I'm always kind of shocked at how much I get accomplished when I wake up early. Or, rather, when I'm forced to. I had my Art History exam bright and early at 8am today, which meant a 6:45 wake up call. Ugh. The exam probably could have gone better, but in any case, I don't think I failed, which is all that really matters for me to get credit on study abroad.
I then rushed to my visite medicale which is required to get a carte de séjour (a residence visa for people staying in France for more than 3 months). I already knew what to expect because most of my friends had theirs before winter break, and I got sent home after half an hour with a chest x-ray as a party favor.
After meeting up with a friend for lunch, we hit the shops on Rue de la République for the second official day of the soldes. I didn't find anything fabulous, but according to my host sister, the prices will continue to come down over the next few weeks (it's so great to have the inside scoop). One of the most popular brands here these days that isn't Converse or Abercrombie and Fitch is Zadig et Voltaire. I must admit, they have pretty hip and interesting clothes, especially for a French brand. Most others that I've gotten to know over the last few months (Etam, Kookai, Promod) are pretty dull.
The host parents weren't home tonight, so I had frozen pizza with the kids. I even got a lanyard from my youngest host sister, Apolline!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I love my new coat!
I can hardly contain my excitement about the new coat I just bought. I wanted to add a picture, but I don't know how to grab it from the Lacoste website :(
More importantly, today is the beginning of the twice-a-year soldes season in France. Sales, which are regulated by the government, are definitely something to look forward to in this cold cold wintertime. Starting today, they'll last for the next four weeks, with clothes at even the most exclusive brands going on sale for up to 70 percent. I realize this sounds like a really girly thing to be posting about, but it actually is a pretty important period in the French cultural calendar, especially when you think about how serious the French are about fashion.
I've had my eye on this coat since trying it on at the Duty Free at Charles de Gaulle before our flight to Spain. I have an exam tomorrow, so I thought I'd go over to the Lacoste store first thing in the morning to see what the prices looked like. Leaving the apartment, the first store I passed was for baby clothing, and there were more people in there than I've seen all year. It looked almost like Black Friday in the states, but more refined -- people were searching anxiously for sizes, but it was as if they didn't want other people to be able to tell how desperate they were to find them.
Then, walking across Bellecour, almost every woman I passed heading in the opposite direction was carrying at least two or three shopping backs and wearing a contented smile. And this is at 10 in the morning! On a Wednesday! Don't these people have work?
Lacoste was just opening, and within 5 minutes, there were plenty of people buzzing around. It took me only 10 minutes to try on, decide, and swipe my (dad's) credit card. On the way back, glowing with the happiness that comes with a new purchase, I trotted back to the apartment, huge bright blue Lacoste shopping bag in hand. Lost in my thoughts, I only barely heard a woman say "Excusez-moi." I stopped. She asked me where the Lacoste store was, and I was happy to point her the way.
More importantly, today is the beginning of the twice-a-year soldes season in France. Sales, which are regulated by the government, are definitely something to look forward to in this cold cold wintertime. Starting today, they'll last for the next four weeks, with clothes at even the most exclusive brands going on sale for up to 70 percent. I realize this sounds like a really girly thing to be posting about, but it actually is a pretty important period in the French cultural calendar, especially when you think about how serious the French are about fashion.
I've had my eye on this coat since trying it on at the Duty Free at Charles de Gaulle before our flight to Spain. I have an exam tomorrow, so I thought I'd go over to the Lacoste store first thing in the morning to see what the prices looked like. Leaving the apartment, the first store I passed was for baby clothing, and there were more people in there than I've seen all year. It looked almost like Black Friday in the states, but more refined -- people were searching anxiously for sizes, but it was as if they didn't want other people to be able to tell how desperate they were to find them.
Then, walking across Bellecour, almost every woman I passed heading in the opposite direction was carrying at least two or three shopping backs and wearing a contented smile. And this is at 10 in the morning! On a Wednesday! Don't these people have work?
Lacoste was just opening, and within 5 minutes, there were plenty of people buzzing around. It took me only 10 minutes to try on, decide, and swipe my (dad's) credit card. On the way back, glowing with the happiness that comes with a new purchase, I trotted back to the apartment, huge bright blue Lacoste shopping bag in hand. Lost in my thoughts, I only barely heard a woman say "Excusez-moi." I stopped. She asked me where the Lacoste store was, and I was happy to point her the way.
Monday, January 5, 2009
all in the family
I just finished up the first dinner with the host family since the Christmas gift exchange extravaganza and the week away. I haven't really hung out with any of the kids since then, but things went really well tonight. I felt bad for not buying Ferréol something from the Barcelona football club because he asked me about seeing their stadium. I showed Sigolène my new purchases from the vacation (She was nice about it, but seemed a bit skeptical. We don't have the same style anyway).
One of my New Years Resolutions was to hang out more with my host family. I'm not sure I know how to do that though - they're so tight knit, and I would feel weird interrupting them while they all watch TV together at night and stuff. Plus, I do like my alone time. I'm not sure how to go about it - I do want to be pro-active and spend more time with them, but I guess I'm still kind of nervous around them and shy. It always takes a bit of courage for me to venture downstairs into the common living space.
In other news, I've failed miserably at studying for my exam and writing my paper. If I can crank out my second body paragraph tonight and do the third and the conclusion tomorrow, I should be okay (hopefully).
One of my New Years Resolutions was to hang out more with my host family. I'm not sure I know how to do that though - they're so tight knit, and I would feel weird interrupting them while they all watch TV together at night and stuff. Plus, I do like my alone time. I'm not sure how to go about it - I do want to be pro-active and spend more time with them, but I guess I'm still kind of nervous around them and shy. It always takes a bit of courage for me to venture downstairs into the common living space.
In other news, I've failed miserably at studying for my exam and writing my paper. If I can crank out my second body paragraph tonight and do the third and the conclusion tomorrow, I should be okay (hopefully).
i knew i couldn't be that stupid!!
I am SO relieved.
This morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 7:45am to go to the Prefecture and finally face up to the fact that I lost my temporary Titre de Séjour. And to try to reschedule the required medical exam, the date for which falls exactly on the day of my Art History exam. Stroke of luck that they let me back into the country after coming back from Spain, I thought to myself. Can't leave it up to chance anymore. (Truth is, no one would probably ever notice, seeing as border patrol doesn't really happen in Europe anymore. Something about the European Union...?)
Anyhow, I was given a ticket and waited in one of those bland civil service offices with a bunch of hyper-organized Asian kids. I non-enthusiastically flipped through my Art History review cards while waiting for my number to be called. About 20 minutes later, I approached Guichet H, pretty much your standard post manned by a fonctionnaire with short blond hair and glasses. She seemed like a suburban mom, aka she seemed like she would be friendly. Not so, my friend, not so.
Looking down her pinched nose at me, she got defensive, saying it wasn't her office that dealt with the medical visits. She pointed to the telephone number indicated on the letter, and after telling her I had already tried calling them several times before Christmas, she said I should go to their office. She got frustrated when I asked her where it might be located, saying "You have the address right here (dummy!)"
Taking a deep breath (and on the verge of tears), I told her what I really had come all that way to say. "Is the récipisée that document with my photo stamped on it that you get in the mail?"
"Yes."
"Well...I don't have it."
"You must have received it."
"The thing is...I lost it."
She looked at me in angry disbelief. "Well, you really should get yourself together."
Yup. That was it. No indication of what I should do to fix the situation. And, as tears welled in my eyes, I think it was clear enough that I was torn up about losing the bootleg copy of my temporary residence card. I was teetering between bawling in sorrow/pleading for her forgiveness and being supremely pissed off. There was no excuse for her to talk to me in that way or that tone. Isn't that what she is there for, to help me get my carte de séjour?
Still in a bit of shock, I asked her what I should do. Throwing her hands up in the air, she said in exasperation, "You'll have to go to the commissariat and report the loss of the document to them. Then you have to come back here with a photo so we can get you a new one. And you have to go to the doctor's office to reschedule your appointment. And you have to go today. You should hurry up and fix this."
Great. I stood up and left, in disbelief that anyone could be that mean. I needed to calm down, so I went to the Centre Commerciale and had a hot chocolate and a croissant, while trying to trap a WiFi signal long enough to figure out what the heck a commissariat was. Good news: the office was close to where I live. Bad news: turns out she wanted me to go to the police.
Whether this was all just some cruel joke because she wanted me locked up for stupidity was yet to be seen. I decided to head to the doctor's office first to see what I could do about my medical visit. Possibly the most non-descript building on the most non-descript street in the city, I was greeted by a "Bonjour" right as I walked through the automatic doors. A youngish Arabic woman sat at the acceuil, and asked me if I was there for my medical visit. I explained my problem, and she responded, "The problem is, the office is closed this week, and they wont be able to reschedule you until next week. What I recommend that you do is write a letter and send it by mail with some dates that would be better for you. Then they'll respond to you my mail as well." She smiled. "But I wouldn't worry about it. I think they give you 3 chances to come for the visit, so you should be fine."
She was so nice that I didn't want to bog her down with my stupidity. "A small problem," I said. "The visit is scheduled for this Thursday." I braced myself for the onslaught.
"No problem," she said. "Just send us the letter, and everything will work out."
So it's not that all French civil servants are supreme bitches. It's just that one. So watch out for her.
I decided to make one last sweep of my room to look for the récipissée. It would postpone my visit to the police station, which I was not enthusiastic about. And it would give me a chance to complain to my advisor back at home via email. I carefully went through each of the drawer of my desk. Reaching the final one, which I had looked through at least 15 times, I took out each individual receipt I have kept over the last 4 months and unfolded it. I came across the paper I took to be the code for my bank account -- but lo and behold, it was my récipissé!!
This morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 7:45am to go to the Prefecture and finally face up to the fact that I lost my temporary Titre de Séjour. And to try to reschedule the required medical exam, the date for which falls exactly on the day of my Art History exam. Stroke of luck that they let me back into the country after coming back from Spain, I thought to myself. Can't leave it up to chance anymore. (Truth is, no one would probably ever notice, seeing as border patrol doesn't really happen in Europe anymore. Something about the European Union...?)
Anyhow, I was given a ticket and waited in one of those bland civil service offices with a bunch of hyper-organized Asian kids. I non-enthusiastically flipped through my Art History review cards while waiting for my number to be called. About 20 minutes later, I approached Guichet H, pretty much your standard post manned by a fonctionnaire with short blond hair and glasses. She seemed like a suburban mom, aka she seemed like she would be friendly. Not so, my friend, not so.
Looking down her pinched nose at me, she got defensive, saying it wasn't her office that dealt with the medical visits. She pointed to the telephone number indicated on the letter, and after telling her I had already tried calling them several times before Christmas, she said I should go to their office. She got frustrated when I asked her where it might be located, saying "You have the address right here (dummy!)"
Taking a deep breath (and on the verge of tears), I told her what I really had come all that way to say. "Is the récipisée that document with my photo stamped on it that you get in the mail?"
"Yes."
"Well...I don't have it."
"You must have received it."
"The thing is...I lost it."
She looked at me in angry disbelief. "Well, you really should get yourself together."
Yup. That was it. No indication of what I should do to fix the situation. And, as tears welled in my eyes, I think it was clear enough that I was torn up about losing the bootleg copy of my temporary residence card. I was teetering between bawling in sorrow/pleading for her forgiveness and being supremely pissed off. There was no excuse for her to talk to me in that way or that tone. Isn't that what she is there for, to help me get my carte de séjour?
Still in a bit of shock, I asked her what I should do. Throwing her hands up in the air, she said in exasperation, "You'll have to go to the commissariat and report the loss of the document to them. Then you have to come back here with a photo so we can get you a new one. And you have to go to the doctor's office to reschedule your appointment. And you have to go today. You should hurry up and fix this."
Great. I stood up and left, in disbelief that anyone could be that mean. I needed to calm down, so I went to the Centre Commerciale and had a hot chocolate and a croissant, while trying to trap a WiFi signal long enough to figure out what the heck a commissariat was. Good news: the office was close to where I live. Bad news: turns out she wanted me to go to the police.
Whether this was all just some cruel joke because she wanted me locked up for stupidity was yet to be seen. I decided to head to the doctor's office first to see what I could do about my medical visit. Possibly the most non-descript building on the most non-descript street in the city, I was greeted by a "Bonjour" right as I walked through the automatic doors. A youngish Arabic woman sat at the acceuil, and asked me if I was there for my medical visit. I explained my problem, and she responded, "The problem is, the office is closed this week, and they wont be able to reschedule you until next week. What I recommend that you do is write a letter and send it by mail with some dates that would be better for you. Then they'll respond to you my mail as well." She smiled. "But I wouldn't worry about it. I think they give you 3 chances to come for the visit, so you should be fine."
She was so nice that I didn't want to bog her down with my stupidity. "A small problem," I said. "The visit is scheduled for this Thursday." I braced myself for the onslaught.
"No problem," she said. "Just send us the letter, and everything will work out."
So it's not that all French civil servants are supreme bitches. It's just that one. So watch out for her.
I decided to make one last sweep of my room to look for the récipissée. It would postpone my visit to the police station, which I was not enthusiastic about. And it would give me a chance to complain to my advisor back at home via email. I carefully went through each of the drawer of my desk. Reaching the final one, which I had looked through at least 15 times, I took out each individual receipt I have kept over the last 4 months and unfolded it. I came across the paper I took to be the code for my bank account -- but lo and behold, it was my récipissé!!
Needless to say, I danced around my room for a few minutes and then did this:
WAHOO!
WAHOO!
I couldn't be happier.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
and the laziness sets in
After dropping my parents off at the airport shuttle yesterday morning, I have left the Pellet apartment once, to go to the library for 2 hours, and then returned. I can't even say I've been working on the term paper I have due for Tuesday, nor on the ridiculous Art History exam I have on Thursday. Instead, I'm spent nearly 5 hours on Facebook yesterday doing nothing at all productive.
I guess my one excuse is that I'm sad my parents are gone - and that a lot of my friends are, too. Which makes me feel like doing nothing but sit around and wallow in my sadness. I honestly don't even care about the work I have to do. But so it goes...
I guess my one excuse is that I'm sad my parents are gone - and that a lot of my friends are, too. Which makes me feel like doing nothing but sit around and wallow in my sadness. I honestly don't even care about the work I have to do. But so it goes...
Saturday, January 3, 2009
new year, same sheets
I'm back in Lyon after a jolly 10 day répos with my parents. Paris is absolutely magical at Christmastime, and I can't wait to go back. Barcelona was great too -- especially since I found this amazing vintage party dress there just in time for New Years -- but it was admittedly awkward to be in one of the party capitals of the world completely sober with dear old mom and dad during a night meant for drunken revelry. Now that I'm back in Lyon and without my parents, I don't quite know what to do with myself. A trip to the movies might be just the trick -- after I figure out how to write a six-page paper on Rousseau, of course.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
all dressed up, and nowhere to go
happy new year from barcelona! one of my resolutions is to write on this blog more often, whether i feel like i have something to say or not. so i'm starting right now.
being here on this crazy day of drunkenness and chaos in one of the party capitals of the word with my parents is just as awkward as i thought. my mom panicked (and almost walked right into the empty circle where revelers were smashing champagne bottles) and my dad has been watching the fiesta from our hotel room window for the last half an hour.
being here on this crazy day of drunkenness and chaos in one of the party capitals of the word with my parents is just as awkward as i thought. my mom panicked (and almost walked right into the empty circle where revelers were smashing champagne bottles) and my dad has been watching the fiesta from our hotel room window for the last half an hour.
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