le bonheur suprême: bliss

The first photo I took of Paris. Or did truly leave États-Unis?

Two months down, two more to go. Halfway done with my time abroad and I am beyond excited to go home. Yes, I am homesick, but that's not the reason I long to go back. Above all, I want to go be in the U.S. to finish what I started three years ago: college.

I am in love with the city and with the continent in general and that's why I am thinking of starting my post-graduate life here. You may ask, where’s “here?” Will it be Paris, anywhere in France, or just somewhere in Europe? Anglophones and Spanish-speakers like myself can survive without the knowing French in Paris, and what I want be forced to speak the language. So, in my ideal future, I would live in the south or le midi de la France, own a farm with my beautiful French husband, and sell the harvests at marchés of nearby cities—perhaps Marseilles or Nice? Yes, I'm thinking too far ahead, but a girl’s gotta dream big right? However, I would not be opposed to living in Paris since most of my ideal jobs are here...like the OECD. 

Now, reflecting back on my current situation, studying abroad in Paris feels like an extended vacation—a dream-like reality. It’s not as extravagant like my living-in-the-south-having-a-farm fantasy, but it’s surreal that I get to walk by Jardin du Luxembourg or that the Eiffel Tower is a metro ride, or a four-mile run, away. I do attend classes (yes, mom, I really do), but the workload is far different and I enjoy studying at cafés (but let’s be real: I usually end up at Starbucks, the most reliable place for Wi-Fi and for being open on Sundays).

My friend and I were discussing our abroad experiences and she did an amazing job at summarizing why we use precious study-time to discover the city. By doing so, finding a small café (with WiFi), or finding a small, hidden street, those moments brings us as “pockets of bliss:” instances that make the tears, frustration, and homesickness worth going through in order to indulge in a moment of pure joy. I may have shed tears for missing home, for feeling frustrated when a local talked to me in English, and for getting lost in the city at night the first week of my arrival. But, when the bliss finds you, you forget those low points of the trip. It’s an integral part of studying abroad: you are given the chance to learn about yourself, to learn about your limits, and to persevere against the challenges of adapting to a new culture. 

And so yesterday, I embraced a “pocket of bliss” after I inadvertently celebrated my two months abroad. Paris went all out for our “monthiversary” since my professor cancelled the night class and my friend from Copenhagen came to the city. Additionally, I discovered that my favorite tapas place offers a cheap formule à midi with sangria included. To top it off, I sat by the Seine with my friend and her Copenhagen classmate and ate my first macarons from Ladurée. And while sitting near Pont des Arts yesterday, I was really tempted to buy a lock and profess my love to Ladurée and its magnificent colorful pastries. 

Tapas at Les Piétons, near Chatêlet metro station in the 4th. 

My true, Parisian love.

It was like eating an actual framboise. 

            After a long night celebrating, I am being semi-productive and working in Place des Vosges, near Victor Hugo’s house. The city offers free Wi-Fi in this open, grassy space, and I get to enjoy the weather while I people watch (hence me being semi-productive). The events that took place yesterday and today make me very thankful for the opportunity to “study” in Paris. It may not be the full year, but I still get an inside look into the life in Europe, which someday, I want to be part of. But for now, I am enjoying my current moment of bliss before another wave of homesickness hits me.

Prior to getting kicked off the grass since it's "hibernating."

To be fair, as the days pass, I've learned to cure such sweeping emotions by going to the greatest fast-food joint America has created and that the French are getting acquainted with: Chipotle.

20 Boulevard Montmartre...I have street,  the metro stop, and sortie  memorized. 

             

La course du dimanche

My final course that I tracked after I came home. I was just surprised as you may be when I realized I ran that much!

          Saturday night, sitting on my bed, nearing 1:00 am, I came up with the grand idea to go on a run from my home-stay all the way to the Eiffel Tower. Little did I know that other avid runners were thinking of doing the same by participating in the 20km Paris run. I would later find that out when I reached Trocadéro and I found myself being the only runner sweating like crazy. 

          
          According to my plan, I would wake up at 7:15am, leave my home-stay by 7:30, and get to Trocadéro around 8:07, the time my good pal Google informed me the sunrise would begin. As I prepared my running essentials, I went on a search for my running jacket and failed to find it: twenty minutes down the drain. Then I go on iTunes to download a French podcast to listen to while I run. I encountered so many options that I spent almost 30 minutes attempting to translate the titles. I ended up choosing one on la politique sociale d'Obama that talked about Obamacare and the most recent political quarrels of États-Unis, which ended up being quite interesting. It was 1:52am and I was finally ready to fall asleep, but I forgot that people are arriving back from their soirées or even starting them. So it took me 20 more minutes to fall asleep to the sound of the music from the floor above me and of the obnoxious laughing happening outside my window.  

The running essentials: my high school watch, shuffle, keys, Navigo pass, and debit card in case of an emergency, which my Les Deux Magots breakfast falls under. 

         
             You might guess that, from the beginning, I was behind schedule. For those who know me quite well might have expected me to have slept through my alarm, but HA, I didn't. Yes, I woke up late, but I was adamant to go on this run, especially since I stuffed my face with pastries the day before. So I left at 7:50am, which gave me no time to get to Trocadéro by 8:07am since I live approximately three miles away. I gave up on the idea of being alone by the Eiffel Tower for sunrise, but as I started my run down rue Guynemer, passing the Jardin du Luxembourg, I decided to take a longer route to see more iconic places of rive Guache before reaching my final destination. So without further ado, I present to you my Sunday morning run:

Fall time in Paris: passing by the entrance of Jardin du Luxembourg.

The pigeons are up and watching me stretch and pray by Saint Sulpice. 

I finally found Pont de Arts completely empty except for one man preparing to sell locks for the day. Fun Fact: the government removes some of the locks every month because they are afraid that the weight will break the bridge.

Completely alone except for some overachieving tourists making the line to greet Mona Lisa.

I finally saw some fellow runners around Jardin des Tuileries.

Place de la Concorde. Reason I started praying at Place de Saint Sulpice: most confusing and
 terrifying crosswalk that exists in Paris.

Just me and the first busload of tourists capturing a photo of l'Arc du Triomphe. 

Impression, soleil levant à la Tour Eiffel.

Done and not yet aware that I ran 4.79 miles! Go me!! 

        

         Overall, it took me around 50 minutes to run 4.79 miles (60 minutes if you include the stops I made to take pictures and search for my location when I got lost on the way to Trocadéro…oops), only one-fourth of the 20km race that happened that morning. I might not be ready for a 20km race since I was gasping for air going up the  five steps of Trocadéro, but seeing all the runners this morning motivated me to begin training for one. Maybe I will run the Washington D.C. Nike Half-Marathon or the 10-mile Cherry Blossom when I am back in Baltimore...or maybe do both? 

Having my "American breakfast" with freshly pressed jus de Pamplemouse while sitting by an older Frenchman enjoying his tartines and espresso at one of Hemingway's most frequented cafés.

          What I do know is that I want to do a sunrise run again, especially while I am in Paris. I get to sightsee, exercise, and save mama from a heart attack as she checks my spending abroad (unless I end up treating myself every time I go running to breakfast at Les Deux Magots…). I want to try to go to the Eiffel Tower one more time for sunrise when I will be sure that no race is happening and I will be one of the few living souls awake. After that, I will take myself somewhere else and explore another part of the city. I haven't been to Sacre-Coeur so maybe that will my next destination? You will have to stay tune to see where I go next Saturday or Sunday…

Going home. 

Le premier poste

Best time to visit: during the evening with a 

gelato cone in hand or devouring a pizza

from the local Italian restaurant. 

It’s almost 11pm on a Saturday night in Paris and am sitting cross-legged on my bed trying to do work, but instead, I decided to start this blog. I have completed six weeks of classes, and lived in Paris for seven (going into eight), and here I am, late as always, writing my first post. Before arriving, I wanted to started a blog, but I did not get serious about it until I finished reading Hemingway's Moveable Feast. He was a frequent visitor of the area I am living in and to know that I walk the same routes as he once did fills my heart with joy and makes me fall more in love with this city. Therefore, I want to share my experiences on this blog with you all like he did in his memoir, which is a must-read!  

For now, since I should get back to work, I leave you with this picture of Place Saint Sulpice: one of my favorite spots in Paris that I walk by when I head over to "uni" (the word I learned from my Aussie and British friends since they laughed at me when I used to say "school"). More posts will follow about this lovely location and of my previous weeks here in Paris, Europe, and my adventures of adjusting to its culture: let's just say that I've perfected the art of charades. À bientôt!