January, fresh from the oven

Sorry for the month-long leave.  I’m back!  And I have too many tales to tell.  Its actually a real problem.  And I’m sick so I’m not really in the mood to write. Hm. 

Ok so 31 days in January.  Here are the first 31 things that come to mind corresponding to the numbers 1-31.  Let’s see if this works.

1 – number of whole lizards found in the bottle of some Chinese drink being served at a Slovakian birthday party in Paris I went to

2 days – time after the marathon required before I could descend stairs properly again

3 dirhams – cost of a glass of fresh-squeezed Moroccan orange juice (25 cents)

4 hours, 14 minutes, 27 seconds – my time at the Marathon of Marrakesh

5 pairs of skis – crammed into a tiny two-door hatchback already questionably overloaded with five passengers and their gear for the New Years trip in the mountains, an hour+ drive from Grenoble.

6 – number of large French fries André and I ate for free at the French fastfood joint “Quality Burger” in one sitting

7 – number of peanut butter Clif Bars consumed before and after the marathon that may have been contaminated with salmonella

8 hours – approximately how long my Grenoble friends and I were marching in deep snow in the mountains after dark on New Year’s Eve searching for a cabin – the same day I returned to France from the States

9,000 vertical feet of off-piste skiing I did in one afternoon in the high Alps

10.25 out of 20 – the grade I got on a paper for my French class that I wrote frantically after New Years in Grenoble (10 is passing)

11th of February – date of my departure back to Middlebury

12 camels seen during the marathon

13 number of times Amanda, Eirik, and I jumped off of beds in our hostel before we managed to get a picture with the three of us in the air

14 lbs of Käsespätzle(*) I could have eaten by myself when the Germans girls cooked in Grenoble

15 minutes – time spent being pursued by a Moroccan guy who really wanted us to eat at his restaurant

16h00 – time you should leave Eirik’s appartment in Grenoble if you want to run the Bastille in time for the sunset

17 – French 911, which I called for the first time after being harassed verbally and physically by a shady Parisian character in the street in front of my apartment as I said goodbye to Andy for the last time.  The guy asked me if I had a lighter, I said no, and somehow things escalated from there… don’t ask me.

18 degrees Celsius - typical high in Marrakech during January (68 Fahrenheit?)

19% – my comprehension rate when my English friend Andy is speaking (in English)

20 drunk French students – what we found in our cabin deep in the mountains where we celebrated New Years

21 pages – of French I had to write for final papers at Sciences Po in less than a week

22 days since I started wearing glasses

23h00 – time we arrived at the cabin for New Years – yep almost missed it.

24 – number of times I ate it hard while descending a mountain on XC skis after New Years

25 minutes I spent laughing while watching Andy eat a cow’s foot in Morocco

26.2 miles / 42.195 km = MARATHON

27 member states in the EU – ok I good, I’ve learned something in my EU class this semester.

28 leashed monkeys running around the main square in Marrakesh that are trying to jump on your shoulders while you’re not looking. 

29% – my comprehension rate when my Norwegian friend Eirik is speaking (in Norwegian)

30cm of snow in Indiana that I am missing out on (1 ft?)

31 cars – probably close to the number which quite nearly hit Andy, Eirik, and me as we tried to cross the roundabout at the Arch de Triomph

January photos

The party cabin, burried in New Year’s snow.

 

REAL skiing!!!

 

Marathon of Marrakesh (Morocco) at the 20km / 12.4 mile marker – Halfway there… still smiling at this point.

 

First good snow in Paris! 2 Feb

Pass GO and collect 200 Euros / Monopoly in Madrid

So the other day, I found 200 Euros.  And then lost it.

I exaggerate a little.  But essentially thats what happened.  My French bank sends me a text every Tuesday afternoon with my balance, which is totally overkill because I never put any money in it besides the 70 Euro reward for opening the account, and don’t plan on putting anymore in there.  Its always 70 Euros.  However, the past several SMS have had numbers such as “150″, “180″, and “205″ Euros as my present balance.  The first couple times, it was kind of exciting to think I was receiving mysterious but handsome sums in my pocket.  Money in the bank!  But since I clearly had not been making deposits like that, I started to get a little concerned that perhaps I actually owed these amounts and had been misinterpreting the messages (was it a positive or negative balance?), or that someone else had control of my account or something.  Each time the amount got bigger, and I became more and more confused, and a little paranoid.  So I went to the bank to verify the facts.  As it turns out, it was an error on the banks part, and they were just systematically giving me cash every week by mistake (how kind of them!).  It was reassuring to know that I was not in the red by 200 Euros and that my financial French vocab was solid afterall, but I was kicking myself for voluntarily handing over all that free money!  Looks like I made the bigger mistake by pointing it out.

One more thing.  Last week I went to Madrid with a couple friends from Middlebury to visit other friends from Middlebury studying there.  It was such a CRAZY city!  First of all, the weather was like early fall in Paris, in the low 60s F.  Secondly, the place was decked out for Christmas, making an already beautiful city look like a (warm) winter wonderland.  But most importantly, I learned that even though Spain is within the same time zone as France, they actually operate at least 3 hours behind.  Restaurants don’t start service until 8 or 9 PM and are rarely busy until 10.  Bars are open until 3 on weeknights, unlike Paris where they all mostly close at 1, and I don’t think they even try to close on the weekends.  Spaniards are nocturnal creatures I guess. 

And of course, being on a budget, we ate at MacDonalds several times (daily?).  And to make things even more fun, they had the Monopoly promotion going with famous addresses of Madrid.  By the time we left, I had a backpack full of Monopoly pieces, only two among them being winners (for El BigMacs).

I also got groped by a prostitute in the street, drank Spanish ‘hot chocolate’ (which is literally a glass of melted solid chocolate), and slept at the Madrid airport from 5AM to 3PM Sunday afternoon.

December at last

Thanksgiving in France.  What was I thankful for?  The fact that Sciences Po lets us choose our own due dates for work.  I am essentially finished with the bulk of my work for the semester, meaning the two months that still remain will be mostly stress free.  I might actually have time to train for that marathon now! Fun.

As for the holiday dinner, I actually had three.  The first was hosted by the Middlebury School in Paris at a bistro on the Seine, which included a lot of wine and not a lot of turkey (none actually).  That was Tuesday.  Wednesday night, my host-parents served a pot of raw oysters and cooked up a feasant for me. I was honestly under the impression that it was just a small turkey, up until the point where he told me he had shot it during his feasant hunt in Normandy over the weekend.  I should have known from the oysters that it was going to be an unorthodox Thanksgiving dinner.  Thursday, the big day, I cooked for myself.  That meant pasta.  Not a trace of Thanksgiving spirit in my cuisine.  I did eat peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies for dessert in true American fashion though. 

So last week I had to explain to our house maid what Thanksgiving consisted of back in the States, since she wasn’t exactly sure.  Then today she greeted me with a really confused look and told me about the Wal-Mart employee that was killed in a mad rush Friday morning at the opening of his store.  “Your holiday is strange.”  I guess I forgot to include the part about Black Friday. 

Today I did something really brave.  I took the bus to school instead of the metro.  It was a huge step for me, and I’m so glad I finally had the courage to do it.  You wouldn’t believe how much nicer the view is.

And I can not claim to be the artist behind this shot, but my friend from Middlebury is.  I like it.

Over and out from the office (I refer to McDonalds as ‘the office’ now).

Shiver me timbers

Remember that part in The Day After Tomorrow when the eye of the storm passes over New York and sucks all the warmth out of the entire city, rendering it frozen and lifeless?  I feel like a much less cataclysmic but nonetheless parallel rendition of that scene took place in Paris yesterday.  It got cold.  And I actually saw snow flakes from my window.  Real snow flakes! 

The day preceding winter’s arrival, however, was the occasion for a great reunion of Middlebury students from far and wide: a handful studying from Paris, one from Madrid, and two from the real deal all the way in Vermont.  We wandered around the streets of Montmartre searching for a pizza place that we were supposed to be able to smell from the metro station, but that was false.  Instead we discovered cobbled streets where if you stopped and held your breath, you could actually hear nothing.  Nothing at all.  Complete silence.  Of all the priceless works of art and diverse treasures found in Parisian museums, the sensation of silence in the middle of the city was far more beautiful and in my opinion more prized.  I’m clearly not a museum goer.

If anyone sees a package from the US addressed to “Nathan Williams” postmarked October 1st floating around, please seize it immediately and let me know where you are so that I can buy a plane ticket and retrieve it from you.  Thanks!

I can’t wait to see this movie!!

 

This happy-go-lucky Frenchmen goes State-side with a camera attached to his shoulder to “meet Americans” and “share their life”.  And he succeeds.

I got my computer back!

Aside from that, not much is new.  But I thought I’d bring up two short confrontations with French culture I’ve had recently. 

Firstly, I’m taking a class called ‘French and foreign prisons’ which is taught by a former prison manager and present UMP representative (major right-wing political party in France), so he’s an interesting guy.  Anyhow, we got to take a field trip to a prison in the suburbs of Paris a few weeks ago.  It was such an eye opener!  After studying the French carceral system for half a semester, we’d learned a lot.  But seeing the actual context of all the statistics and stories was pretty terrifying.  For example, France, like most countries, has a real problem with overpopulation in its prisons.  This year there are an estimated 65,000 detainees occupying space sufficient for just 50,000.  For the prison we visited, which is the second largest in the country, that means operating at 114% capacity.  Frightening.  The incarceration rate continues to climb, and sits around 75 inmates per 100,000 people.  While that poses a pretty legitimate problem, I’ve also learned that in the US that figure is over 700/100,000.  Yikes America. 

Another interesting bit about the French prison system: they don’t sort detainees between prisons by their potential security risk like in the States and Canada (minimum, medium, maximum, super maximum security).  I’m 95% sure I heard our professor say, in all seriousness, that they are sorted between the institutions alphabetically by last name.  But thankfully, they do take risk into consideration at the institutional level with a similar ranking system to ours, corresponding to different parts of the prison.  They also sort by geographical region of origin.  We took special note of the wing designated for those who “have not quite mastered the French language”, according to our host.  I guess you could say it is my double mission then to not someday wind up in such a cell, firstly because I’d rather not be in prison, but also because I would really like to master the French language.  There were also fine paintings adorning the walls, like in the Louvre.  And of course we saw rats. 

Next stop, the Stadium of France.  Several Middlebury friends and I joined over 60,000 chearing fans (an interesting visual since that also corresponds to the number of inmates in French prisons) to support the French soccer team take on Uraguay.  Such a spectacle!  I’m pretty sure the security checkpoints we passed through were more stringent than European airport security standards.  It was a great, and chilly, game to watch, but it ended rather anticlimactically 0-0 without shoutouts or anything. 

So picture your average American sports spectator, probably wearing a jersey, baseball cap, or t-shirt or his favorite player or team.  Well in France, that token of team loyalty takes the form of a scarf.  A scarf!  If it weren’t for the history of pretty intense riots and violence associated with ‘football’ games, I’d call them a bunch of sissies.

Did you know Uraguay is only 3 hours different from France?  Meaning 2 hours from London?  Crazy.

mon monde entier tombe en panne

Lots of things have gone utterly wrong this week, namely the technology i rely on to perform my daily activities.  My computer has fallen into a deep and seemingly permanent sleep, my cell phone mysteriously stopped letting me make calls, the plumbing in my family’s kitchen has gone out of control, and I nearly set fire to the 17th arrondissement with our toaster. Despite all this, I am encouraged by the fact that 1. I have not shrivelled up and died without constant access and use of these technological luxuries I am normally so dependent on and 2. I have managed to get over my fear of speaking phone French after having to call countless plumbers, Orange France reps (my cell provider, not actually orange french people i presume at least), computer repairmen, and host mothers.  Getting my homework done on the other hand… those results are not so encouraging.

In other news, the intrepid travelling duo of Amanda Quinlan and HKay Merrimen (friends from Middlebury) came to Paris last weekend.  Seeing as the two of them really wanted to see Versailles, I had never been there myself; and that we’re ambitious and fearless Americans, we decided to go there by foot.  Running, that is.  Google maps layed out a nice 15km route from my doorstep to that of the late King Louiss (how do you make Louis plural?). The one I ended up leading us on was pushing more like 25.  Bonus 10km through forests and suburbs!  See Amandas blog for details. 

Then in the middle of the week, another friend (Jean) and I took off on Ryanair to the village of Nottingham, England, where we met up with two other friends from Midd studying there (Alex and Chris).  We spent less than 24 hours on the ground with them, but seeing as the place is not as colorful or enchanting as the Disney Robin Hood film might have you convinced, we weren’t missing out on much by leaving so soon.  My lasting impressions of Nottingham: English accents are funny.