Author: Ali Vitali

Ali is an NBC News Campaign Embed covering Donald Trump and the Republican Party for Decision 2016. She joined MSNBC in September 2012 as a member of the video team, responsible for publishing video content, and then moved to The Cycle as a Graphics and Segment Producer. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @alivitali and on Snapchat avitali.

Holiday From Real: Paris Edition

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I had a bunch of worlds collide during this most recent foray into the world outside of Aix – High School friends, meets Tulane friends, meets AUCP friends. Needless to say my triple lives all meshed together into one gorgeously harmonious trip to Paris. But this harmony was not without moments of dischord. Our initial train from Aix to Paris was cancelled on Thursday (less than 24 hours before we were supposed to leave!) and so I spent an hour scattering around on the Internet trying to find cheap plane tickets. Mission accomplished. We arrived at the airport for our 7ish flight and spent the next 3 hours on the floor near our Gate, drinking demi-bottles of wine and navette cookies. 4 bottles later and more cookies than I care to count (or publicly display), we boarded. (Picture to follow…)

We landed in Paris circa minuit and proceeded to take a bus and then attempt to walk to our hotel. 20 minutes in, my too-trendy-for-walking-but-still-adorable-booties decided it was time to take a cab. And good thing, too, because we would’ve been walking for over an hour more! But nothing can be easy and the cab driver, of course, didn’t know where our hotel was and – for some reason – didn’t think it necessary to use his GPS. I’m gonna go all Allegiance to NYC on you right now and say this would never happen in The City. Public transportation in Europe (and sometimes other US states, I’ll admit) just boggles my mind. Dad, I understand: I can never live anywhere but NY. Anyway, we arrived to our hotel at a whopping 1:30am. In NOLA this would pose no problem. In France, there is a law that bars must close at 2am. Thus, we made the executive decision to (grudgingly) change into PJs and wait to take on Paris tomorrow.  

And take it on we did! But we were not alone. In fact, there were over 25 fellow Tulanians in Paris this weekend. And while I (very sadly) didn’t manage to see them all. I did get to see a bunch of my favorite people who have also crossed the pond this semester and who are pursuing their studies (drinking habits) abroad.

Ramirez & I somehow finding perfect lighting in the strange High-School-Party-In-A-Parisienne-Basement-Club that we were at. Love it!

Yeah, we got a little fratty circa 3am!

There was even an appearance from another resident of the 914 area code who has relocated herself to France for the semester. She braved angry French strikers and police armed with battering rams to make it to my hotel for an aperatif before we cabbed ensemble to Montmartre for dinner with Tulane friends! This little “mush” will also be joining us in ROME in less than two weeks. jewagjewkjgfwigjawg – meaning to say, EXCITEMENT!
All in all, it was an amazing trip. I’m lucky enough that it was my 4th time in Paris but we still managed to hit all major tourist spots just by promenading along the Siene – thank you Ancient Parisiennes for making all of your monuments so easily accesible and tourist friendly. This was obviously their thought process when mapping out where to place the Louvre in relation to the Eiffel Tower in relation to Notre Dame.

I cannot wait to get back to this wonderful city – hopefully sans grèves – in December with my family and see even more of the wonders that Paris has to offer once you get up the courage to leave the sight of the Siene and begin winding your way up the weathered streets of the City of Lights. Until then, I leave Paris this time with (shockingly) no new purchases but an entirely new set of memories to attribute to this wonderful place – plus an complete set of photos for a potential Pi Phi Does Paris Abum (say that 5 times fast) and an array of choices for the Penthouse Photo Display that we’ll be putting up in our apartment come January. [Update for all of you Tulane readers: I will be back in NOLA January 5th rolling squad deep with Pange and Lyss and maybe even the Great Sweet Lou.]

Until then, it is currently midterm week here and while I am quite enjoying my time here – which can be described as nothing but a Holiday From Real – I have to stop “wasting my weeks beneath the sun” and actually remembering I have school (womp womp). Here’s to studying AND THEN MILAN ON FRIDAY!

How to Solve Hunger, Famine, Drought and World Peace in Fewer than 800 Words

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Ghandi, beat this. I’m only kidding. But really, this is something that I’ve been thinking a lot about. So for those of you who read this blog for it’s playful nature and lack of anything serious – I’m sorry, but this entry is the exception. Still, I hope you enjoy it!

Je suis americaine. I’m sorry to say so, but it’s true. Just like you happened to be born in France, I was born in New York City, NY. I didn’t choose it, or ask for it – though if I could’ve, we’d probably still be here having the same “conversation.” I’m going through a period now of realizing that there are people out there who want to kill and terrorize others simply because of where they happened to be born, what religion they choose to follow (or not follow), what color skin they happened to be born into. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of it – of course my mind starting recognizing these things very quickly at age 11 when the Towers fell. But even with the Times Square Bomber in the most recent news of my “local” terror, there was some feeling of “OK, we’re all Americans. We’re all together.” To experience the threat of terror while abroad is something completely different and, honestly, something I did not even think twice about experiencing during my 4 months abroad. Yet, here I am reading warnings, news reports, constantly looking over my shoulder and having a new found motivation – more like a necessity – to speak French in public. I guess I can thank Al-Qaeda for fluency? Still, it’s a strange feeling that of walking around with a target on your back that could, potentially, be of your imagination and irrationality, or, peut-être, totally rational and real. Either way, I don’t like it.
I can’t help who I am and I don’t wish I were anything different. Nor do I wish for anyone else to feel ashamed of where they come from or to bend to fit my views. I’m just a little confused – I’d even go so far to say as to say I’m incredulous – that those with many years more wisdom than I can’t reach this concept in their minds but I, a twenty-year old kid (because let’s face it, I am), can see the logic to the world around us. I learned a long time ago from a very wise teacher (Mrs. Tenser if you ever see this, IOU 1,000 thanks for the amazing lessons you taught me) that the answer to all of our problems really boils down to one word, which I do really feel the need to underline, bold and italicize: tolerance. If I can simplify our problems down to three syllables, why is it so hard for everyone else? Realize, tout le monde, that we all have the same two eyes, nose and mouth (even MJ had these things at one point); the same heart, the same organs; the same wants, needs, desires; we’re all born, we all love, we all hurt, we all cry, we all die the same. And this is so atypical Ali, especially for this blog, which is – let’s be honest – a very sarcastic and “my life is a joke” account of my experiences abroad. That’s how I am, that’s how I speak and I’m always the first one to find the humor in my personal life. But when my trips, plans and general well being start being threatened by men and women who wear cultural blinders and can only see their point of view, I feel the need to get serious. And maybe this entry is a completely random cultural manifesto or totally naïve and idealistic – I can agree that it probably is all those things and more – but there’s truth in the statement when the Little Prince says “Les adultes sont bizarres.” We are so ungrudging, so open, so tolerant when we’re young. “You can’t say you can’t play” (for all you Todd School grads, you get that this phrase marked our way of life) isn’t hard to follow until we grow up. At what point do we learn that it’s OK to discriminate? At what point does our lens become tainted with hatred? Shouldn’t it be that as children we do these things that lack all sense and logic because we don’t know any better that we are all, at our cores, the same? I pose these questions to start a discussion because, clearly, they have no real answer. I’m not about to change the minds of radicals, conservatives or criminal masterminds with one blog post and a few (good) questions. But if I’m going to have a blog, I may as well put down some actual thoughts along with my anecdotes of total self-deprecation and this is something that, especially of late, has been a constant preoccupation inside my head.

Well, I’m going to go be “Hollandaise” this weekend in Paris. That is, if I ever get there. They’re greve-ing again. Always freaking striking! What do you have to greve about, people of France? You live in an actual paradise. You’re diet consists of rose, baguettes and cheese. So they put off your retirement for a few years? Go grab a bottle and go talk to my Dad – he’d be happy if someone made him retire at 62! Give up the greve and get me to Paris. I’ll even bring you some wine for the train ride. Please!

Rules of the Game, Part II

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Rule #4:The Carpenters were so right, Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Especially when they team up and happen on the same day. And especially when your bus comes 20 minutes late and your standing in the rain waiting.

Rule #4.5: The bus is always freakin’ late. jwgjwekgjakgkwjgw;gae!

Rule #5: All hands on deck at the table. When the time comes for lunch, dinner or even the midday snack, it’s considered a bit strange here to keep your hands in your lap while you eat. This is contrary to every rule my wonderful Grandma ever taught me and, in fact, I’m pretty sure she’d be mortified to see everyone at the table (myself included!) eating their meals with their elbows à coté de their plates.

Rule #6: There’s no need to apologize for calling someone and interrupting their dinner. Again, something contrary to a Vitali family rule and something that, I’m pretty sure, goes hand in hand with the mentality that whoever is receiving your phone call is lucky you’re taking the time to call them at all thus, you’re having that conversation regardless. In my experience there are certain times you know just not to call someone at home – in my opinion it’s not before 10am and not during the hours of potential dinner, I’d say 6-9pm. Here, no one cares. My host mom (who is the sweetest woman and is doing this not because it’s rude but just simply acceptable) took at least 3 phone calls from her multiple family members during our Sunday night dinner. I could hear the loud and irritated “SIGH” of Sweet Lou in my head from the days (not long ago) when I used to field any type of phone call at the table. I knew it was just a normal thing to talk to the phone when I ended up having to put my fork in Marie Claire’s rabbit so she could use her free hand to cut a piece of meat and chew mid-conversation. She found this useful and we continued as such for the rest of her phone calls.

Rule #7: Boys will be boys. On Saturday night I spent some time with my American girlfriends and some French boys who we met thanks to the AUCP Language Partner program which, the more I’m seeing, is just potentially a glorified Match.com for people who want to be bilingual and get a real head start on French Kissing 101. Anyway, after getting on the ever-so-intellectual subject of how to translate “Aw skeet, skeet mother fucker” into French (this explanation was one for the books, really) the boys confided in us that when they started learning English they took it upon themselves to look up “only the dirty words.” Oh the motivation! So while they don’t know how to ask where the bathroom is, their sexual vocabulary is truly impressive and they were more than ecstatic to learn a new phrase. Part of me wants to be there when they unleash it on some unexpecting American. The other part of me wants to be far away so I don’t accidentally get killed when the said-unsuspecting American reacts to being told to “bend over to the front and touch your toes.”

Rule #8: This weekend when I take on Paris, “we’re from Holland!” Just for precautions. I have my “Cultural Manifesto” that essentially solves all problems of worldly intolerance, famine and drought but I’m thinking of reserving it’s posting for sometime later this week. I don’t wanna go all Ghandi on you so early in the week. It is, afterall, only Monday. And raining.

A page from ‘Marius’

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“Silence! (Il prend un ton solennel.) Donc, nous allons boire le coup du depart. C’est emouvant le coup de depart. On quitte sa famille, ses amis, ses clients. On part pour les mers inconnues d’ou l’on est presque sur de ne pas revenir. Alors on prend son verre d’une main qui ne tremble pas. On boit le dernier coup sur la terre ferme…le coup du depart…c’est emotionnant…A votre sante.”

-Cesar, “Marius” par Marcel Pagnol

PROST! (la la la la la)

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Yes, readers, Oktoberfest. So you know this entry’s going to be….amusing. And not just any Oktoberfest. No, no, this fête de la biere was the 200th anniversary – and as far as I can tell, the Germans know how to throw a birthday party. I departed Aix with no real ideas of what to expect. Apart from Mardi Gras which utilized much more neon and spandex, I had never attended a European festival of binge drinking and lederhosen. And so other than the knowledge that pretzels come from Germany and the big beers are called steins (and 1 = about 5 regular beers), I set off on my Lufthansa flight to Munich with Audrey to my left and two free glasses of sparkling wine in each hand. Disclaimer: I did not ask for two glasses, our American excitement of the idea that drinks – let alone alcohol – was gratuit on a plane must’ve been obvious enough to warrant the, “you wanted another, right?” And who am I to say no to some good ol’ German hospitality?

We arrived in Munich to find our French cell phones worked only in France – go figure. But somehow managed to locate Sarah and, of course, have our first Oktoberfest beer in the Munich airport while we waited for Dana’s flight to arrive. Once all united, we set off for the Hostival. Yes, the name alone should’ve been a tip off. A youth hostel, at Oktoberfest, themed as a hospital and lovingly termed the Hangover Hospital.

If we didn’t realize we were in trouble then, we realized soon after entering the Munich night club district and walking “past the strip club, to the left, past the train (train!?), through the parking lot and under the over pass.” May as well wait in a dark alley with our wallets out. Let’s go! And so we did, the wheels of our bags crunching over the crumbling pavement and picking up god knows what as we plodded along the sketchy Munich streets to the soundtrack of Euro techno mixed with “Country Roads.” I was as surprised as you are. When we finally reached our hostel, I could not have been more rendered more speechless. The only words that came to mind were: “but of course this is our hostel.” The hostel was, in fact, a large white tent in the middle of a graffiti-ridden parking lot. We entered to find that this tent was unheated and the rooms were in fact sections of tent separated by bed sheets and themed as a hospital. Our unit, Family Planning, was located across from the ICU and next to the Abortion Clinic. Quelle chance! Pictures really don’t even do this place justice…

“Guys, we are all showering together” was my first reaction. One that, I thought, was completely warranted and logical – strength in numbers and all that. But considering those were the first words I spoke since basically departing the airport, my friends collectively decided that all these years of boys (and boy problems) were simply my way of saying, “Guys, I’m gay.” Go figure. And so us 5 weary travelers put the bed covers on our mattresses and hid our valises under our thin, scraggily excuses for blankets and did what any college students would do in this situation: went out for a drink.

The HB tent: my personal favorite and also the last place that we all saw our sobriety and dignity. If found, feel free to return.

But it was not until Saturday at a whopping 7:30am that the real festivities began. Clad in our jackets and high hopes, the 5 Tulanians set out for the Fest that we, being students of New Orleans, felt we had been made and trained for. We would soon learn that we were sadly mistaken. If this is starting to sound like an R.L. Stine “Goosebumps,” it’s right about now that I’m wishing I could choose another ending. But to continue, tents open at 9 and beer starts flowing at 10 – it was nice to see that there was some maintenance of classy drinking habits. Along with the beers, cheesy bread and pretzels were plentiful in the tents, as were men and women clad in Lederhosen and Drindles, both classic and modern. The ceilings were adorned with colors and tent name emblems lined the walls.

But above all: there were people, there were songs and there was beer. 

After meeting up with this crew and getting kicked out at 11am (that’s when the VIP reserved people got to go in) we managed to find, guess what, MORE TULANIANS along with lots of Germans, Italians and some very chatty Parisians!

Yes, it was a Tulane filled weekend in Munich. Most of you can probably recognize this sentiment, of walking into a bar – whether it be the Boot, Bruno’s, Rocco’s, F&M’s, you name it – and realizing with one look-around that you know 9.5 out of every 10 people in that bar. My statistics were so great at Oktoberfest, but there was one moment, while standing with my new German friend Linus on a table at Hofbrau tent, that I looked around and had that feeling that I was surrounded by people who I knew. And it was true! To my right was Linus (sans blanket but nonetheless awesome), to my left Dana and Christina, across the table: Audrey and (if memory serves) Sam Glidden and Scotty Jospin made an appearance, all while Trent and I prost-ed across the table and swayed to the sounds of the music that threatened to get so loud that the entire tent could burst with joy and musical notes at any moment!

It’s a strange feeling, the sentiment of feeling home simply by being around people who have a love for the same place as you do. But this had to be my favorite moment of Oktoberfest. Sure, there were other memories – stories of what you did the night before count as memories right? – And plenty of one-liners that defined the weekend, but as I sat on the plane coming home I couldn’t help but think of how that feeling of home manages to sneak up on you at the strangest of times in the strangest of places. That, and how bad I felt for the man sitting next to me who could clearly tell that just the sight of his free-on-Lufthansa beer made me want to throw up. All in all, this weekend was one of the most amazing, trying, intense, fun, beer-filled weekends of my life – and for anyone who’s been to Mardi Gras, you know that’s saying something. Also for anyone who has seen me during one of my “This-is-by-far-my-worst-hangover-ever” mornings, of which there have been a few (ah-hem Halloween, November Rain), I am serious when I say that this one was by far the worst. Enough so that it is officially Sober Oktober for me. Mom and Dad, I can hear your cheers from across the pond.

When I returned to Aix late Monday night after, probably the longest day of my life, my only answer to the question of “how was it!?” was: “I am so glad I went and it was amazing, but I never want to do that again.” This was followed by many stories, including the death of my Blackberry (I’m still in mourning) and Dana’s decision to become a Woman’s Rights major in Germany while living only off of chicken and pretzels. Stories of crazy Italians, random twin brothers, something about a mayonnaise fight and how I, apparently, am casting the fifth Twilight. (Men on the street in Munich, I’m sorry but the growling just didn’t cut it. Maybe next time.) Needless to say, the final scoreboard read: Ali – 0, Oktoberfest – 100,000 and I’m still here marveling over the fact that I can make it through 2 Mardi Gras with no phone issues but one night of rain in Munich can drive my Blackberry to suicide. Correction: Oktoberfest – 100,001. Well, until next time, Prost!

Rules of The Game, Part I

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I figured I’d codify (wow, Student Conduct Board Member much?) the “rules” that I’ve learned since in France. I’m sure that this segment of the Semester Ablog Blog will be repeated a few more times this semester as I’m finding there are quite a lot of new social rules here in France.

Rule #1: Do not feed the animals. This requires some clarification: by “animals” I mean specifically French females. This has to be a rule because walk down any street in France and you’ll feel the urge to buy every female age 15-35 either a huge cone of ice cream, a pie of (Boot) pizza or a very large sandwich. Look into any cafe at any time of day and you’ll see crowds of females but no plates in front of them – maybe a cafe or a drink of some sort, definitely cigarette in hand but where is your food, women of France?!

Rule #2: French music doesn’t really exist. Again, clarification: everywhere I go, I hear American music. In fact, the first song I heard when I arrived into Paris was “Come Together” by the Beatles followed by something by Katy Perry. I wondered, for a moment, if I had landed in France or in Heaven. (Turned out to be France.) Even my host mother’s ring tone is a Beatles’ song! My sole source of musical immersion is with the show N’Oubliez Pas Les Paroles. Otherwise, it’s pretty hard to find French beatz. Even the night clubs and bars play everything from John Mellencamp to Akon – I think I even heard some Weezy the other night…

Rule #2.5: My personal rule for Pop Music, if I haven’t heard it out of an F&M’s/Boot speaker – it doesn’t exist. Thus for those of you still in the states, educate me musically.

Rule #3: There’s no such thing as too many bisous. This rule applies mainly to French men. In my texting experience – albeit limited, thus far – every single text ends in “kisses” or “big kisses.” Really, men of France? I have never felt more College Frat Boy in my life than when I first reacted to this French habit of texting affection. All I wanted to do was put down the phone and run for les collines. Too many virtu-kisses!!

I’m sure I’ll learn more rules (after breaking them, I’m sure) when I’m in Munich this weekend. For the French this little 3 week period of partying is called La Fete de la Biere. For us, more commonly known as OKTOBERFEST!!!!! I’m planning on surviving. If you don’t hear from me by Tuesday, start checking the beer gardens. Now, in typical French-fashion: Gros-bisous tout le monde!

Insert witty title here.

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I’m far too tired to think of something cute for this most recent post, so I’ll allow you readers to get creative with it and make up your own, on your own. Sorry! This week/end was very packed with excursions, outings and travellings all over the South of France – sounds tough, right? We arose at a whopping 9am to take a We-Are-American-Tourists-Bus to a couple of stops including, le Louberon et la Rouge Terre. In the Luberon, I found my perfect chateau (castle) if I decide to have a destination wedding – future husband, start paying attention now.

The gorgeous castle was closed to us on Saturday because of a police gathering, but that didn’t stop us from exploring the rest of the town. We tried wonderful pastries tht are specialties of the region – we’re very avid market researchers and thus made sure to try, not just the specialty cookie, but a chocolate croissant, too. We take this seriously.

AUCP Marseilles & Provence in la Luberon (and in front of my future place of marriage, bien sur).

After the Luberon, we made our way to a couple of other stops, including an adorably old town (not too hard to find) in the moutains where we had a great picnic and then continued on our sortie (outing) to a town where the ground is made of red clay! It was really like an Arizona meets South of France experience and tres cool.

On Sunday, a few of us made our way to the beach. Long story short, we missed our intended bus and ended up deciding spur of the moment to head to Marseilles even though, according to our host families, the beach “n’est pas jolie.” Not too sure what kind of beaches our host families are used to, but I travel for a longer time to hit up Jones or Rye for the day.

For 30 minutes and under 12Euros of travel cash, this seems pretty perfect et jolie to me! We even managed (quelle surprise) to make a few new friends (that we’ll obviously never see again). Needless to say, returning back to school on Monday was a bit difficult. But, I did come away from the weekend with, not only a greater appreciation for the region of Provence, but also a list of dates and places for where I want to travel for the rest of the semester. SO for any and all of you who are abroad, or who have the extra cash laying around to escape for any amount of time, check out this list and then contact me (Facebook, Skype, AIM, etc) and we can rendez-vous!

Sept 24-27 (this weekend): OKTOBERFEST.

Oct 1-3: Barcelona

Oct 8-10: Local touring – maybe Toulouse/Avignon on Sunday?

Oct 15-17: PARIS!

Oct 22-Nov: Vacances de Toussaint. In other words: time for visit the homeland. As of now the plan is to start in Milan and then go to Florence and end up in Rome (where the lovely Christina Houser will be awaiting me!)

Nov 5-7: Bordeaux

Nov 11/12-14: Amsterdam/Prague

Nov 19-21: Arles for Saturday with my art class

Nov 26-28: Dublin

Dec 3-5: Switzerland

Dec 10-12: ?????

Dec 18—-> My program ends here but I’ll be around for about a week. Anyone who wants to stay in Europe and travel around, let me know! I’m open for most anywhere.

Happy days to all. It’s just around lunch time for me right now so I’m going to go do something very French and grab some sushi with another fellow American. *Sigh* You can take the girl out of the states but she’s still gonna crave sushi. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Pain, Fromage, Vin.

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Bread, Cheese, Wine. The new, French equivalent of GTL. I don’t hate it…But when I’m not PFV-ing, I’m usually here:

That’s my room – Anna and Beary front and center on the bed.

Every night I close my shutters and leave my windows open to the sounds of les motos and the breeze through the trees. Upon waking, the shutters are opened and in rush the rays. It’s definitely a great way to wake up in the morning, albeit it’s getting colder by the day!

My typical day continues here:

Le Centre Americain – home of American University Center Provence. This gorgeous house is my new campus. That is, if you consider a garden, 5 classroom house and a pond-complete with fish-a campus.

After classes – which don’t exist for me on Tuesdays as I am continuing my unofficial, but very well-liked, Tulane tradition of easy Tuesday/Thursdays – it’s probable that I’m on the Cours Mirabeau. This gorgeous stretch of cafes and shops is the center area of Aix. “All roads descend to the Cours Mirabeau,” was one of the first directional tips that my host-mother, Marie-Claire, gave to me and it’s rang true ever since. Longchamps, Les Deux Garcons (a favorite hangout for the famed painter Paul Cezanne) and my new second home, Monoprix, are just some of the things that can be found on the stretch!

Maybe not the best shot, but the street culminates in a huge fountain (typical Europe) and roundabout with lots of crazy French drivers and lots of scurrying pedestrians. The mossy mass in the middle is, yet again, a fountain. Quelle surprise!

And after that, I take a bus home and usually settle down for some homework and, more typically, my favorite French show: N’Oubliez Pas Les Paroles – the French edition of “Don’t Forget the Words.” It’s been a great way to learn some French songs – Michel Delpeche, anyone? – and I love when Marie-Claire sings along, which is 9/10 times. Needless to say, I’m loving my time here. Even the most average of days brings a new adventure and a new experience. I think that’s it on playing catch-up. Perfect timing too because I can hear that I’m missing some embarassed contestants who forgot the words. Yup – now Marie-Claire’s singing. A bientot!


Of course, can’t forget les bon-bons! My friend Christy and I made sure to make a pit stop in this heavenly place for a free taste of a strawberry cookie and a purchase of des calissones – a type of cookie that, as far as I know, is famous in Aix. Bon appetit? Don’t mind if I do!

Let’s get a little Retro

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WeeFee Stick obtained. And now to make up for lost time, a little flashback on the past few weeks before we push forward into the lavender fields and fountains of Provence.

I was lucky enough to spend a little under a week in Paris with the lovey Pange as my companion before taking the TGV – no longer just a vocab word in my French textbook – to Aix. Feeling no pressure, as we had had the fortune of visiting this gorgeous city once before, we took on the city with a mindset of leisure and enjoyment. And while I had papillons a flutter in my stomach from the time we set foot on the plane, Pange did her best to calm me. I think most of them have fluttered on, hopefully because space was getting tight, but with the way I’ve been eating tartines and cheese, that’s probably not the case. *Sigh*

I guess now’s as good a time as any, especially since I’m thinking about my time spent in Paris, to say that I’m so thankful, and I’ve talked about this a lot with one of my new friends here at AUCP, that I have the kind of relationship I do with my parents. I count myself as very blessed to be able to say, “Yeah, I had a great time with my Mom in Paris” and not add my usual sarcastic tone to the statement.

Taken from the Sienne, I obviously had to make a nod at the original Orleans, without which the New Orleans that I miss so much would not exist! Merci, France.

 

But bien sur (of course), we had lots of fun taking on The City of Lights. Cafes, the Musee D’Orsay, gypsies and boat rides on the Sienne – we did it all – and even managed to blow out a hair straighter in the process. (Stupide americaines.) It was an amazing way to spend some time before my program and ended up being a great idea because I got to get over my jet lag before starting at AUCP. Smart, Mommy!

And aside from sight seeing, a fellow Tulanian made a dinner time appearance. It was so amazing to rendez-vous with Sarah at an amazing little hotel cafe and have one of the most amazing meals I’ve ever had. Wow, I think I’m channeling the Bachelorette with all of those “amazing’s.” Do I hear Jimmy Kimmel counting?

Alright, I think that about makes up for my lack of posting about Paris. On to Provence! But not tonight. Class at 9AM means I should probably sleep a little bit…

More for Pange than anyone else – the flying buttresses are her favorite!

 

DQY TZO

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What I meant was: Day 2. As I sit here in the AUCP computer lab I find myself overcoming yet another obstacle – a different arrangement of letters on the keyboard. Aut§ — I mean Zut! M has replaced L, Q has replaced A and I am left very confused. So excuse any and all spelling errors in these few sentences that took me forever to write. While hip hop might have saved Lupe, the only hope for my Internet is an ever-so-hard-to-buy/find WiFi Stick (pronounced wee-fee, here in France). Thus, I remain disconnected for another day. Oh the difficulties of equivalent technology in Europe…

When I took the TGV here a little over a week ago, I was filled with apprehension, fear of the unknown and hundreds of questions piling up in my throat and stifled back down by a barrier of language. And so to quiet my mounting fears I did what any normal 20-yr old would do: asked a question and hoped for the next song on my iPod to provide the answer. The wonder of Shuffle… And so I asked with great sincerity: Will I be O.K.? The gods responded with the song “Keep It Together” by Guster. (I know some of you are judging my music taste right now.) I was cal,ed -albeit not by much- by the answer I received and I thought it made sense. I was, afterall, talking to my iPod. But in another way, I got the answer I was looking for: “Im singing a new song now” in a new place with a new language and new friends. So its true, I need to keep it together through these first few weeks of crazy keyboards and new words and foods. And for me, with my first day of classes in session, ”everything starts today.”