30 September, 2006 | 7 Comments

Yes, this is me. There normally isn’t a white circle covering my face like so, but I’m just not ready to publish my image on the blog. And if/when that day ever comes, I won’t be wearing my pajamas and no make-up and looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Ahem.

So I wanted you to see my hair. It’s not supposed to look like this. (If you know me and what my hair normally looks like, stop laughing! Just be glad you can’t see the top of it.) My natural hair isn’t straight — it has a slight wave to it. But it looks nothing like this. This is what the water in Paris has done to my hair! My hair has never looked like this before and why it does is a mystery to me. I can’t even brush it. I have no idea where my hairbrush even is because I can’t use it. If I brush my hair, it turns into a big ball of frizz. So I walk around with my hair looking like this. Seriously.

In London, my hair always looked terrible — frizzy and limp and ugly. My skin looked horrible too. The inside of my shower was covered in a white mineral dust all the time, no matter how many times I cleaned it. So I have no clue what’s up with the water in London.

My hair in Paris doesn’t necessarily look that bad (does it?) but I have no idea how to manage it. It feels weird not to brush my hair. I’ve always brushed my hair every day of my life until now. You might be wondering why I don’t just blow-dry it. I prefer straight hair and I’ve tried, let me tell you. But I just don’t have the arm strength necessary to get all these waves and curls out. If I want straight hair in Paris, I’ll need to start lifting weights. Either that or get a second job so I can pay for blow-outs.

If anyone has any tips on how to deal with this mess, please let me know!

29 September, 2006 | Comments are off

I’m just going to tell you that I had a magical afternoon. Magical. I discovered what is now my favorite place in all of Paris, the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s Paris’s most beloved garden – 60 acres of flowers and trees and fountains and sculptures and endless delights right in the middle of the Left Bank. I’ve been to Paris numerous times but have never visited the Luxembourg Gardens until today. And I’m glad that I’d never gone before, because discovering this place for the first time right now is like receiving a rare and beautiful gift.

The day didn’t start off well, I’ve gotta tell you. Everything that could have gone wrong did. By mid-afternoon I was taking care of some business at the Sorbonne and by the time I was done, I was a tad cranky. So I walked down the hill to the Jardin du Luxembourg, which is literally a couple blocks away. And leaving the traffic and the bustle behind and walking through those black iron gates was like slipping into a warm bath. I can think of no better way to describe it. The hours I spent exploring the gardens were the most peaceful and meaningful moments I’ve experienced since arriving in Paris.

As soon as I entered the gardens, I was reminded that it’s autumn. The leaves on many of the trees had already turned gold and were falling to the ground. My first stop was the café, of course. I sat at a table outside in the trees and ate a crêpe au chocolat and drank a citron pressé. [If you read this blog, you know I’m not supposed to be eating foods that contain dairy, but over the past few days I’ve been indulging quite a bit. I will have to stop soon or I’ll get sick, but my newfound desire to eat everything in sight is a good sign. It means my appetite is back. True confession: My first three weeks in Paris, I lost nearly ten pounds. When I was depressed I stopped eating. So at least now I know I’m feeling better.]

It’s hard for me to explain how amazing the Luxembourg Gardens are. On an aesthetic level alone they are unparalleled, with the magnificent Palais du Luxembourg dominating the landscape; there are fountains, sculptures, flowers, thick groves of trees and expanses of the greenest grass. There are cafés, tennis courts, a merry-go-round, ponies and old men playing boules. You could spend all day exploring every hidden corner. But most of all, these gardens (what Americans would refer to as a park) are meant to be enjoyed by Parisians. It’s hard to imagine something so beautiful and pristine being used on an everyday basis by regular people, but there are benches and chairs everywhere, filled with people talking, napping, reading, painting and playing. And you know, I didn’t see anyone jogging along in black Lycra. The Jardin du Luxembourg is not a place where people seem interested in doing things. Rather, it’s all about being, about living and experiencing life in that very moment. It’s about slowing down, stopping, simply existing and seeking out moments of pleasure for their own sake (and not feeling guilty about it). Perhaps that’s why visiting the gardens was so meaningful to me – I could really understand, for the very first time, how life is lived so very differently in this city.

I was completely bewitched. By early evening I had to force myself to leave for home because I didn’t have my umbrella with me and the skies were darkening. But even after I walked out through the gates and into the bustling Latin Quarter, the garden’s spell stayed with me, calling me back for another visit.

See my photos here, if you so desire.

[tags]Jardin du Luxembourg[/tags]

29 September, 2006 | 5 Comments

Eurostar ad: “London in Love: 100€ Return Trip for Two.”

28 September, 2006 | 3 Comments

I have become a manic photo-taker recently. I have taken more photos of Paris in one month than I took in London all last year. I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into me, but taking photos has actually helped me feel more connected to the city so I keep doing it. To capture Paris and its sights in images, I’m forced to look at it in new ways. This has been therapeutic for me. I spend a great deal of time “inside my head” — because of the nature of the work I do, because of my writing, because I over-analyze and think too much about virtually everything. Photography uses a different part of my brain and I think that’s been helpful. And the great thing about digital photography is that there’s no film or developing, so you can take as many photos as you want and it costs nothing. I also think my new Flickr account has made a huge difference, because it has forced me to download, organize and edit my photos, which used to be just a huge mess. So thanks to the two of you who recommended I open one.

I’ve come to discover it is very difficult to take good photos of Paris. The city is stunning in its beauty, but this does not translate well into pictures (or at least my pictures). In particular, I have not been able to take even one semi-good photo of a Paris streetscape. So often I’ve stumbled upon a quintessential Parisian view, snapped a photo and then at home discovered it was nothing but dark shadows. Never before have I experienced such a complete disconnect between what I see with my eyes and what the photos reveal. This problem is to do with the light in the city and how it plays off the buildings, I suppose. I’ve written before about how difficult it is to capture the essence of this city in words — the same goes for photos too. It’s maddeningly elusive, this City of Light.

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28 September, 2006 | 6 Comments

As of yesterday, there have been 1,000 comments left on Anglofille! Yay! I left the 1,000th comment myself, in response to another commenter, which means I can keep the glorious prize I was planning to give away (but then, who really wants £655,000 and a silver cup presented by the Duke of Kent?). So thanks to everyone who comments. I’m not sure what propels one to make the jump from lurker to commenter (psychiatrists should examine this), but I love hearing from people. Otherwise, I feel like I’m shouting into the void. Hello? Hello? Anybody out there?

27 September, 2006 | 2 Comments

I spent a delightful afternoon at Jardin des Plantes, France’s main botanical garden, which dates back to 1626. In addition to the gardens, there is a natural history museum, a museum of evolution, a botanical school and a zoo. And it’s right in the center of Paris! What a refuge. There was obviously too much to see in one afternoon, so I explored the gardens and the tiny zoo, called Le Ménagerie. The zoo is mostly filled with birds and non-vicious animals like bunny rabbits and wallabies, though there was a panther who seemed rather unhappy to be there and quite out-of-place. According to my guidebook, it is the oldest zoo in France (dating back to 1795), but in the Siege of Paris in 1870-1, the citizenry ate the animals. Apparently, the zoo never recovered and it is now rather, uh, low-key. (And there are rumors that stray cats are fed to the reptiles.) The zoo was a pleasant diversion, but I went to see the colorful blooms and I wasn’t disappointed. Every now and then, I just need some flower therapy. Ahhhh.

If you need a pick-me-up, check out my flower and cuddly animal photos on Flickr.

[tags]Jardin des Plantes[/tags]

26 September, 2006 | 3 Comments

Walked to Notre Dame. Went inside, lit a candle, said a prayer.

Inside the cathedral, in the semi-darkness lit only by stained glass and candles, took a seat and thought, reflected, cleared my mind. Took refuge from all that was outside. Deep breaths. Camera flashes.

Took way too many photos. Took a video inside, took a video outside. Touristic binge.

Indulged my gargoyle obsession by walking around the outside of the cathedral; looked at their distant, ancient faces through a zoom lens.

Bought a crepe with Nutella, breaking the no-dairy rule. Didn’t care. Sat in front of Notre Dame in the bright sunlight and ate it. Felt happiness meter go up a few clicks.

Walked across the bridge to the Île St. Louis under darkening skies. Passed an accordion player, made another video, gave him a few Euros. He said “Merci, Mademoiselle.” Should have given him more money – I’m old enough now to appreciate being called Mademoiselle.

Went into a pharmacie and asked in my shaky French, “J’ai besoin de…médicine…en anglais c’est ibuprofen.” The woman said, “En français c’est ibuprofène.” I replied, “Ah bon?” and we laughed.

I walked the quaint streets of the Île, felt charmed (how could I not?), took more photos, began to truly understand why people say Paris is not a city but a collection of villages. Realized for the first time how lucky I am to be living in Paris, to be experiencing this place. Walked home and felt grateful for the moments of pure bliss I had experienced throughout my afternoon – just moments, mind you, fleeting moments – but that’s enough, that’s all anyone should ever hope to have.

26 September, 2006 | Comments are off

Last night I had a horribly vivid nightmare in which Russell Crowe was blown up by an Al Qaeda suicide bomber. There was nothing left of Mr. Crowe but a shoe. And I saw the whole thing, because someone had filmed it and put it on YouTube.

Upon waking, I was terribly upset. A world without Russell. I can’t even imagine it.

[tags]Russell Crowe[/tags]

26 September, 2006 | 1 Comment

Yesterday I bumped into someone on the Métro. And for the first time what came out of my mouth was pardon. Not sorry, not excuse me. No! The very French pardon. It was an automatic response, said without even thinking.

Oh happy day! This, my friends, is progress.

25 September, 2006 | 2 Comments

This week, I have a rare break from my U.S.-based online job. This job, otherwise known as “how Anglofille pays the bills,” takes up a lot of “mind space.” It’s 7 days a week and it’s something I always need to be thinking about. My breaks rejuvenate me. They help me to clear my mind, to focus on other things.

I’m going to use this little holiday to begin working, once again, on my novel. I plan to write in the mornings for a few hours (this weekend I bought a comfy writing chair and got my desk set up) and I’m hoping this will become a routine. Then in the afternoons I’ll do something to nurture my creative self. I really want to check out a few of Paris’s renowned gardens while the weather is still nice and maybe I’ll visit a museum or two. I’ll do a lot of walking and visit at least one café a day to consume a beloved citron pressé. I can’t live this way all the time, but taking a week “off” to just write and see the city like a tourist before work begins again and school starts will do wonders for me, I hope.

As you may recall, at the beginning of the summer I proclaimed that I would finish writing a first draft of my novel by the end of the summer…which is right about now. [No link provided, don’t want to even look at that old post.] Well, I’ve written about ten words. Great work! [Pats self on back.]

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25 September, 2006 | Comments are off

Here are my recent Word du Jour entries, which all turned out to be fruit. I began with apple and embraced the theme! This is so much easier than doing the Word of the Day in England, because now I can choose almost any word at all — well, except for words like quiche and soufflé, but still.

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24 September, 2006 | 2 Comments

“That makes me feel like a whore to some extent…but then all writers are whores, right?”

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you what he said to prompt that response. It’s not fit for blog consumption.

24 September, 2006 | 4 Comments

1:30 am: Fall asleep.

3:00 am: Awake to sound of downstairs neighbors laughing and talking loudly.

3:30 am: Can’t fall asleep, too noisy. Get up, read 100 pages of Joan Didion death memoir. Feel sad.

4:30 am: Get back in bed, hear another neighbor scream out her window for the noisy neighbors to shut up. Fury and rage. All I can understand is, “Close your window!”

4:35 am: After screaming back and forth, noisy neighbors quiet down temporarily.

4:40 am: Make mental note to buy earplugs.

5:00 am: Neighbors begin blasting music and talking again. More intra-neighbor warfare.

5:05 am: Want to cry.

5:22 am: Irate neighbor starts throwing things, banging on floor.

5:37 am: On verge of anxiety attack. Want to call friend from home, resist.

5:42 am: Wish the sun would come up. Drift in and out of sleep. Have bizarre dream (nightmare?) about two friends who are now elephants. They have a human baby. Wake up and feel disturbed.

6:30 am: Music stops, inconsiderate neighbors make noise in stairwell.

6:45 am: Quiet.

7:00 am: Drift to sleep.

Noon: Wake up.

1:00 pm: Look up elephants in dream dictionary. Feel relieved.

Now: Have headache.

23 September, 2006 | 4 Comments

If you’re an American woman and you walk around Paris by yourself (gasp!) there are going to be certain men who think you’re desperate for their companionship. In Paris, I am very careful about asking men questions in public places like the Métro, though I must admit it’s often easy to tell those who will interpret a question such as, “Where can I buy a Métro ticket?” to mean exactly that, and those who will interpret it to mean, “Hi, I’m a horny American slut and I want to have sex with you as soon as possible.”

So today I’m in the Place de la Nation. Unbeknownst to me, there are at least 6 different entrances to the Métro there. So I venture down the stairs to what I think is the main entrance but there is nowhere to buy a ticket. Odd. No one was around except for this one young guy and he saw I was confused and asked if I needed help. I said I needed a ticket. So immediately he comes back out through the turnstile, even though he has already paid to go in. So of course I know how this is going to play out. He says that I need to walk a few blocks to the other entrance. So I begin to walk up the stairs and he follows me, as if to assist me. Then he starts talking to me. This whole conversation happened in French.

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22 September, 2006 | 1 Comment

In the NY Post today. Yes, she really is that scary. And I knew her before she was famous. And did I mention that she sorta fired me — or at least, had someone else do it for her? One of the proudest accomplishments of my life.

22 September, 2006 | 3 Comments

My post L’Inscription! was a none too subtle plea for help and it worked. One of you even offered me a prize if I’d register for school early (!) and shameless prize whore that I am, I scurried off to the Sorbonne this afternoon and done got myself matriculated.

It was exciting being at the Sorbonne today. It’s in the Latin Quarter, sitting in the shadow of the Panthéon. It’s such a storied place and just sitting in one of the lecture halls, with its worn leather seats, was a bit of a thrill. It’s imposing and humbling to be there as a student. And of course I’m thinking all these fanciful thoughts, about how Simone de Beauvoir studied at the Sorbonne and met Jean-Paul Sartre there. As a person who over-romanticizes nearly everything (much to my own detriment), I may just overdose.

The woman who registered me spoke only in French and I understood everything she said. I was very pleased. It’s only when I try to express myself that I have trouble. It’s not that I don’t know the words, but it’s hard to craft sentences on-the-fly. I have to return on Monday morning to take a placement test (eek!) so I better make sure I get plenty of rest beforehand and eat my Cheerios like a good girl.

After registration, I walked around the Latin Quarter, then treated myself to dinner at a café. I was laughed at by the waiter for wanting ketchup with my pommes frites. And then as often happens to single girls in cafés, some weirdo kept staring at me and eventually came over and started chatting. And I wanted to say, “Um, I’m not opposed to the idea of a French boyfriend in theory, but I’d prefer one who’s been on parole for longer than a month.” But unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough for that level of bitchitude.

So with registering for school, having my boxes delivered yesterday and doing a few other important errands, I feel confident that the horrible feeling of inertia I’ve experienced since moving here is becoming a thing of the past (fingers crossed). Today, for the first time in the three weeks since I’ve been here, the spring was back in my step. I felt like myself again and it was a little startling at first. “Oh, hello girl, where’ve you been? I’ve missed you. Glad you’re back.”

Le Panthéon, looming over the rue Vallette.

La Sorbonne, on the rue Saint Jacques.

The stylin’ ladies loo at La Sorbonne.

[tags]Sorbonne, Panthéon[/tags]

21 September, 2006 | 3 Comments

Before my DVDs arrived this afternoon, I experienced a ‘mindless entertainment’ drought, what with not being able to understand anything on television. So I downloaded episodes of Reno 911! from iTunes. And sometimes while watching this show, I laughed so hard I’d nearly cry. How sad is that? And why am I admitting to this?

21 September, 2006 | 2 Comments

She has been trying to call me for the past few days, with no luck. [Probably something to do with the 8-hour time difference.] So today out of frustration, she left a [now deleted] comment on my blog. The comment stated that only because of today’s blog post can she feel confident I’m not trapped under something heavy in my apartment. And then of course she thought the guy who carried my boxes upstairs for me could have very well been a rapist or killer (this thought had never occurred to me — I guess I’m becoming less American by the day). I had never thought to use blog commenting in this way, but then with e-mail, only the recipient gets to read it! That’s no fun.

21 September, 2006 | 1 Comment

I had them delivered this morning — all nine back-breaking boxes. The deliveryman actually carried them into the courtyard for me because he said I was “tres gentile” (very nice) — but that’s as far as it went. Getting them up four flights of stairs was left to me. To complicate matters, over the past few days I have pulled a muscle in my back and have been in terrible pain. But luckily I spotted a hunky workman in a neighboring apartment, offered him 15€ and he carried them all up for me. And the look of exhaustion on his face was painful.

So now I have my stuff — the Victorian novels I need to read over the next year before returning to London to officially continue my Ph.D.; the colorful and fuzzy Afghan I use to keep me warm in the winter months; my DVDs to offer me that ever-important escapism; and photos of my family and friends. It feels a bit like Christmas today.

One of my blog readers wrote to me yesterday to say that getting my boxes was important, that surrounding myself with my own things would make this place seem more like home. I think she was right.

21 September, 2006 | Comments are off

I have received many lovely comments and e-mails in regards to my recent post on depression. This has touched me deeply. It wasn’t easy to write that post, but I felt it was important to be honest about my experiences. Your responses mean a lot to me. Thank you.