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

Save Planned Parenthood

À la mode!

Katherine and I spent a lovely day yesterday in the Tuillerie Gardens watching Paris Fashion Week! Combined with my morning class at the Sorbonne it really turned out to be a very quintessential Parisian day. Though you have to have an invitation to see the actual shows we managed to do some celebrity stalking and see some crazy fashions. Every one shows up wearing their finest, I'm assuming in the hopes of being photographed.

Shoes.

The Tuileries are the perfect backdrop for such an occasion.

Turbans appear to be on the cutting edge.

As are feathered headbands.

And being orange.

The paparazzi freaking out over someone. Turned out to be Chinese pop star Fan Bingbing (no joke!)

All of that was a wonderful recovery from my last weekend in Amsterdam:

It was a weekend of firsts.

First train ride in Europe (I just realized that isn't true, but I already uploaded the picture)

First time flying on a wooden shoe.

First lovers' cruise on a canal.

First heavy metal screamo show.

Amsterdam is a beautiful town full of great food and some really nice people. It was a truly refreshing break from Paris.

Beyond that, my time in Paris has been filled with school, guacamole making competitions with my friends, eating a lot of delicious food, and walking around in the finally beautiful weather [it's been in the 50's this week!]

Here is a picture of the Luxembourg Gardens - right by my school:

I've also been spending plenty of time interning at Galerie Alberta Pane. We had a vernissage just a few weeks ago - a huge success. It's been a unique experience working in a professional environment in a foreign language.

Well until next time. I'm really going to try to post more often, so bug me about it.

À toute suite!

Clara

Apologies for the lack of blog posting lately. I'm avoiding packing for Amsterdam (!!!) in the morning, so thought I would post this short video I found:

Le Flâneur (music by The XX) from Luke Shepard on Vimeo.

Except beaucoup d'updates upon my return. Tout va bien à Paris!

Stage-ing dans le Marais

Salut tout le monde!

Alors, je suis à mon nouveau stage. I'm at my new internship right now. Got back from Barcelona late Sunday night, and jumped right into busy, busy, busy Monday morning. It's exciting to finally have something to occupy my time. Well, I guess before I get into the stage-ing, I'll tell you un petit peu sur Barcelone:

Lemme tell ya - I am absolutely in love with that city. It was my first time ever being in Spain and I absolutely cannnnot wait to get back. It was so great to be away from the harshness of Paris, and to just walk au bord de the Mediterranean in the 20 degrees Celcius weather. In fact, I watched the sunset at the beach each evening.

*note: no longer at my internship.... it's the next day now*

Absolutely loved Barcelona - but was most especially excited to see some of my dear friends from USC there (Jordan, Andrew, Rochelle and Daniella). Can't believe how lucky we are to be able to meet up in Europe like this. It just meant the world to me to see them after being "alone" here for so long.

It was also Chinese New Year while we were there, so of course we had to celebrate.

Daniella on the metro with one of the many Irish we met at the hostel. I'm now completely hooked on hostels - it was so much fun!

This Shakira video of her song "Loca" was filmed in Barcelona - fairly representative of my time there - and it shows some of the places we went.

Anyways, now I am safely returned back to Paris and have begun interning for 12 hours a week at Galerie Alberta Pane which is a very hip, modern art gallery in the Marais (the Jewish/gay district of Paris). I've absolutely loved my past week there. Alberta, my boss, is Italian and one of the nicest people I've met. She's absolutely obsessed with America and is always asking me "what is the best thing about the US?". She also spends a lot of time singing "God Bless America" and "Singing in the Rain", and repeating "Washington, D.C." over and over again in what I believe is an attempt to approve her accent. Or maybe she just likes the name. Pauline is her assistant. She's a few years older than me and incredibly Parisian - but also very understanding and interested in getting to know me.

Right now I've been working on our preparations for the next installation which opens February 26th. This week I translated the press release into English and addressed over 200 invitations (my hand is tired!). The installation will be a series of photos by Eleanora Aguiari an Italian artist. The majority of her art is inspired by The Last Supper, but more of the emotional side of that night rather than the actual iconography (this internship is already expanding my art vocabulary - in both French and English!) I really love the art that Galerie Alberta Pane chooses - it's all very modern but there is a lot of feeling behind it, very meaningful.
It's particularly exciting to be able to successfully work in a professional environment in an entirely other language. Alberta and Pauline both agree that I parle le tres bon francais. I'm not entirely convinced, but it gets better every day. They also find my hand writing to be very "American" and can't believe how fast I type.

As for lately - I spent yesterday morning tutoring English with the class of 7th graders I work with, then Katherine and I ran a mile to the Eiffel Tower (no big deal), then enjoyed one of the last days of the soldes before spending the evening with Alice (the sister I never had.... absolutely obsessed with that girl and don't even want to think about leaving her). I'm particularly looking forward to upcoming Sweet Briar trips to Rouen and Normandie in the coming month, and a weekend trip with some friends to Amsterdam in March. Also - expect a blog update about the grand adventure I have planned for Spring Break.

Love,

Clara

La Chandeleur

Today, February 2nd, is La Chandeleur or National Crêpe Day here in France! I did a little wikipediaing on it.... and from my research it appears to be the French version of Groundhog's Day, with some religious undertones. In France we celebrate with crêpes, which must be eaten onl after eight p.m. If the cook can flip a crêpe while holding a coin in the other hand the family is assured prosperity throughout the coming year. The roundness and goldness of crêpes is supposed to signify the sunshine of spring. We didn't know about the 8 p.m. thing so Katherine and Nora and I celebreated this afternoon. My chocolate and raspeberry ice cream avec banana, chocolate, and whipped cream was nauseatingly good. I probably won't be able to eat for awhile.

In other news - I'm going to Barcelona tomorrow! Must pack now but expect a longer update next week.

<3

Clara

Throwing Up in Paris.... that time I got food poisoning, 8 Decembre 2010

Head in a garbage can, puking my brains out. Here I am, at the Cité metro stop, the classiest broad in Paris. It’s hard to realize that the Notre Dame cathedral is directly above my head…. And I am here, a vertigo-inducing view of black latex garbage bag, and nothing else.

I actually like the fact that I can throw up at 11 am on a Wednesday in broad daylight, commuters brushing past, and then just hop on the metro again with zero acknowledgment, not to mention words of encouragement. It’s not that Parisians are bad-hearted people, or being rude. No, in fact I have come to find this behavior actually rather understanding. Who really wants to be bothered when they have food poisoning?

“Yeah, ça va. It’s my own fault for eating rancid cheese, don’t mind me. I just need to finish ralphing up the entirety of my internal organs and I’ll be fine. Really.” Sure I might be able to say all of that in French 5 months into my stay, but that really isn’t a conversation most people care to have, even in your native tongue. Vomiting, I have come to fine, is a deeply personal act – almost spiritual and, dare I say, cleansing. Whether I worship 100 steps above with gargoyles overhead, or here at my own delicate, silver altar… it’s the sort of experience that I care to have alone.

And that’s the sort of thing I love about Paris. Of course I miss eye contact, small talk and, most namely, hugs; but I do appreciate that I can throw up just about anywhere and no one will give me a second look. The French are private people. They have boundaries, and even if you vomit in your hand in the hallways of the Sorbonne in front of 50 of your 18-year-old classmates mere seconds after telling some geek from Tufts that no, you have not read the material (as I had previously that day), that is your business. There is no need to have someone hold your hair, let alone your hand. This anonymity, though deafening, is appreciate at times.

A few hours later I’m attempting to choke down some soup at our favorite Ramen eatery. I end up taking a nap on the table in misery, fairly certain this soup won’t be staying in me for long. Not a single waiter stops by in concern. Some may think this is rude, but in France – it isn’t. In France - I paid 1.50 for that soup and I can do whatever I damned well please with that table. We could set up a tent and a camp-stove underneath and spend the entire day watching satellite television. Nobody really cares. Maybe this is the big city mentality. Maybe everyone is just too busy to deal with the collection of weirdness Paris has to offer. Me passed out on the table? Only passably odd compared to the man painted head to toe in gold on the corner, the woman walking four identical pugs down the sidewalk, the mariachi duo on the metro. For a city, for the most part, dressed in head to toe noir it’s bizarre to realize that nobody is fazed.

And I love it. I love being left alone. Whether it’s at a restaurant with a friend over a cup of coffee, in my bedroom with a pile of books, a few hours, and no word from my host family, or here, curled up on the bathroom floor in misery – Paris is a place to be self-reliant and that I have become.

A few moments later I have retired from the tabletop to the bathroom floor. “Wow Clara, it’s time to admit defeat. Go home… you attempted to save face, but really this intoxication alimentaire has gotten the best of you. This may truly be the lowest moment of your young life, but you know what? You’re in Paris – and that kind of trumps everything.”