BYOPB (Bring your own Peanut Butter) and other life lessons

Bon soir!  It's Laura again. A lot has happened since my last post, so I don't think that I'll manage to  catch up completely in this post.

My host parents departed for Vietnam on Friday, leaving their youngest daughter here.  On Friday morning, I looked for the IFE building over in the 11e arrondissement (Bastille).  I found it pretty easily, although I had some trouble getting my bearings when I first stepped out of the metro.  But it's not very far from the stop, plus there is a little stature of Saint Nicolas on top of the building that marks my turn onto Rue Saint Nicolas. I then walked to the Gare de Lyon, a train station that I may see again if I ever decide that Paris has become too familiar. The station also houses the famous restaurant "Le Train Bleu" where Mr. Bean ate his first disastrous French meal in Mr. Bean's Holiday.

That evening, I met up with my Taylor near her appartment in the 7e, just around the corner from Invalides.  She showed me her favorite bakeries, and then we combed the local supermarkets for peanut butter. All that we could find was a half-sized jar of fine, imported American Skippy peanut butter for 4€50 in Paris.  Peanut lovers be warned: bring your own peanut butter, or you may just have to consider switching to spreads like Nutella or Biscoff. Tragic, I know. We ate couscous at an Algerian restaurant called l'Oasis with Taylor's roommate and another of her friends from the American Business School of Paris. The restaurant was nice, with good service and food that was both yummy and inexpensive. It was a lot of fun to walk around the streets in the snow and see Paris turn into a winter wonderland.

Saturday afternoon, I met up with Emily in Montmartre.  The first thing that she wanted to see was the snow- covered cemetery, which was unfortunately closed due to the ice. While standing outside the cemetery gates we managed to attract the attention of an annoyingly persistent Moldovan man. He started by throwing snowballs and making small talk with us (especially Emily, who he called "girl with the blue eyes"), and then followed us for  more than 10 minutes. Trying to ignore the unwanted attention, we stopped for sandwiches at a nice bakery en route to the Sacré Coeur cathedral and lost him shortly afterwards. Lesson learned: Do nothing to encourage this kind of over-friendliness unless you're really interested. It's like giving food to a stray cat.

Montmartre is particularly quaint when blanketed in snow. The gargoyles perched atop the Sacré Coeur stuck out long tongues of ice out at us as we approached the Sacré Coeur.  Unlike Notre Dame, the people at Sacré Coeur object to picture-taking, with or without a flash. Distracted by the elaborately painted ceiling/ general awesomeness of the cathedral, I failed to read the "no pictures" sign near the entrance and was firmly chided by a big imposing man who appears to act as the church's bouncer. Afterwards, we had our first French coffee in an old cafe called Le Progrès and then window-shopped the scenic sex stores of Pigalle in search of the Moulin Rouge. We hopped on the metro to go see the Eiffel Tower covered in snow.  At the base of the tower, my camera died. Emily tried to start a snowball fight with a 10-year-old but failed after missing her mark. Still, the magic of the snow made the side trip completely worthwhile.

I got to know one of my older host sisters and her friends this weekend.  She is a law student who lives about an hour away, but she'll be staying at the house every weekend until the parents return.  She has been very nice; always trying to include me in the conversation when her friends. Although they were definately a fun group, I have to admit that 9/10 jokes went completely over my head, and that the pace of the conversation was much too fast for me.  It was a little disquieting to be reminded once again that my French is not yet on the level where I can carry on a casual conversation with people my own age.

I had a a very interesting dinner with them. We used melted squares of cheese using...some sort of melting appliance and acutensil vaguely resembling a trowel or a pie server. Then we put the cheese on top of boiled potatoes and ate them with ham. Afterwards we played "Burger quiz," a game based on an old game show that involves rubber hamburgers that squeak and a bunch of question cards featuring various condiments.

One more note on French conversation: In one of my first dinners with the family, the father told me that, "French people are always talking about politics."  This is something I've been told before, and it has definitely held true so far. Then, with the group of young law students this weekend, my host sister told me, "French people are always talking about food."  I hadn't noticed that yet, mostly because food has always been in the back of my mind, anyway. But I will test this theory as I go on to try more French foods.  One of the new additions to the peak of my French food pyramid is a spread called "confiture du lait" (milk jelly), a french relative of dulce de leche that is delicious spread over toast.

And so ends my time as a carefree tourist, as I begin my classes with IFE. I already had classes today, but I will tell you more about that next time.

À bientôt,

Laura