French Word of the Day: ballet (you already know how to pronounce this)- ballet

I’m writing this post, so I haven’t been kidnapped.  I hope you’re not all as upset by this turn of events as I am.  Really, the Phantom needs to step up his game.  Maybe he left because the Opera Garnier has become mostly ballets?  I suppose I can accept that.

During the last ballet I attended, Le Parc, I had no idea what was going on.  (to view my complete and utter incomprehension, go here: http://meghantravelstheworld.blogspot.com/2009/03/last-night-i-saw-ballet-entitled-le.html )  Although to be fair, it was entirely symbolic.  You can’t exactly find a plot when there isn’t one (but of course, I tried).

Paquita, however, HAS a plot.  Go Paquita!  I know this because I wikipediaed it.  I wasn’t having another Le Parc incident.  Wikipedia informed me that the main character was a girl named Paquita.  (Suddenly, the name of the ballet makes sense!)  Paquita is kidnapped by gypsies as a child.  She falls in love with a Spanish officer and saves his life when the gypsy king tries to kill him.  He returns with her to his family, and they discover that she’s actually of noble birth and (gasp) his cousin.  Incest has always been encouraged among nobility, so they marry.

That sounds like a play of a decent length, right?  I thought too.  I said, “AWESOME!  I don’t see any room for symbolism here.”

Eventually I’ll learn that ballets don’t follow the norms of literature what with the rising action and the falling action and the saving the climax until the very end to keep the audience enthralled.

The first 25 minutes didn’t involve an introduction of main characters or plot.  Instead, it was what I assume to be the ballet equivalent of break-dance fighting.  I was trying to figure out where Paquita and her Spanish officer were, but they hadn’t even entered the scene.

After the 25th minute, the scene changed and the gypsies entered.  A girl in a white dress came on who looked like Natalie Portman (from my seat at the back of the opera house she looked like Natalie Portman.  I’m sure at the front of the opera house she looks like Danny Devito).  I thought to myself, “Self, Natalie HAS to be Paquita!”  And then a man who was wearing pants more tight and more padded in the family jewels area than any of the other men on stage entered, and I thought to myself, “Self, only the Spanish officer would try that hard.”

It should be noted that he looked like Paul Rudd with a fro (or 70’s Ken; your choice).  Therefore, in my head I referred to the two main characters as Paul and Natalie for the rest of the play.

Because they’re both hot, Paul and Natalie fall in love right away and have the traditional holy-crap-I-love-you-after-two-minutes-together dance.

Then they exit and more break-dance ballet ensues.

I suppose at this point, the writer of the ballet said to himself, “I should probably get this plot moving at some point, shouldn’t I?  I mean, nothing really has happened for the first 35 minutes.”  So within the next ten minutes before the intermission, he threw in the arrangement of the murder of Paul Rudd, the murder attempt, and Natalie Portman’s brave save of Paul.

It was a rather eventful ten minutes.

When the curtain closed, I thought, “How are they going to spread out the end?  There’s not much else happening.  Oh!  Maybe Paul’s family is going to reject Natalie for awhile before they realize they’re related to each other?”

There I go again, thinking about capturing audience attention with plot.  Silly Meghan!

Jenna and I used the intermission to buy overpriced-but-fabulous glasses of white wine and drink them on the balcony.  It was the prettiest venue in which I have consumed alcohol.  Also, I wanted to make myself readily available in case the Phantom wanted to appear.

(We were on one of the balconies of the second floor- a.k.a. the PRETTY ones.)

When the curtain raised for the second act, Paul and Natalie rushed in and accused the general who plotted with the gypsy king to kill Paul, the general was arrested, Natalie saw a portrait of her father and made a gesture (people can’t talk in ballet.  it’s forbidden to have vocal chords) that she had the exact same medallion he was painted with in the picture.  Everyone realized that this meant she was his daughter and of noble birth (it doesn’t occur to them that she could have stolen it or that more than one medallion was made and she just has a copy).  They began planning her marriage to Paul after a minute of hugging, because while it’s not okay to marry a talented, beautiful gypsy dancer of no relation who just saved your life, marrying your cousin is awesome.

If that was confusing to read, it was also a bit confusing to watch.  Thankfully, I had wikipediaed it or I would have wondered why Natalie kept gesturing at the portrait and why she had fainted onstage.  Also, the white wine I had consumed at intermission added to my comprehension, because everything makes more sense after a glass of wine.

Again, this part took ten minutes.

I might have tried to spread the plot out a bit more, but the writer decided that 20 minutes of plot was sufficient for a 90 minute ballet.  Who really needs a plot for more than a third of the play?

Like I said, I would have done it differently, but then, I’ve never written a successful ballet.  Coincidence?

Despite its smashed plot, it really was a gorgeous ballet.  It made me wish I could dance like that.  And that I lived in the opera house.

Still waiting, Phantom.

Pain au chocolat count: 20

French Word of the Day: fantôme (phantom)- phantom, ghost

I’m going to Opera Garnier tonight for a ballet.

I’m telling you this so that if I never write another post again, you’ll know it’s because I was kidnapped by this guy:

Don’t worry.  I’m sure we’ll be very happy together.

Pain au chocolat count: 20, but I’m sure the Phantom has some in his lair.

French Word of the Day: l’air (lair)-  the air of, semblance of

Théo and I went to a party last night at his cousin’s.  One of her friends began talking to us and said, “Wait Meghan, you have a slight accent.  Where are you from?”  And when I told him, he said, “You have the air of a Frenchwoman.  Coming from a Frenchman, this is a compliment.”

Yessssssssssssssssssssssss.  Life’s mission accomplished.  Got a real compliment from a Frenchman.

He’s not kidding.  In French eyes, anything French is automatically the best.  Food?  France is best.  Fashion?  The best.  Soccer?  Not so much, but we can pretend.

We then met some of Théo’s friends at a bar.  They were all intensely fascinated with my Americanism.  I’ve never been drilled so thoroughly on my culture.  (I take that back.  Arnaud, you are the all-time, undisputed most-questions-about-America champion.)

At one point, they had me pick a song.  When I asked what kind of song, they said, “Something that’s popular in American now that will be popular in France in a month.”  I haven’t been in America for a month, so it stood to reason that they would know whatever I chose.  I told them to look on the American section of iTunes.  We did break out into some “Barbie Girl” and “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”  Neither was my influence.  They chose that on their own.  The music choices degenerated towards the end of the night when more alcohol had been consumed.

It’s Sunday, so everything’s closed, but Théo and I attempted to find pain au chocolat.  All the bakeries were closed.  We went to many different neighborhoods in search of a pain au chocolat.  The only ones we could find looked like they would taste awful (Théo is also a pain au chocolat guru).  We decided to go with “the best crepe place in Paris” (which also equates to the most expensive).  I can settle for a crepe with nutella.  It was a pretty darn good crepe.  I don’t know if it was worth 5 euro, but it was pretty darn good.

To top off the day, we saw this:

It’s blurred, but yes, that is Batman next to the girl in the white coat.  Why was Batman hanging outside a French movie theatre when he doesn’t have any movies coming out?

I don’t know.  Gotham is boring right now?  If I was a billionaire like Bruce Wayne, I’d go to Paris all the time.

Pain au chocolat count: Still 20 (not for lack of trying)

French Word of the Day: étoiles (ay-twahle)- stars

The stars have all aligned and peace has come to the world again.  What does that mean?  I finally got internet in my foyer!!!!!!!  I can communicate with the world!

My group went to Versailles this weekend.  It was my fourth time at Versailles, but if you’re only going to see one castle in your life; Versailles should be it.  It’s huge and impressive and overdecorated.  If you ever see another castle after Versailles, your reaction is “Oh, this is it?  Come on guys, you can do better.”

But Versailles had a surprise for me!  Someone who works at Versailles (who will soon be my friend) decided to spike controversy by taking a Japanese manga exhibit and putting it right in the middle of some of the castle’s most famous rooms.

Have no idea what I’m talking about?  How about a photo!

I burst out laughing when I saw this one.  Some of the people in my group were shocked and appalled that the famed Hall of Mirrors that normally looks like this:

Had this in the middle of it:

Even though none of them could tell you the historical significance of the room (Treaty of Versailles ending WWI, anyone?), they still felt unjustifiable anger towards “whatever idiot had decided to ruin the beauty of Versailles.”

They looked a bit like this guy:

Jenna and I explained to them that Versailles was built at a time when many of the people in France were starving.  The royal court literally moved away from their problems and built an excessively large and extravagant castle instead of aiding the people dying on the streets.  We thought the art was extremely thought-provoking and that its purpose was to show the ridiculousness of Versailles.  (Well, that was Jenna’s eloquent explanation.  I just thought it was hilarious.)

We’re either really good at arguing or none of the people in our group had extensive knowledge of French history because suddenly, everyone else with us decided they liked the art.  They even liked this lady:

She looks a bit like a French maid, non?

I plan on updating more this week now that the internet has returned to me.  I hope you all enjoyed the lovely pictures.

Speaking of pictures, thank you for all the offers from my last post!  You will be helping making this less white:

Wow, that looks dull.  At least the bedspread is orange.  Girl’s gotta have some color.

The room is much bigger than my last one.  I can actually walk in it AND when I spread my arms out their full length, I’m unable to touch both sides of the room at the same time.  In Paris, this is the spacial equivalent of a six-story mansion.

For all of you who fear my room is a desolate place, I give you this photo:

Yes, that is a dolphin laundry hamper.  His name is Dusty, and he’s my friend.  Théo walked in, saw him and said, “That’s for children.”  I’m ignoring him.  (Théo, not Dusty.)

The French are striking again tomorrow (the retirement age thing again).  My normal metro line is working at 50% (this means there will only be half of the normal cars in operation… rush hour is gonna suck), so I need to figure out how to walk from school.  This should only take 90 minutes.  Thank God I don’t have morning classes on Tuesdays…

Pain au chocolat count: 18

French Word of the Day: fille de malchance (fee duh mall-shonce)- badluck girl

The bakery by my school still has the best pain au chocolat ever. I’m convinced it’s just chocolate wrapped in a huge stick of butter. This has nothing to do with the rest of the entry; it just needed to be said.

Also, my ear infection is better!

The rest is a bit of a rant until the very end. You can skip to the end if you would like. I marked the end. The rant explains why I haven’t updated in a week.

I have finally moved into my foyer where I have met all of five people. One of these people calls me “fille de malchance,” because I had an unforunate first few days in the foyer.

I was set to move on Monday. My class ended at 5pm. Shelley sent me an email at lunchtime that said, “You need to be at the new foyer by 7pm, or you’re S.O.L.” Only in French. (That’s not a direct translation, but it was the essence of the email. I don’t think there is a French phrase for S.O.L.)

Problem: My first foyer was over a half hour from school, I had to sign out of that foyer, and I had to drag my stuff across Paris to my new foyer. I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to be able to make it. I was making contingency plans in my head for the night in case I missed my 7pm deadline.

Through sheer willpower and adreneline, I made it with about 10 minutes to spare. Corrine, the director, showed me to my room which was awesome. It has a kitchen and a bed with sheets, and a bathroom… And I didn’t need to move anymore! What more could I ask for?

Except the lights were mysteriously off. Corrine fiddled with the switchbox, but there was still no light. Or running water. The guy from my foyer (I don’t know his name- malchance guy?) came in and also attempted to make it work to no avail. At this point, Corrine begun speaking in rapid French about electricity, and I realized that my room and I would be seperated for yet another night.

I finally got into my new room the next morning and unpacked. It was beautiful. “Now,” I thought, “I can use the internet! Yay internet!” I bought the internet package the foyer has and signed on using the password they gave me…

… and got an error message. When I went down to talk to Corrine, she informed me that I would have to wait at least two days to talk to the other director of the foyer.

The internet and I have a very intense relationship. I’m very dependent on it. It’s a very one-sided relationship; I’m the needy girlfriend that calls 10 times a day. Not having the internet has been very difficult. I still have no idea how people existed before it. I assume you actually had to talk to people and look up things in books.

I won’t be getting the internet until Tuesday, because that is when the director of the foyer and I are finally in the building at the same time. I have Fridays free, so I assumed I would get it today, but he takes off Fridays. And Saturdays. And Sundays. And never is in the building by the time I get home from school. Really, I’m not entirely sure he exists.

END OF RANT

Other than a lack of electricity and internet, the foyer has been lovely. My room is new and pretty. I’ll show pictures when I have my real computer back.

The only problem with my room? The walls are big and white! I need some pictures, but I can’t print things out. I have a favor to ask of everyone willing to do so: can you send me pictures or postcards or something random you printed from your computer? Email me at mehartsell@gmail.com, and I will send you my address. I don’t even care what the picture is of: a leg, an arm, the backyard next door, but I do ask that it does not contain:

1. Someone naked
2. Vomit/ Blood/ Guts
3. Pro-Cubs sentiments

I’ll send everyone who gives me something a postcard with a poem written specifically for them in either French or English (sender’s choice! note: the English ones will be better), and make a special section on the blog dedicated to these poems.

Pain au chocolat count: 18

French Word of the Day: nuit blanche (new-e blah-ne-che)- literally white night; all-nighter

The mayor of Paris is crazy, as anyone could expect; the man runs a metropolis the size of a small country.  He’s openly gay (which has caused a controversy even here), and has made an effort to do insane things.  For example, he shut down the lower highway by the Seine and covered it in sand and imported palm trees this summer.  It was for the poorer people of Paris who couldn’t afford a vacation.

The people in the suburbs trying to get home were displeased, but the people who lived in Paris had a gay ol’ time.

He also started Nuit Blanche around 2002.  Paris turns into one big art festival and they have art and exhibits all over the streets, such as this light up display on the bridge by my foyer:

(I was not as impressed with this one, but it has been blocking the bridge for most of this week, so I thought I’d take a picture of it.)

The one by the Hôtel de Ville was much cooler.

All of the lights say “Love Differences” in different languages.  I couldn’t get them clearly, but you can see the Arabic in pink on the left.

The coolest display by far was at Louis Vuitton.  Normally, I believe you need an appointment to even enter the building.  (I could be horribly misled.  I’ve never bought any Louis Vuitton.)  Tonight, it was open to the public a.k.a. the people too poor to afford Louis Vuitton.

It had a Peter-Pan-themed modern art display.  Not being an avid admirer of modern art, I understood only part of it.  One was entitled “Spiders, Monkeys, and Spirits” and I’m pretty sure it contained none of those three things.  Nor did it have anything to do with Peter Pan.  The hallway, however, was painted as the forest of Neverland with all the Lost Boys asleep on the ground.  Some of them were actually dead and skeletal because… this is France.  Childhood innocence?  What’s that?

I can’t show you any pictures because the security guards were anti-cameras, but I can show you the view from the balcony.  This is the rich people view of Paris:

Not bad.

Of course, my favorite part of the night had to do with food.  In 2006, the French developed some program devoted entirely to proving that bread is healthy for you called “Observatoire du pain”.  Tonight, they are giving out a free bag containing a roll, croissant, and piece of baguette.  I’m using present tense because this ends at 7am.  Will I wake up and get some?  Probably not.

Jenna and I made dinner tonight with three others from our program (Emily, Dustin, and Courtney).  We went a little overboard and made enough food to feed a small nation.  Even though it was entirely too much, we managed to consume all of it.  With that meal and the bread from the Observatoire, I don’t believe I’ll need to eat for the next week.

Except maybe pain au chocolat.  Twice.  Tomorrow morning.

For now, sleep.  I’ve managed to acquire an ear infection and need a bit of rest.  The doctor I went to was very comforting.  He said, “Oh yeah, you’ll get just slammed with infections for the next month because everything is so new.  You’ll be fine just in time to go back to the US and get slammed with all their infections.”

I believe my response was “awesome; looking forward to that,” because I don’t think you can thank someone for giving you that kind of information.

Pain au chocolat count: 16

French Word of the Day: doggy bag (dough-gee bahg)- doggy bag

There is a French word, but no one uses it.  The French won’t tell you this, but they secretly like throwing English words into their everyday jargon.  Sure, they have a government institution entirely devoted to “frenchifying” imported words from other languages, but who listens to the government?

Side note: the government sometimes rejects the French-Canadian version of words like “courriel” for email (the true French word is “mél”) because they can.  Of course, in real life everyone calls it “email”.  I’ve heard “courriel” used, but never “mél” which shows how effective their language people are.

Back to food.  Doggy bags aren’t as widely used here as they are in the States.  It most likely has to do with the fact that you get 1/3 of the amount of food at restaurants.

My current foyer has been an experience.  It doesn’t have a kitchen, so we’re expected to eat dinner and breakfast at the foyer and scavenge for food on our own in the afternoon.

There isn’t a lot of variation in the meals.  For example, Monday: meat, pasta covered in cheese, spinach covered in cheese, yogurt, creme brulee, and cheese.  (It always baffles me that after having everything covered in cheese, people still need more cheese.)

Problem: I’m extremely lactose-intolerant.  (Yeah, yeah, you’re all thinking, “What are you doing in France, crazy?!”  They have bread too, fyi.  And chocolate.  I have all the major food groups covered.)

This is the actual French Food Pyramid:

Of course, some people think it looks more like this:

(Can you tell I’ve been having fun with paint?  New drawings EVERY post!!!!!!!!!!!  Note: this will probably not happen.)

Both are true.  The French need the butter because they walk everywhere.  They are walk-a-philes.  (Is there a real word for that?  Someone look it up; I’m lazy.)  I think they burn 5 billion more calories per day than the average American.  This is a low guess.

Théo and I went on a date last night (we can do that now that we’re in the same country).  It was just going to be a movie, but I made it dinner and a movie to ensure that I was able to eat.  (I hold little hope for my foyer dinners.)

I found the only place in France that gives American-sized portions: Japanese restaurants.

They gave us wine and soy chips to start off, followed by soup, followed by salad… I was done after that.  Except then they gave me 16 pieces of sushi.  And candy afterward.  It’s a great testament to the candy that I was able to eat it at all.  The sushi was not so lucky.  I think I left two pieces (and that was after Théo ate three or four).

I’m looking at it now, and it doesn’t seem like that much food.  I promise it was.  Maybe being in France for four weeks has warped my ideal food portions?

The film was Wallstreet in English with French subtitles so that we would both understand what was going on.  I mean, I’m taking a business class, but I don’t think I could figure out how to translate stock market lingo in French. It’s not that intense of a business class.  For example, today we got advice for destressing after returning to work after a long vacation (also known in France as the entire months of July and August).  I’m not sure if learning stock market lingo is in our future.  Or if the French are off holiday long enough to have developed stock market lingo.

Tonight, Arnaud, Théo and I return to Hetfeelds, our old haunt.  (Are the kids still using that word?  Maybe I should have gotten a BA in Modern Literature.)  Because our program group (the one from the US) is a bit clingy, everyone from that will be joining us as well.

Pain au chocolat count: 16

French Word of the Day: foyer (foy-yay)- a dorm-living place for students and young adults with internships usually between 18-25 years of age

I’ve made it to Paris and foyer number one!

I move into foyer number two (and get my own room, bathroom, and kitchette) in one week!

For now, I’m in one next to Notre Dame.  We arrived on Saturday, and the director said, “I can’t show you around.  Here’s a key.  I’ll show you tomorrow.  Or you can ask one of the girls.”

There were no girls to be found.  I entered my room, and saw that my roommate was gone.  I found a sink and bidet in the room and showers in the hall, but I could not find a toilet.  As someone who frequently uses one, I thought this was an important omission.

I did finally meet my roommate, Cris.  Like last time, she’s a Spanish girl from Madrid.  And, like last time, she’s awesome. She’s not great at French or English, so we’ve been mixing French, Spanish, and English.

She asked me what kind of music I liked, and I told her anything but country.  She didn’t know what that was, so I youtubed Kenny Chesney’s “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”  Cris decided that she also disliked country.

I didn’t actually have class today!  Shelley told the school we’d be missing.  My old schedule had five classes, one on each day of the week.  Monday-Friday.  None of them overlapped days.  Today, Shelley gave me a new schedule and said, “I didn’t notice that two of your classes were at the same time, so here’s a new schedule.”

Maybe she didn’t realize they were at the same time but different days?  Anyway, my new schedule is better because I don’t have class on Fridays!!!!!!!  Yay sleep!!!!

I took Jenna to Arnaud’s.  I don’t think I warned her about how American he is, but she figured it out.  American rap music greeted us at the door.  Arnaud made us crepes and put hot dogs and ketchup in them (they were quite good… just not what you’d expect) 😉  He also put on ESPN and we (or rather THEY) watched a football game.  We also had Coke.  (The drink, not the drug.)  It was rather like being in the US.

I missed Paris.  I’m glad to be back.  🙂

Pain au chocolat count: 14