CROUS!

Day 24 in Paris

Spaghetti carbonara, seafood terrine, and custard pudding. Cost: 3,10 EUR. That's only 0,15 euros more than that sad frozen bagel. 

Due to some unforeseen slowness on the part of my school's administration, my student loan has yet to be disbursed. Well, in truth, I did foresee it. I was just hoping against all hope that all the stereotypes about seemingly lackadaisical, glacially slow French office workers was false. But alas, personal experience has done nothing but further provide evidence to this reputation.

So, that being said, I've been quite low on funds lately. At school there are two on-site student canteens, or rather, food stands, that sell subsidized meals to students. And by meals I mean baguette sandwiches: jambon beurre, mixte (ham and cheese), poulet-crudité , jambon-crudité, tuna-crudité. If you're feeling particularly flush with centimes, you can spring for a whole formule: sandwich, yogurt, and drink. All for 3,70 EUR. Needless to say, I think in the past three weeks I've had quite enough subsidized bread and sliced ham.

Just when I had resigned myself to forever eating carbs and butter for lunch (which surprisingly you can get sick of), or being doomed to pack my lunch (the sandwiches I make at home are even sadder), my fellow American--the only other one in my Masters program--reminded me of the university student restaurant a couple blocks away from school. In Paris, there are no "campus" universities and university students from all different kinds of schools are instead served by a nationwide system of services called CROUS (Centre régional des œuvres universitaires et scolaires). This includes, university dorms (Cité Universitaire), university  restaurants, and cultural programming. All of which is generously subsidized by the State.

I perked up at the idea of hot food. We walked to the restaurant and joined the line up to the dining room. It was fairly impressive. The space was newly renovated (or it appeared so, but then again this is relative to the rest of Paris), and the food. Oh, the food. It was varied, pretty healthy, and so cheap. Basically, you get get three courses for 3,10 EUR. So in awe I was at the sight that when it came to my turn to order I couldn't even think straight and just said whatever was in front of me, which happened to be the spaghetti carbonara. Though, in hindsight, I would have prefered the feuilleté (savory puff pastry pie) and ratatouille. Or maybe the rice and chicken curry.

Granted, it's not the best food. But it's tasty enough, on par with dining hall food from BC (if not better, depending on the dining hall), and again, you just can't beat the price. I even saw professors and library staff eating there, so really, no one can resist.

Cravings Vol. 1

Picard is the French frozen food supermaket. Everyone here loves it. We in the U.S. have an aversion to frozen foods as something unhealthy, down-market, and processed. Not so in France. However, I'll be damned before I eat a frozen, pre-schmeared, poppy seed bagel with lox that I had to heat up in my Cold War-era oven. Things are not yet that bad.

But, for now, it's off to bed to dream of fresh bagels, iced coffee, and Mexican food.

Crying in Public

Day 14 in Paris

It's been two weeks since I've arrived in Paris. And there's one thing that I forget sets Paris apart from other cities I've been to. Women crying in public. Women crying in parks, on benches along the street, on the metro, waiting for the metro, outside metro stations. Just women in tears everywhere. By my count I've seen 9 women crying in public, and only one was a tourist. And it's not even gray, gray, November yet.

It's not that Paris is an emotional city. It's a passionate city, that is for sure. But in many respects it's much like New York. When you leave your apartment you put on your game face. You wipe any sign of emotion from your face--anything that could be construed as a weakness--and you go and brave the elements, the people, the chaos, and public transport. For the most part, it's stoic faces all around. Which is why when you do see a teary-eyed face among the crowd it's even more jarring than it should be.

Week One -- Birthday Week

Day 11 in Paris

Well, I made it through my first week of classes. To be honest, it was a bit bizarre. After not having taken a class in four years, sitting through those first introductions and reading through syllabi was tough. Add to that, that all but two of the eight classes were in French and you may start to get a dull pain in the back of  your head. Really the only thing that saved the week for me school-wise was my seminar class, which is actually being led by an American, go figure.

But aside from that, all is well. I spent my 26th birthday this past week here in Paris. I started the day off with 7 straight hours of class, nearly had a nervous breakdown, waited at the wrong place for a friend visiting from Scotland-by-way-of-Crown Heights, and then ate my weight in oeufs-mayo and tatare de boeuf at Cafe de l'Industrie in the 11eme.

This weekend will be the weekend of picnics apparently. I organized one with a friend today in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont (I'm calling it a belated Labor Day celebration), and tomorrow I have one with the other members of my program at Sciences Po. Time to drink too many rosé wine spritzers judge people walking by, so essentially, I'm picking right up from where I left off in Brooklyn.

Je m'appelle....?

Day 5 in Paris

Today is my first official day of class. My first class since May of 2008. It is sort of terrifying. More terrifying is that it's in French and is about local European politics. However, some things are looking up. I have an apartment (yay!), a phone, and hopefully soon, a bank account. What I definitely don't have, as I am relearning, is a name that French people can pronounce.

Introductions in French are pretty straightforward. That is, until I have to introduce myself and say my name. "Andrew" is probably one of the worst sounding and easily confused names when said in French. In the last three days people have thought my name to be, "Ando," "Ander," "Ethan," "Edouard." It's almost come the point where I have to revert back to what I used to do, and just say my name is "André." 

Problem is I don't really like the name André either. I figure that if I'm just going to tell people a different name, it might as well be a name I like. Mathieu, which would be my confirmation name in French, might work. Problem is, knowing me, I'd probably forget and then not respond to people calling for Mathieu.