I read Victor Hugo's manuscripts in a castle today...what did you do?

Today was one of those days where everything just went better than planned! I woke up, planning on getting to the library early because who knows how long it could take to get a carte de lectrice given I'm American, have never been there before, and want access to Hugo's manuscripts? Well, I decided to take the shorter métro trip and the longer walk instead of the longer métro trip and the shorter walk, mostly because I wanted the pleasure of taking Ligne 14. For those of you who didn't read my old blog, have never been to Paris, or maybe who have but don't remember, Ligne 14 is the dark purple line that runs approximately diagonally across Paris, cutting it from Northwest to Southeast, from Saint-Lazare (one of the big train stations) to Olympiades. The second-to-last stop on the 14 is Bibliothèque François Mittérand, otherwise known as the main BnF (Bibliothèque nationale de France) and my home base during my semester in Paris. It was not, however, where I was going today. I was going to the older BnF, called Richelieu (Louis XIII's chief minister, if I remember my French history or Les trois mousquetaires correctly). It seemed to be close to Opéra (aka, the métro station at the Opéra Garnier, where everyone's favorite musical takes place), so I took my favorite shortcut there using the 14—the stop Pyramides isn't too far a walk, and the 14 is at least twice as fast as any of the other lines, since it's the newest of the lines and totally automated. 

So, I took the 14 to Pyramides, headed over to this Richelieu building and yes, it was a castle! It was a castle under construction, but a castle nonetheless. The lady who "interviewed" me to give me my library card was extremely nice, from the south of France (Toulon) and we had a very long discussion about the merits and disadvantages of electronic books. I happened to have my Kindle with me, so I let her try it. We also laughed about how one of my French friends today posted on Facebook complaining about having to wait 5 minutes for a métro. Sometimes, Parisians don't know how easy they have it. I told her to go to DC and see how long it takes to get the metro. Last time I went, it was a 15 minute wait. It is NEVER that bad in France—not even when they're on strike (which is generally when there are 5-8 minute waits, I've never had to wait even 10 minutes). 

The second (and infinitely more beautiful) BnF

After a very pleasant half-hour, I had a carte de lectrice and a mission, so I walked straight into the building (the whole interview process took place in a little trailer next to the castle, because they're doing construction right now) and into the wrong reading room. Yes, you read that correctly: the WRONG reading room. It just looked so pretty, I really wanted to be in it! In my defense, I didn't know where I was supposed to go at all, so it seemed like a good guess. The lady at the entrance directed me to the reference desk in the back of the room, even though she knew the documents I wanted weren't there (it was the part of the library for art history and architecture students). I asked the lady at the desk for help, and she was pretty confused when she started searching for this collection on what must have been the wrong website. Finally, she directed me upstairs to manuscripts, where they informed me that these particular manuscripts were at Tolbiac and that I needed to order them two days in advance. That was what I figured (I had assumed I would only be able to get a card and a glimpse of the library today), so I headed towards the door. On my way out, I was informed that there was actually a microfilm copy of the documents, that I needed to look at those first anyway, and that they were downstairs in the "wrong" room I was in before!! They were on lunch break for another half hour, so I decided to go somewhere and get a sandwich, which I happily ate in the library garden while reading the chapter in Matilda about the chocolate cake. Yes, I felt classy and French in so many ways. 

The microfilm was annoying. It will not be my favorite way to read documents. But, I got to read them in the pretty room!! Basically, it's like a little movie—they have scanned all the pages and put them on a reel of film, which they project onto a white screen that is in front of you. You press a rewind or fast forward button to advance or go back, and it doesn't work very well because you find yourself constantly having to readjust everything. It took the lady a good 10 minutes just to set it up for me, and she was clearly frustrated and forgot her ID card at my desk. I returned it to her when I returned the microfilm, and she had been freaking out because she thought she had lost it. 

But, I noted the parts of the microfilm that were relevant for me, looked through all 700 pages or so of Hugo's drafts for Les Misérables (surprisingly not too much, since the book is just shy of 12000 pages in French), and decided I should go home and reread the love letters about the convent that I already have so I can make sure I'm spending my time on the right ones. My plan is to bring this iPad and type up the others. That way, I'll have them forever and won't ever have to fuss with this microfilm again. I might ask to see the originals, but it hardly seems necessary. Still, it would be cool to touch paper Victor Hugo wrote on! 

Here are some pictures of this gorgeous library: 

Pictures were forbidden, so I took these very discreetly! Shhh...don't tell!

After the library, I thought about going to Berthillon, but then I remembered someone telling me once about the Librairie italienne de Paris (the Italian bookstore), called the Tour de Babel (the Tower of Babel) in the Marais (the Jewish/gay quartier—you don't need to be both Jewish AND gay, just either or, as my host father told me). So, I decided to check it out. Maybe I could buy some Calvino before I got to Italy, which would help me keep practicing my Italian. 

There were only two customers (me and one other guy), and the owner walked by and immediately addressed me in Italian!! I was so excited I just started chatting with him. I had found the Italian equivalent of the Pléiade editions, had found the volume that has all my favorite Calvino novels in it, and was considering it more and more with each passing second. But, I wanted to know if it was substantially more expensive than in Italy (since I will be there in just under a month). With my second year Italian, I was able to do all that relatively painlessly, and he informed me that they were 75 euros here, but only 60 there, because of the shipping. Then, he looked at me, looked at the book, and said he'd make me a deal—65 euros, because I was nice, because Calvino is his favorite author, and because he had never met an American who spoke Italian so well. Then, he brought lots more books for me too look at about Calvino, and I bought one of those too, mostly because I was so happy with the discount. 

He told me the most delightful story: one day (must have been quite a while ago), a girl about my age walked in and started talking to him. She asked who the most popular Italian author was, according to his book sales. He said, without hesitating, Italo Calvino! She said: "That makes me very happy, because he's my dad!" He said that she would come back a few times a week, chat, buy books, that she was very soft-spoken and extremely nice. She lives in New York now, and one of the Italian professors at Princeton knows her. He said I could meet her one day, and boy will I have a great story to tell her! 

After this lovely encounter, I went to my Lebanese sandwich place and actually got a new sandwich!! Usually, I get Fahita or Chich-Taouk, both made with chicken, but the last time I was there, another customer was ranting and raving about this special cheese sandwich, so I decided to try it. I've already forgotten what it was called...started with an H...but it was quite delicious. The special cheese tasted kind of like an extra milky mozzarella, and the sandwich also had the typical lettuce, tomato, etc. I got that, then headed to Berthillon and got a double with pear and vanilla. Then, after a nice hour-long stroll through the Latin Quarter (back streets, far away from tourists), I hopped a métro and came back. The jetlag is starting to catch up with me, so I'm pretty much done for tonight. Besides, I only have one métro ticket left. Tomorrow is June, which means my Navigo card will work for the whole month! Unlimited rides! 

Hopefully it stops the stupid intermittent showers soon, so I can sit happily in a beautiful French garden amidst parallel trees reading my new fancy, expensive volumes of Calvino and Queneau. They were good friends, so I think they would have approved of my book-buying choices so far. 

French fun and renovations to Paris

My lunch with Mélanie and all of the encounters I had with French people after that today were all lovely examples of why I love being a foreigner in Paris! You never know quite what to expect from a conversation. 

First off, the lunch. I met Mélanie at a really fancy restaurant by Concorde (as in Place de la Concorde, the place with the obelisk and the lovely view of the Eiffel Tower, which no one enjoyed today because it was pouring), a restaurant where the business types of Paris dine. Mélanie, being a savvy French student who lives in Paris but isn't from here had found a discount online, so we each only paid about 20 euros for our lunch (a plat principal + dessert)!!! And boy, was it delicious! I only took a picture of the main course because I didn't want to seem like too much of a tourist, but I suppose I could have taken as many as I wanted after I totally shamed the waiter. In any case, here is the picture: 

My fancy rabbit, surrounded by a pretty ring of penne pasta, in a violet reduction sauce!

Mélanie enjoying her dessert—she got something with lots of options!

That, if you can't tell, is rabbit. When I got it, I was a bit unsure as well. Not of my French (I was sure I had ordered the lapin), but of the server's hearing ability. Mostly because I was feeling a bit annoyed that he kept trying to speak to Mélanie and me in English for the simple reason that we were speaking English. We always addressed him in French. Then, when I got up to go to the bathroom, he started pointing me in the right direction in English as well. So I told him that I spoke French, that it wasn't a problem, and he got all red and said (in French): "Oh! Sorry! That's right!" As Mélanie and I left, he said (also in French) that he was really sorry, that my French was impeccable, and that it was a reflex to speak English whenever he heard it. Yeah...

After lunch, I went to the Longchamp boutique and bought myself some Longchamp purses. They're pretty standard here in Paris, and much cheaper to get than in America. I like them because they're extremely light and they go right under your armpit, which makes pickpocketing extremely difficult. I didn't like walking around Paris carrying the same purse I got pickpocketed wearing last summer. Plus, I wanted a second, more colorful one, to carry around Italy. The lady in the store was super helpful, convinced me to get a larger size for Italy because it would fit all my books and that way I wouldn't have to carry around two bags. Then, I asked her about the "réduction fiscale" (tax discount) and she said (in French—the whole conversation was in French): "You're not Parisian?" Long story short, I ended up buying a third purse so I could get the reduction, and the lady who checked me out kept asking why my family had moved to the US, so I had to explain to her that I was born and raised there and had learned French. 

Finally, I had my first OuLiPo meeting of the summer (out of two) and Jacques Roubaud was there!!! I just love seeing him. He talked about a troubadour poem I had put on my generals lists, so I actually really really knew something that was read at this particular "jeudi." Compared to that first "jeudi" where I most likely only understood about 50% of what they were saying, and even less if you consider inside jokes and specifically French humor, it was a miracle! 

Rain-covered window inside the BnF

Going to OuLiPo meetings at the BnF is a constant reminder that Paris is and probably always will be a growing city. The BnF is right near where I lived while studying abroad, and already now, a mere 3 years later, the area has totally changed. First, there's a Prêt à Manger there now!! Apparently, they're all over the city. This is probably the only place they exist where the customers can actually pronounce the name of the store! Second, all the construction apparently seems to be going somewhere. There will soon be new, modern-style apartments. And the "tramway" (French word for "streetcar," but I prefer tramway) that I used to have to walk quite a ways to catch to take me to Cité Universitaire (where Alexandra stayed in Paris) now extends all the way to the library and beyond. It actually connects with another (also extended) tramway, which would take me all the way up to Porte des Lilas (where Justine lived when I studied abroad) if I wanted to go there, which I wouldn't. These tramways are so much more pleasant than the métro, being above-ground and given they play a little music when they reach a stop. And they're easier to figure out than the buses. Plus, they don't get stuck in traffic. All in all, maybe my new favorite mode of Parisian transportation! 

That's it for tonight. Tomorrow will be the day I go to the BnF and attempt to get a "carte de lectrice" so I can see Victor Hugo's love letters! 

First Day in Paris

I'll admit—two days in Buffalo might have been a little rushed. While in theory it seemed like a good idea, since, what did I really need to do in Buffalo that was more important than reading Victor Hugo's love letters, the rush to get to Toronto for the flight was a bit of a nuisance. But honestly, it's always a bit of a rush to the airport, no matter how much time you have to pack.

The Toronto airport is a haven of modernity for me—unlike Newark or BWI, they give you unlimited free wifi that you don't have to pay for! They also have those great restaurants with the iPads, but that also have outlets for you to charge your devices. I would say those outlets were the reason I got to Paris with all my devices fully charged, but the airplane had outlets too! I can't remember if I've seen this before, but it was nice to be able to charge my French phone before getting in. Nice, that is, but useless, since it turns out they had cancelled my number. 

On the plane, I watched Mean Girls in French for the first half, until I got tired of wondering what the original joke was, so I switched it back to English. The dinner was okay, I guess, for a plane. The real fun was when we started flying over France at last. I just love seeing the roofs of the houses, and the fields that look like different colored puzzle pieces. It just looks different over here, and the first view of that is always from above. You see these red-orange rooftops, churches that are centuries old, and try to spot something that would indicate where you are (like the Eiffel Tower or a castle), but this time I couldn't find any such landmarks. This is the second time that I've gone to Europe for a summer program that wasn't in Paris, but made sure to start in Paris. And I think I can guess why. For me, Europe just has to begin in Paris—my first instinct is always to check flights to Paris, and while the origin of the flight changes, the destination seems to stay constant. 

I arrived in Paris, took quite a while to leave the airport since it took the airport quite a while to get our flight our bags...and finally arrived in Paris on the RER B. The RER B (the blue one) conveniently took me right to the station Cité Universitaire, which, if you read my blog about studying abroad in Paris, was right where Alexandra lived. Cité Universitaire is in the very south of Paris, but it wasn't my final destination—I went right through the lovely Parc Montsouris (where I'm sure I will be doing a lot of reading this month), north, until I reached the Rue Boussingault where Justine lives. If you read the last blog, you might remember that Justine was my French TA at Johns Hopkins my sophomore year, and in my opinion, the main reason I was able to learn French. I'm subletting her beautiful apartment this month, and compared to where I was in Avignon last summer, it is the most luxurious place I could ever have imagined! It might actually be the nicest place I've lived in Europe! 

When I got there, Justine's friend Olivier gave me the key and showed me around. I love how, when French people meet Americans, the first thing they do is say some sort of obligatory salutation in English (like "Hello!") and then promptly switch to French. Now, he probably knew I spoke French well, given I had emailed him several times in French, Justine had emailed me in French and copied him, and I would assume she told him just to reassure him that this American girl would indeed understand his instructions. But still, they always have to start with "Hello!" As if any American wouldn't understand "Bonjour." 

After settling in a bit, I rushed over to the BNP to get some cash, put it in my wallet, went back to the ATM to get more cash, put it in my French bank account (no, it appears there is no better way for me to do it at the moment...), and then headed over to Orange to find out why my French cell phone wasn't working. It turns out they had cancelled my number because I hadn't used the phone in over six months!! This was a bit shocking, considering 13 months after studying abroad, I went back to Paris and the phone still worked. But anyway, they sold me a new number for 10 euros and that was that. Plus, the lady complimented my French and my New York driver's license, so that's always fun. I also got a sandwich, my typical drink (Oasis Tropical!), and a chocolate macaron (a big one!). Oh yes, I was living the life. Then I came back and passed out. 

When I woke up from this much-needed nap, I rushed over to Berthillon, bought myself a double, went to my favorite Lebanese sandwich place where I admitted I wasn't actually hungry enough to eat, so I just ordered a drink because I really just wanted to say hi. They gave me free baklava! Yes, they remember me! I snapchatted for a while with Abby and Allie from my favorite park (the first picture I sent was of Notre Dame), and then when it started to rain, I bought an umbrella from a supermarket (cheaper and more durable) and headed back. The wind was strong though, and the umbrella is a bit messed up. 

I think I've written enough for the moment, though. And now that I'm done with my favorite French cereal (yes, my dark chocolate Special K which doesn't taste even remotely like the stuff they sell in the US), I think I will get dressed and go book shopping before meeting my friend Mélanie for a fancy lunch! Thanks for reading!

Summer 2013

The Summer 2013 seemed to arrange itself in many ways, which was good, because I certainly didn't have the time or energy to deal with it. I won't say much here, because I really need to go to bed (jet lag...), but the reason I called it Bisous Ciao is mostly because it's the name of a macaron store in NYC I went last year and I really liked the name.

Bisous, for those who don't know, is a typical way to end a French letter, email, text message, phone conversation, smoke signal, etc. It means kisses, and reminds us all of the lovely "bise" that I wasn't allowed to teach my French 101 students for fears of sexual harassment charges. When French people meet, they kiss each other on both cheeks. When they part ways, they repeat this gesture. When people join a group, they will kiss each person ritualistically on both cheeks before sitting down. When one person leaves a group, he or she ceremoniously bise-s everyone goodbye. It is highly impractical, and probably unsanitary. I remember reading an article once about how the French were being instructed to hold off on the bise for a while during the SARS epidemic, because it could contribute to the spread of the disease. My father's reaction: "They would rather die."

Ciao is an Italian word, versatile too, since it means hello and goodbye. Everyone knows it, because like "ok," it has spread to almost every language. French people say "ciao" as they leave, I know I say it to non-Italians. It's also very pretty, don't you think? With three vowels, the second of which contributing to that very appealing "ch" sound that looks as good as it sounds with the Italian spelling? Maybe I'm the only one who would interpret the word this way, but that's the way it goes.

Bisous + Ciao could be the macaron store I mentioned at the beginning, or it could be a nice way to say hello and goodbye to my summer—I will be in Paris from today until June 29th, then Italy (Bologna for two days, then Urbino for six weeks) for the remainder of the summer. Then back in Buffalo. It's not just a vacation: I actually have really interesting stuff I have to do! Attending OuLiPo meetings, going to the BnF (National Library of France) to read Victor Hugo's love letters, and taking an intensive Italian literature course in a beautiful Renaissance city! And I'll write all about it here (and possibly post pictures, but as I didn't bring my computer, it depends on which pictures I take with my iPhone).

Bisous ciao to post #1!