Ramblings....

I realized I never updated y'all on my trip to Normandie a few weekends ago. Normandie, while slightly more north and less inland than Paris, managed to be quite sunny and temperate. The trip was organized by Sweet Briar, which always means a lot of bus tours and guided tours - but! we had a super magnifique time.

One of our first stops was Omaha Beach, the sight of D-Day. The cemetery and memorial were rather sobering and the amount of American tourists there was shocking but...

... Nora and I couldn't manage to jump for joy at being at the ocean. It was my first time seeing the ocean since being here. Nora remarked that she could just barely make out her house in New England..... we quite enjoyed her Sarah Palin logic.

Our next stop was Utah Beach... a few kilometers down the road. This was German occupied territory in la deuxieme guerre mondiale. The large rivets in this picture (they were PARTOUT, dozens of them) are the remnants of British attacks.

The next morning we went to Mont Saint Michel. This island-turned castle was actually an abbé. When the tide comes in it is completely fortified and surrounded by quicksand.

We took a guided audio tour.... but mostly gave up after a few tracks and had a lovely time just taking pictures :)

This is Natasha, a fellow Trojan and a pro-poser.

Anyways, Normandie was such a great time that j'ai perdu ma voix mais ça va......

Back in Paris with Matt and Nora. It's FINALLLLLY sunny in Paris (70+ degrees today, and over 80 yesterday!!). If anyone had any doubt, I am indeed in Paris.... and there is picture proof.

But not for long!!!!!! As of today I am officially on Les vacances de la Pâques - Easter Break! - for two whole weeks. I'll be sticking around Paris for the weekend (Saturday Nora, Katherine and Hannah and I are having Greek Night supplemented nicely with Mamma Mia, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and My Big Fat Greek Wedding) but depart Tuesday for Espagne! I'll be spending a few days in Madrid before departing with Andrew to the south of Spain and Morocco.... I expect it will look something like this ad - which has been taunting me in the metros for the past few weeks.

Bon week-end tout le monde. À plus,

Clara

Life, evidemment trop dificil

Oh heyyyy there Paris. Yes it's springtime! I think I can safely say that it appears we will not be hitting another cold front, cross your fingers, in my last few months here (omg only 81 more days whatttt). Today it was definitely in the double-digit celcius degrees.

Yesterday I passed a lovely day in the grass outside of Invalides, on the banks of the Seine with my friends Sophie and Natasha. We had planned on going to an art museum, but the sun was way too inviting to pass up so we ended up lounging for a few hours listening to David Sedaris's Me Talk Pretty One Day on tape. I highly recommend reading it - we agreed it completely justifies our life here in Paris, one spent not in the Louvre or the Orsay but namely in movie theaters or eating bagels or window shopping or devouring large and overpriced American breakfasts or idolizing grocery stores/markets or ice skating. But.... can't you do these things in the US? you might ask..... and in the words of Mr. Sedaris, "But..... can I?"

Also, in my scads of free time I managed to snap a few pictures of the current exposition at my internship. Est-ce que vous avez des questions?

My internship has become quite the art installation lui-même. I call it Never Finished: a study on envelopes. Yes I have been spending a considerable amount of time with these envelopes lately, helping these envelopes along each and every step of the way ..... buying envelopes, stuffing envelopes, sealing envelopes, addressing envelopes, meticulously printing etiquettes with the gallery's address to be carefully put in the corners of envelopes, counting envelopes, tucking envelopes into brown paper bags with a warm glass of milk and a bedtime story, patting envelopes on the head, watching envelopes drift off to sleep, walking envelopes to the post office, putting stamps in the corners of envelopes while the opening lines of Weezer's Holidy in the Sun loop continuously for the next hour [which appears to be the unofficial battle cry/anthem of Parisian postal workers everywhere], forcing envelopes one by one into slots made just the right size for single envelopes, sending envelopes off into the world, waving my hanky forlornly adieu, realizing I've done what I can to prepare them, bien ecriture and all, for the unavoidably long journey that awaits them, wishing I could accompany these envelopes, hold their tiny envelope hands and tell them it will all be alright, even when I know it might not..... walking away, not looking back to see envelope eyes panging me with guilt. Could I have done more? ... and then waiting. Waiting for the one or two envelopes to return forlornly - the casualties of an address pas bien ecrit, a stamp pas bien collé, an "i" pas bien dotted. And then there are the few return-to-senders, those who we as envelope preparers, lowly stagiares, and envelope caretakers must realize, there was nothing more we could to avoid the ominous and inevitable mauvais address stamp, etched in red - no better way to prepare them for the cold, harsh reality of return to sender, rejection, and change of address outside the packaging at an office supply store or the space heater chauffage of gallery walls.

À très bientôt,

Clara