilet when one of the hinges on the lid popped off. I am not the most mechanically minded, so I seriously sat there for 45 minutes trying to get it back in. Anyway, my apartment sparkled afterwards and I went down to the area around my house and they had converted it to this gigantic open-air "marche du puce" (flea market). It was crazy to see all of the things that they had. I didn't get anything, mostly because I didn't have need of mannequin heads, billions of ceramic knickknacks, or old chairs (though there were some really cool old chairs!!). I got my last crepe from a street vendor. I will miss those so much!
I got to the airport and on the plane without incident. The flight to Cincinnati was obscenely long, of course, but all right. On the flight from Cincinnati to SLC, I sat next to a Delta engineer who felt it was necessary to tell me all of the ways the plane could fail and we could die, and then show me pictures of planes he has worked on with mechanical failures. I even asked him to stop but he kept chattering away for THREE AND A HALF HOURS!!!! When we got into SLC after that agonizing flight, the airplane couldn't be connect to the jet way because the ramp was broken or something. So we were all packed on the stuffy hot plane for another 30 minutes and about 1/3 of the airplane missed their connections in SLC. FINALLY at long last, I got off the plane and into Nate's arms again.
And that my friends, marks
THE END
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
La Fin
Posted by Lost in Translation at 4:52 AM
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4 comments:
On this occasion, I thought you might enjoy reading an e-mail Elizabeth sent from Paris during our time there. The last bit, as regards subway performers, is particularly on point.
Enjoy!
Okay, okay, okay, okay....
So I'm a bad person and this is my first mass email that I've gotten around to sending out even though we've been here for nearly six weeks. I'll just have to plead distraction, which I admit is a weak excuse at best, and hope that you'll all forgive me eventually.
I love it here in Paris! I'd just like to take a moment to say that. It takes a bit of getting used to the fact that I can't understand most of the people here unless they enunciate (hah! try getting a Frenchman not to mumble in a rapid flow of definitely-not-English). I swear this isn't the language I studied for seven years... But if they know that you're trying to speak the language they are a lot nicer to you. All the rumors about how rude Parisians are simply aren't true, unless you're on the Metro, but more about that later. If they notice you're in trouble or if you use the magic words (Excusez-moi de vous derangez, madame, mais j'ai une petite probleme...) they will bend over backwards to help you. They also love to give directions ("go all the way left, then turn right, and ask somebody there") which makes it simultaneously much harder and much easier to get lost... er, take scenic detours, because the directions they give are invariably spoken so quickly that when they mention a street name it's like a hit-and-run. Scott is much better about above-ground navigation than I am, but I am an expert at the metro and I really enjoy it, actually.
Except, of course, for the rude people on the metro. People get on the metro, choose a spot, and sit or stand in that exact spot without moving for anyone, no matter how crowded the train gets, no matter how much stuff you're carrying, no matter if the window seat next to them is empty and that they could avoid being climbed and tripped over if they just would scoot over and let you have the aisle. No! They are citizens of France, and it is the citizen's right to move or not move as he pleases and just let somebody else try to tell them what to do! Which is all very well and good except when they've chosen to plant themselves directly between the two posts, leaning on one so that nobody can hold onto it to keep their balance and not go flying into the lap of the next-nearest citizen when the train sharply turns a corner...
And as far as magic words go, forget "Open Sesame." The only way on earth to get a citizen to budge an inch on the metro is when you're trying to get off at the station and they are between you and the door. It's amazing what one simple (but firm) "Pardon" can do -- think Moses and the Red Sea, only a lot more crowded.
Granted, you sometimes have to yell that "Pardon" pretty loudly to carry over the sound of the accordion/guitar/saxophone/ocarina/what-you-please player on the car, trying to get some money. On the metro and at the stations you often see musicians in the tunnels who play various instruments for money. My favorite is the accordion player in the Opera stop. These folks have to apply for a permit to play in the metro and all wear their little badges to show that they are okay. But oftentimes on the trains themselves, random people will come onto the car with their saxophone, violin, accordion, guitar, whatever, and play a little bit of music to try and get money. These people do not have permits and sometimes are part of groups to distract you and pick your pockets, but not always. They all play the same song, though, and most of them get it wrong. But at any rate, one time there was a violinist playing The Song in our car. We were facing away from him and all of a sudden the music stopped abruptly, mid-verse. I turned and looked around and an RATP worker (the equivalent of UTA) was escorting him off since he didn't have a permit.
Our favorite unlicensed metro performer, though, is the crazy Russian lady. She's a petite old woman, probably at least 60 or 70 years old, who works our metro line, which is line three. She dresses up the same everyday: bright blue pants, a red jacket, yellow bandana around her neck, and a backpack. She jumps onto the train car and starts just singing as loudly as she can. We think they're Russian folk songs, since the only words we've ever been able to recognize were "dasvidanya, mama" (if any of you know how to spell that correctly, I'd really like to know!). Also, since she can't carry a tune to save her life, it's hard to know if they're songs I would recognize anyway. But she is the happiest person I've ever seen. She gets really into it, with dramatic arm movements, facial expressions, interaction with the passengers, and so forth. She acts like she's a big Broadway star and she's loving her job. I almost feel like she expects us to be her chorus and all simultaneously burst into song and dance behind her. She does carry a cup for money, but she flits past you so quickly that unless you're expecting her and waiting for it, you'll never get any money out in time to give her anything. Apparently she only accepts old, familiar customers. She works her way from one end of the car to the other, and then as soon as the train comes to the station, she jumps out and skips (literally) and twirls to the next car, where she continues her performance. I really wish I had a video camera so you could get the full experience. We'll do a re-enactment for you when we return, don't worry! We refer to her either as the crazy Russian lady or Mama D (short, of course, for dasvidanya).
Oh what a fantastic experience. I am so glad that you are home now. I must say that your office was incredibly beautiful. I'll give you a call soon.
Can we go back to Paris together and just live there for like, 2 years? Okay. I desperately want to travel right now.
Wow! Yeah!
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