The view from my bedroom window.
I am sitting in a café, using the free Wi-Fi, drinking what I thought was a very small cup of coffee but turned out to be an espresso due to my shaky comprehension. It is Sunday morning, which means the city is completely dead. I thought I had orientation to the program today but it's actually tomorrow, so I stood outside of the building for a few minutes, hoping someone would open, until a nice man pointed me in the direction of a place where I could get my bearings.
It is raining again today. So instead, Kelsey and I are going to the Louvre. Not a bad alternative.
I am completely overwhelmed. My French is so bad and I feel so lost. Keep in mind that, while it was an intensive course, I've only taken one semester of French. That would have been difficult even if I had gone directly from school to Paris, but instead I had a sojourn in Stockholm in between. So I haven't spoken French in a month, my head is full of Swedish, and now I'm suddenly supposed to speak French all day, everyday. Dear me. I'm impressed that I got off at the right Metro station.
The good and bad thing is that, unlike I had anticipated, people are very patient with me, so I stumble through sentences until they understand a few words. My family is really nice and funny, which hopefully I'll be able to better show my appreciation for once my French gets better. From the moment I called them to tell them I was at the airport, we've spoken nothing but French. Wonderful, of course, but very hard.
Backtracking a bit, my trip here was memorable. I connected in Oslo, and I have to say that my flight from Sweden to Norway was by far the most attractive plane I've ever been on. Then in Oslo I hung out in the airport for a couple of hours, sitting on the floor because they somehow under-anticipated the amount of traffic they would receive. Honestly, an airport where half the people don't have a place to sit? Anyways, waiting for my plane to arrive I sat next to a very nice French man with a grey beard and a Santa-like beanie. We spoke in French and he was so patient with me, bless his heart. That was when I knew this would harder than I had prepared myself for. On the plus side, I learned the word, décoiffer, to mess up one's hair, talking about how my floppy hat was good to keep my head warm but bad because my hair would be messy afterwards. Is this what my conversations have come to? Still, he was very helpful and it was a good first impression of the country.
Speaking of first impressions... I will never forget the moment I landed in Paris. Descending, I could see the entire city, all the same beige-khaki color. And then I saw La Tour Eiffel. Beautiful. I can't explain why Paris is so beautiful (yet), but it is. Even the journey from the plane to the baggage carousel was somehow more chic than usual.
Alright, time to find a bathroom before making my way over to the Louvre. Hopefully I'll get better acquainted with the city. But despite the confusion right now, I'm going to like it here, I can tell.
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