The Great Adventures

17 days, 5 countries, 6 cities...one unforgettable trip of adventures.

As a college student, spring break is that holy week long break every year that's thought about and planned from the start of the school year. There's always the usual options of Florida, Mexico, Vegas, etc. But there's an extra perk about spring break abroad-my starting point was France and all surrounding countries were fair game. Hence my amazing opportunity to see 6 cities in 5 countries during the span of 17 days. Not too bad.

An overview: five of my friends and myself embarked on the great adventure which started in Budapest, continued on to Vienna, followed by Prague, Munich, Dublin, and finally ended in Galway. A trip that was full of fun moments and constant luck.

The luck may be simpler and quicker to explain than all the memorable moments. Lucky instance #1:we missed the aftermath of the Icelandic volcano eruption by skipping the last day of classes and flying out the morning before the volcanic ash cancelled all flights. Lucky instance #2:

despite the entire European world flocking to the train stations, we never had a delay, cancellation, or obnoxiously long wait with trains. Lucky instance #3: the

morning after we returned to Paris we found out that our plane was the last to fly out of Dublin before they cancelled flights due to more volcanic ash. And the list

goes on…

With our first stop in Budapest, I seperated from my friends to spend some quality time with

my family, particularly the newest addition to our family, my cousin's baby. The streets, the monu

ments, the food, the views -- everything was fabulous, but nothing compared to this chubby bundle of joy. Always smiling, always laughing, big eyes

watching the world, everything always seemed better and more amusing when he was around.

Then there was Vienna. Small

and quaint, cleaner than any other city, with beautiful old architecture that made you feel like Mozart was going to walk out onto the streets at any moment. The

most impressive thing about Vienna was the Kunsthistorisches Museum (Museum of fine arts). From the outside it almost seemed like

nothing too out of the ordinary for a museum building, but the minute you walk through the entrance your jaw will drop. With an excessive amount of marble, gold,

statues, and an elaborately hand painted ceiling, there was nothing ordinary about this museum. Add on an impressive collection

of art by Brugel, Vermeer, Rafaello, etc., it is definitely a sight to see.

Going on to Prague, we all had

high expectations having heard about its impressive beauty and

considering that usually high expectations end with disappointment,

Prague definitely surprised us by defying that rule. Mind you, we were

rudely disappointed by the attitude of the Czechs with a unpleasant interactions throughout our trip. But in the end, that seemed like a minor flaw when we were taken aback by the unthinkable beauty around us.

Moving from Prague to Munich, we set on an adventure of beer gardens! A genius invention that would probably please most people. Large outdoor spaces, familial style tables, hearty meals of meat and pretzels, and of course, loads of great beer. Going to the different beer gardens was a true cultural experience in itself. We did also have the chance to be enlightened about the history of Munich thanks to the free Sandeman's tours (try them in most cities around Europe, especially Munich). A bit of a history lesson seemed appropriate to balance out the habit of sitting,eating, and drinking.

Ireland was a great transition from Munich seeing as they share similar lifestyles of hearty meals and tons of beer drinking. Most notably, I fit in so well it almost felt like an accomplishment. Everyone thought I was Irish and they were convinced I have Celtic blood in me. I tried to tell them I'm not, but it made them happy so I let them believe it. Dublin was a fun city, not exactly what most of us pictured it to be, but very industrial and busy city-like. We obviously went on a tour of the Guinness factory and acted like true tourists. And then, we got a taste of the countryside on a Wicklow tour seeing all the beautiful areas that are used in movies (especially the sappy romance ones like P.S. I Love You). As beautiful as the countryside

was, nothing compared to the beauty and serenity of

Galway. All the way to the west of

Dublin, right on the coast it's exactly what you'd picture Ireland to be. The deep blue water, large fields, lots of pubs, and really nice people giving lots of great pearls of wisdoms. One of my favorite pearls:"The pub isn't going to run out of alcohol, so keep on drinking!" My second favorite, "You can have any career in the world, but all that matters are manners and being genuine!"

No doubt about it, this was one of the most incredible trips and experiences, but coming home to Paris--notice how "home" and "Paris" sound so nice together--felt utterly amazing! :)

Imagine this…

Time flies when you're having fun.

Cliché phrases have a way of creeping up on you and coming out of your mouth, often without trying, but I've learned that there is a justifiable reason for that: they're usually fairly accurate. 4 months have passed since I first arrived in Paris and each day has been jam packed with activities, yet it feels like it's only been a month that has passed.

The goal has been to immerse in the culture, learn the language, and be mistaken for a French person (a little difficult given that most people just assume I'm Irish). Given, there have been some momentous days when I was asked for directions in French and that made me feel so accomplished, but I also had the pleasure of taking a little trip through time to an old Paris setting that sufficed in making me feel quite French. It helps to know and understand my immense, but random interest in the 1920s era, everything that includes flappers, jazz, flashy things: it's got my name written all over it. Hence, my great amusement at Lapin Agile, an old cabaret sitting at the butt of Montmartre that artists and musicians of the 20s used to gather at. Sitting in a red tinted dimly light room listening to a pianist play some tunes and a group of 7 singers casually sitting around a table serenading us with old French songs, it felt as if I was a part of a totally different world that no longer exists in reality.

After my wonderful time travels I was brought back to the year 2010 as I walked down to the metro and was casually surprised by a row of Ikea furniture set up along the walls replacing the usual basic seats. Try to picture it: same old metro station fully equipped with vending machines, trash, newspapers thrown around, and comfy couches with standing lamps by their side. Totally normal. Sort of. No doubt about it, this was one of the best marketing ideas I've seen in a while seeing as everyone was curious to know more about this strange sight and most people went as far as to sit down on these comfortable looking couches. A+ for Ikea's marketing team.

It's a must to mention the quickly changing weather with all the blossoming trees and sun-filled days that make this city all the more enjoyable. A bottle of champagne and some chocolate bars definitely add to the pleasant experience, but that's just a minor detail. More important, are the adorable and usually hysterical children who run to the parks and go nuts. I don't want to play favorites, but I had the pleasure of finding a crush on one such day in a small park by the Canal St. Martin. Another image to picture: a little boy around the age of 6 or 7, dark black hair with a few curls, wearing a jean jacket with the sleeves rolled up, prancing around singing and mimicking Michael Jackson, flashing a smile every few minutes, and saying "I love you" in three different languages. Needless to say, he won me over instantly.

And if small parks full of just children isn't really to your taste, there's always the gorgeous Luxemburg gardens where you can improve your people watching skills all day. There was a good amount of young couples with their kids and some youngsters looking for a cool hangout spot, but the best part (this will once again resort to cliché) was the old couples walking hand in hand channeling The Notebook-type love stories. I promise, I tried be myself and not get all mushy but you can't help it when the setting just screams corny and romantic.

Then there's also the infamous Versailles, which clearly boasts the impressive palace with its lavish rooms and incredible hall of mirrors, but with the hounds of tourists crowding each room, nothing was better than sitting in the gardens eating sandwiches with Samurai sauce and "reading" for class. Random afternoon, amazing weather, 30 minute train ride, sitting at Versailles doing homework…just another day in Paris.

Something totally random, but quite amusing…I was waiting to meet a friend to go to a ballroom dance class (yes, I finally accomplished a goal of mine), which happened to be right near Hôtel de Ville (city hall). As a I was waiting I heard music being played, clearly a live band of some sort, so I followed the sound until I was standing directly in front of Hôtel de Ville watching a group of 6 guys dressed up in metallic colored costumes resembling Gumby playing the drums. Little kids were flocking around them as they made their way through and around the crowd, all the while playing their music and getting people to dance. Something like this may seem totally normal if you picture it happening in Union Square, but seeing French people letting loose in front of the Hotel de Ville just for the sake of having a good time, was really a fascinating sight.

One last image to picture: Saturday night around 10pm, an old-fashioned two-floor elaborately decorated French restaurant, couples and groups of friends sitting around tables eating escargot and drinking wine, 5 older women (probably grandmothers with at least four grandkids each) looking fabulous coming down the stairs finishing off their wine glasses and laughing, walking out of the restaurant obviously having had a successful girl's night out. The importance of this image: I hope when I'm a grandma I'll still be laughing and downing wine the way these women were…possibly with a bigger glass in my hand.

La vie est belle (aka life is beautiful)

Normally, I would be the first to say that nothing can compete with the hectic lifestyle of a New Yorker, but that's before I immersed in a life as a study abroad student. There's always so much to do and see and I just want to take it all in before my time is up and unfortunately this has caused a delay in my blog. My dear friends, I sincerely apologize, but I think you'll be glad to know there's much to update you on. So here goes…

A few weeks ago I was fortunate enough to see an incredible exhibit at the Grand Palais by Christian Boltanski titled Personnes, a part of Monumenta 2010, an annual exhibit that displays art work which physically requires a large space for display. On a literal level, the exhibit was intended to represent a concentration camp with fluorescent lights hanging above rows of clothes laid out on the ground and a giant pile of clothes standing monumentally at the back. It's hard to put into words the emotional impact of the exhibit, but physically, loud noise echoed through the room (which we learned was a recording of real heartbeats) and a lack of heat (particularly brutal on the coldest day of the season), you could feel the cold in your bones creating a chillingly intense atmosphere. The empty clothes represented the absence of people, but groups of spectators served as evidence that life keeps going as a cycle, rather than simply being a path to death. Above the huge pile of clothes was a tractor with a claw that would pick up clothes and then almost instantly drop them back into the pile. Acting as a representation of the hand of God, it was actually being manipulated by the person sitting behind the control station (quite interesting when you think about it metaphorically). I don't think I've been able to do the exhibit enough justice in words, but simply put, it was an incredible experience.

Moving on to a different type of art, music can be universally appreciated whether you understand the language or not, but it's all the more entertaining when you go to a concert in Paris where all the bands are either American or English-speaking. Fairly well-known among concert-goers here, La Flesh d'Or is the French version of The Knitting Factory or Bowery Ballroom. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, nor was it lacking in its hip "downtown" venue ambiance, until I started noticing the hipsters holding wine glasses. I was thrown back to reality, the reality of living in France where (as I've mentioned before) wine is consumed like water, no matter the occasion. Cups full of beer were floating around, but mostly because it was the only choice for the free drink voucher that came with the ticket. The bands were alright, but the audience was more interesting. Maybe I'm just tainted by rowdy American youngsters who go crazy at concerts, but the crowd was strangely too mellow. It felt like they were holding back that urge to bob their heads and shake their hips, or maybe I was just judging them with American eyes. Either way, the concert was fun and we got to meet a drummer from one of the bands who was so happy to finally talk to some Americans who understand his humor, clearly the highlight of our (and his) night.

As per usual, I have some sort of story related to food and this time it's all about CUPCAKES! French patisseries are amazing, croissants, éclairs, tarts—they're all amazing, but sometimes your heart desires something a bit more simple. You can imagine the excitement I felt when I fell upon an authentic cupcake shop while wandering the streets. My eyes lit up, my mouth began to water, and not surprisingly, the girl behind the counter looked at me like I was insane. I am all for immersing in another culture, but no one can deny a classic red velvet cupcake!

And then a few days later I was the one judging others as possibly being insane when on a calm Sunday afternoon the streets began to flood with rollerbladers (is that the correct term for those who rollerblade?). Helmets, knee pads, 80s style outfits—you name it, it was being displayed like a runway show, Parisian style. Supposedly it's a weekly thing that slowly attracts more and more members until the spring when walking becomes secondary to rollerblading on Sundays. I am most definitely looking forward to witnessing Paris on rollerblades.

Continuing on our French adventures, my friends and I set out to explore Rouen, a small city in Normandy, known for being the city in which Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. I can't help but mention food again (don't be surprised if I come back home a couple pounds heavier), but lucky us, cheap and delicious food just finds us. This time I was really in for a treat when I came across a Chocolaterie that had chocolate covered macarons (and I don't mean your boring Passover maccarons, but French delicious cookie-like macarons!). I don't think Joan of Arc indulged in macarons very often, but it certainly added a whole new level to my understanding of her bravery and suffering.

While on the topic of suffering, I should talk a little about my visit to Pere Lachaise, the famous cemetery that houses celebrities like Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, etc. Normally, when I think of a cemetery, I get a creepy uncomfortable feeling, but Pere Lachaise transformed the traditional idea of a cemetery. Acting more like a museum than cemetery with street names, barriers, and elevations, I almost felt giddy walking around trying to find my way through the labyrinth of graves. Not to sound disrespectful, but after spending two hours in the maze trying to pinpoint famous people, it felt like I was playing a game rather than walking through a somber and reverent area.

Although, the area surrounding Pere Lachaise is right on the border of Paris and its suburbs, which serves as a perfect viewpoint of the city. After a deliciously home-cooked meal by some friends, we stood on a balcony watching the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkle on one side, and the church of Sacre Coeur on Montmartre light up on the other, and even after a month of living here I just thought "somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming."

Next on the agenda, some crazy adventures in the land of Spaniards…

A tour of Tours

Unquestionably, Paris is special in a way words can't fully describe it, but this weekend was all about the wonderful charm of a small town away from the busy city. A few of my friends and I trekked (on a comfortable hour long train ride) to Tours in the Loire Valley, having heard of the beautiful castles we could gawk at.

With the TGV train going at lightning speed and our ears popping every few minutes, my friends and I began the trip with an on-the-go picnic full of baguettes, cheese, yogurt, snack bars, oranges, and of course some more cheese (we quickly adapted to the French way of eating). Simply eating French food does not, however, assimilate you with the people as we quickly found out that masses of food on a train at 8 am screams AMERICAN. You'd think that a culture that puts such focus into gastronomy would appreciate it at any hour of the day, but the only person who smiled at us was a toddler, and I'm pretty sure she was just laughing at our mess.

Leaving Paris and the rain behind us, Tours was like a magical land bursting with sunshine—seeing as our eyes had forgotten what sun looks like in Paris with all its gray and rainy days, this was miraculous. After walking through the empty streets and sitting at a café, we were most impressed (almost shocked) at the cheap prices for food and coffee. 10 croissants for 3 euros! 6 beignets for 1 euro! Cappuccino for 3 euros! Our eyes were going crazy wanting to buy everything in bulk simply because in Paris one croissant is at least 1 euro and a cappuccino is at least 5. And what could be more satisfying than a good deal on delicious food?! Sitting on the steps of the Hotel de Ville (City Hall) with the sun beaming down and a sparkling fountain across from us, we were in a state of total serenity and satisfaction. That was, of course, until we were disturbed by obnoxious ice cream truck music coming from several passing cars with large animal figurines on the back. Quite the strange image to wake you from a trance, though we found out later that a zoo was in town and this was their way to promote it rather than through traditional advertising. They definitely got points for creativity.

This trip had the potential of being fairly normal with some travelling involved, sightseeing, and staying at a hotel, but that wasn't good enough for us. We decided to spice it up a little and save some money by taking part in a wonderful thing called Couch Surfing. Explanation: There are genuinely nice people in this world who understand the needs of students like us wanting to explore as much as we can on a tight budget and as a result, we stayed in an apartment in the center of town with some entertaining locals for absolutely no cost. You may be thinking, isn't that a little shady (or as we say in French, très louche)? Turns out it was one of the brightest ideas we had because there were no strings attached and our hosts were just as eager to chill with some Americans as we were to meet French people. Our lovely host even prepared lunch for us, helping start off an impressive list of free things we received throughout the weekend (particularly impressive in our minds because it is so rare to get anything for free in Paris).

Hospitality is ingrained in French culture, but the people of Tours took it to a whole new level for us. Going off a recommendation from my friend's host mom, we went to a bar/café where the owner was more than happy to accommodate us with free champagne after realizing we knew him through a friend of a friend of a friend. Meeting his cousins then lead to more giving which lead us to a creperie where we not only stuffed our faces with nutella and bananas, but were introduced to some Jewish French Algerians who talked up a storm about politics and religion till our ears hurt. (Turned out to be worth our patience when we came back for free crepes the following night).

We did make our way out of Tours to a town called Chenonceau, known for its 16^th century Renaissance-styled castle built on the water. Its purpose was mainly a housing for mistresses, which explains the impressive beauty. I'd like to imagine the women living there were fairly satisfied with the large embellished rooms, luxurious gardens, and elaborate kitchens (again, food has always been a priority in this culture). Each room, decorated with elaborate tapestries, large beds with canopies, and extravagant flower arrangements accommodated the needs of each woman (probably the reason for the castle being so popular among mistresses). Catherine de Medici, one of the castle's inhabitants, used it as a work place and left her mark as a fortified woman (unlike the others, of course). And as if straight out of a story book or movie, there's a labyrinth garden in the woods with a gazebo in the center marking the authenticity of the chateau.

Back in Tours we continued to make friends with locals and the best part about it was how great we felt to be speaking French. This may sound bizarre given that we are students studying French and it should be normal for us to speak the language we are learning, but the responses we got from people in Tours was contrary to what we'd become used to hearing and feeling in Paris. I must admit there are plenty of Parisians who are welcoming and helpful in improving our French, but unfortunately, there are many who upon hearing our American accent often resort to speaking English (making us feel dumb) or simply look at us strangely (as if we actually are dumb). But in Tours, all was different. People appreciated our effort to speak their language and saw English as a barrier for them. At the end of the weekend, we just felt special (a comforting feeling when you're in a foreign country).

In addition to making friends who bought us rounds of coffee (very valuable after a long night), neglecting to see other neighboring castles, eating tons of chocolate and baguettes, feeling old at a club filled with 15-year-olds, perfecting the art of using self-timers on cameras, learning about adopt-a-mec.com (check it out), and playing Kings with French people…I dreamt in French! I promise you this is a huge accomplishment that may seem trivial, but among us study abroad students this is monumental! The content of the dream was uneventful, but take my word for it—this is a good sign for the future!

Taste What You See

When moving to a new place the goal tends to be to find that small café where the barista will always smile and know your order each morning before you have the chance to say hello. In Paris, there are many cafes to choose from, but I, along with some friends, have been lucky enough to find the "one" where we not only get a smile each day, but love, affection, and the occasional free crepe. And this isn't your typical French café, rather a "café deli" fully equipped with a creepy French man who refers to himself as "French lover man," a young and beautiful crepe-making model, and of course endless amounts of nutella. What else could I possibly ask for, aside from the

While on the topic of food (inevitable to speak of), the French are genius in their ability to create and eat endless amounts of bread and pastries, and I have nothing but good things to say about the delicious food, but there comes a point when classy cuisine just doesn't do the job. The solution? Finding some hearty American food at a wonderful place called Breakfast in America: Diner! This is no joke, and whatever animosity the French may have towards Americans is clearly thrown out the window when it comes to food because this hot spot is constantly overflowing with Parisians craving a good ol' burger and a three course brunch, which includes an omelet, pancakes, bottomless cup o' joe and a poster of Friends on the wall. There is some assimilation to French gastronomy with the addition of wine on the menu and people eating burgers with forks and knives, but it remains an American gold mine. The perfect treat to ease homesickness.

To continue with this fixation on food, cultural diversity has added its touch to French dining with the wonderful middle eastern specialty of falafel. Le Marais, the very lively and hip quarter also known as the Jewish quarter houses the small yet memorable falafel bistro-King Falafel. Everything from the size and the taste to the fact that it's Lenny Kravitz's favorite falafel place in Paris-so we're told-completes the awesomeness of this simple food. It warms my Jewish heart to be able to eat such delicacy here. Of course it was just as satisfying to sit in a café on Montmartre and have the most amazing crème brulee, while making a French couple next to us quite uncomfortable with our American demeanor of taking loads of pictures. Then there were also the delicious beignets (larger and squarer versions of donuts), partly delicious because of the taste and partly delicious because they only cost 1 euro! (for a student, that is pure treasure)

Indulging in food is unquestionably crucial to immersing in the French lifestyle, but I have not caught onto the culture of MINI. Explanation: everything here is presented in mini sizes. Staples are half the size of normal ones (they may be made of steel to actually hold a few papers together), tissue packs come in miniature sizes, and most commonly, at restaurants, cups for water are the size of shot glasses (except for those at Breakfast in America, a place which understands our needs). My question is: with mini items we just end up using double the original quantity to get a satisfying amount, so how does that help the conservation of anything?

Thought-provoking moments such as that happen very often here…like when you see an elderly man clad in a jogging suit with headphones in his ears moon walking and dancing on the Champs Elysees in the evening. Or when there's just one grandma sitting at a bar surrounded by about six young men and the rest of the bar is empty. Or when middle-aged women wear tight sequin skirts, school-girl skirts, or sky-high heels with more confidence than a 20-year-old. At first glance this all deserves a raised eyebrow, but then I think back to the characters you see on the streets of New York and everything seems normal again.

Moments in Paris

Walking through the streets of Paris on a Sunday quickly reminds you that this day was intended for rest (Saturday being more of an active day of adventure). Brunch is being served, packs of screaming kids are seen in the parks, and most businesses are closed. That is, of course, except for shops smart enough to stay open for wandering tourists, aching to spend some money. The best part about still being in the tourist stage is walking into one of these smart shops and having the pleasure of hearing an old familiar song reminding me of young elementary school days filled with knowledge of Israeli music. All I needed to hear was, "Yallah lech ha bayta moti, shalom ve toda" and I instantly knew I was drawn to this store for a good reason. Sarit Hadad has forever left an impression on me, making it particularly amusing to come across such culturally driven music in this wonderful city. Cultural diversity at its best.

And then there's the clash of cultures that we Americans sometimes excel at. As earlier noted, large obnoxious groups of American youngsters aren't very well accepted by Parisians and sitting alone on the metro as one such group came on I quickly understood why this is so. Aside from loudly and abruptly taking over the car from both ends, conversations followed as such: American Boy: "You're bag is open" American Girl: "You're mom is open" Rest of American Clan (in unison): "Ohhhhhhhh damn!"

I read an article in class describing the French as the worst tourists in the world because of their aggravation and inability to adapt to other cultures, and Americans were simply listed as generous because of their tipping (usually a result of just not knowing it is all included here), but clearly this author forgot to study American teenagers as a separate group because they would definitely take the gold medal.

Paris has its renowned landmarks like the Eiffel Tower, which is truly surreal particularly when standing under it, with it's size and magnitude and bright lights creating a breathtaking image, apart from the brutish satellite at top, which disrupts the wholesome image. The Eiffel Tower is cool, that's a given, but Carousels seem to be all the rage in Paris. In various quarters, parks, landmark areas, and simply random streets, a large brightly lit carousel stands calling kids to jump on. I won't lie I've been tempted to get on several times, but they seem almost untouchable as sacred artifacts of the city.

The French really are quite good at preserving their history especially when it includes creepy skulls and bones lying deep under the ground to remind people of all those who died from a tragic outbreak (textbook history isn't enough to convey the facts). The Catacombs not only take you through miles worth of skulls and bones literally piled on top of each other, but they also make you feel pain to get the full experience. (Take this as a warning) Leading into the Catacombs is a winding staircase preparing you for the dizziness you may soon feel and leading out of the Catacombs is yet another winding staircase with no end in sight making it hard to breathe, your legs burn, and finally, they point out the brutal truth that I am clearly not in good shape.

Most importantly, a crucial aspect to the French lifestyle which must be noted: the constant flow of wine. Wine is available as readily as water and absolutely necessary at any meal or gathering. In the States, if professors want to bribe students to come to a meeting pizza is a must, but here, a rendez-vous with our professors is promoted with wine and snacks. And in legal terms when politicians take bribes they call it pots de vin (wine jars) because the French communicate best through the language of wine. This may be a culture shock I can easily adapt to.

Oh la vache!

After a cancelled flight, a late night replacement flight, six hours of minimal leg room, and another passenger's on-flight medical emergency, speaking and understanding French were far from my realm of comprehension. But of course, that didn't stop anyone from spitting out sentences full of French expecting me to understand. Arriving at our hotel/hostel for the first days of orientation, a bed and shower were the only things I could focus on. You don't realize how much energy and brain power it takes to speak and understand a foreign language when you're so abruptly thrown into it. I'm pretty sure my brain hurt after completing one thought.

Aside from tackling the language, learning how to get around the city seemed to be of utmost priority (according to the program directors who disregarded our intense exhaustion). The metro is a piece of cake compared to the New York subway system and the buses are just as cramped with everyone pushing their way through the crowd, with bursts of excusez-moi and pardon (polite gestures being more common in Paris than in New York). Politeness and hospitality are crucial to a French lifestyle, and despite the typical French character stereotype of being aggressive and arrogant, I was determined to prove that wrong.

Then I was given an article titled Six Codes: Rudeness is in the Eye of the Beholder on how to live as a French person and the number one code reads: Do not Smile! I get it, I'm in France and the people aren't as friendly at first glance but this was très bizarre! I knew I couldn't last 10 minutes without laughing or flashing a smile and according to the article these actions would be seen as "taking a risk". To a certain extent the article was right in its warning because on a packed metro a group of obnoxiously loud smiling Americans was not well-accepted. Then again, smiling at a waiter resulted in a smile back making me feel like a happy person again. I may be trying to immerse in the French lifestyle, but I will not change my optimistic/nervous/awkward/happy smile. (Especially when I've had some amazingly delicious food and a few bottles of wine, that smile simply cannot be contained).

A word of advice for the future, literal translation isn't always the way to go. Clearly an important lesson I learned through experience (thankfully in the confines of a classroom). Refrain from saying : I am hot ≠ je suis chaud (instead this has a sexual connotation of "I am horny")
,I am full ≠ je suis pleine (useful if you are telling someone you are pregnant),preservatives ≠ preservatives (this is actually the term for the item you should've used if being "pleine" wasn't your goal).

Another word of advice, don't hate on New York drivers as often anymore because one cab ride here and you will definitely start to appreciate them as well as your life. I even have to admit that Brooklyn drivers might actually be a little less crazy on the road than the French and that obviously says a lot.

My fairy godmother who never disappoints in sprinkling fairy dust on me to ensure that I have the most random encounters, has surely followed me to Paris. I traveled across the ocean and still managed to be in the same program as a girl I had met once before not knowing we would ever see each other again, let alone be abroad together and I had the pleasure of bumping into a classmate from high school I haven't seen in 3 years. As my friend would say, Quoi en le monde?!

Highlight of a Saturday night out on the town: a French guy responding to us being New Yorkers with: "Oui, New York! Where concrete jungles are made of, New York!" Jay-Z has officially recreated the meaning of New York for the whole world. Bravo.

Clearly, with the help of some interesting American and French people, and very importantly Monsieur Vin Rouge (photo at right), these first days in the City of Lights have not been disappointing. Soon enough I'll be walking through the Champs Elysees, the Louvre, and the Arc de Triomphe as nonchalantly as passing by Times Square (though less nauseatingly I hope). J