A'dam!...What? That's what they call it.

So, I got back from Amsterdam in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Home long enough to take a shower and have a really vivid dream about my host-parents hanging out in the bathroom with me. My first dream en français, except I apparently don't have enough a grasp of the language to have done any talking in the dream, but at least I understood what they were saying. I remember looking at Marie-Pierre and wondering what was different about her and then I realized that she was bald. I thought, "Oh! So, she does wear a wig!", because her hair always looks great. I slept for about 45 minutes and then I had to either go to class or...not. So, I called Stella (Catho classmate and traveling companion) and said not. Then, I thought about it and decided to suck it up and called her back and told her to bring my laptop to class, since I left it at her house the night before we left and I hadn't been able to contact anyone while I was in Amsterdam...except for an email I sent my mom on Saturday from their amazing state-of-the-art library which read, "Hey! I think I forgot to tell you that I'm going to be in Amsterdam this weekend. Just wanted to let you know in case you're wondering why you don't hear from me tomorrow". Notice the completely unconvincing evocation of forgetfulness. Fortunately, she was really excited for me.
I've had a few friends that have visited Amsterdam and the resounding impression was a sort of like candyland with drugs, so I guess I was surprised upon arrival. The city is cute. All those bottle-shaped buildings and canals. What am I getting at? It wasn't Paris. If I wasn't sure before, and I was, then I'm even more so now. But I had fun.

I visited Rembrandthuis, the Van Gogh, and the Stedlijk. They were incredible. I love visiting museums, but I usually reach my point of saturation after a couple of hours. I do a lot of browsing in order to see as much as possible before I feel like my brain can't take anymore and I need a nap. But in Amsterdam, I was just wanted to keep going, despite my lack of sleep, which really was more a result of trying to wake up early in the morning so I could sneak into Stella's hostel for free breakfast than partying all night. Well, except for the last night I was there. Hans, my host took Angela, an Australian couchsurfer, and I to a couple of bars and I ended up dancing like an idiot to jungle and bad metal all night. Oh, and letting Dutch guys try out their American English game on me.

Then suddenly, Angela had decided she had had enough and wanted to leave. When I asked her what time it was, I was surprised to learn that it was almost seven in the morning! So after looking for my hoodie with no success (too bad since it was a Kristen Ferrell screenprint), we went back to Hans and I slept for only a few hours because I wanted to explore as much as possible before I left that night.
Since then, I've been trying to be as school-focused as possible so I can be as unoccupied as possible when my boyfriend, Forest, arrives the 15th. Yay! He's never traveled to Europe either and I planned out an incredible trip for us at an even more incredible price which I've been toiling over for weeks. But it's going to pay off, I'm sure. Couchingsurfing in Germany and Ireland and then a blissful week in a hotel on the beach in Malta. Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing.
Oh, hey! I bought a sweet old-school *working* coffee grinder as a souvenir. Then Hans told me that it's German. Oops! We still love each other.

It has pigeons and black yards. The people have white skin.

Despite living here in Paris, I really felt like I could be in any large American city this week. I guess a lot of people are on vacation for Easter, or Zombie Jesus Day as they say in Ypsi. I think I heard more English and French, which may have been facilitated by a trip to an Irish pub on St. Patrick's day with Ornella, Kristen, and Evelyn after Suzanne's exam. Turns out that the Brits think we're even less worth polite interaction than the French. Our friendly bartender, Tom, repeatedly insisted that we were "O.K." when we people asked if we were American with a singularly raised condescending eyebrow. I don't consider myself patriotic and despite reports of U.S. bashing from my U of M comrades, this was the first time that I actually felt offended about assumptions concerning my American-ness. For a moment, I was almost inclined to defend my country, which pissed me off more than any alleged insinuation.
I've been planning my trip to Amsterdam for the long weekend and I'm pretty siked that someone decided to host me on couchsurfing. He has great references and he's "Level 3" security, meaning that he actually provided his bank account and a credit card to verify his identity. He does mention something called the "Church of Fun" on his profile, but that doesn't sound so bad does it? Seriously though, he seems harmless. You don't even wanna know who I emailed in the mad dash to find a host. Suffice to say that one of them began his profile with, "..before you contact me, ask yourself if I'm really the type of soul that you want to spend time with.." and then preceded to say that he can see the beauty in people by staring into their eyes. Most people that messaged me back claimed to already be hosting someone, but this guy turned me down flat. I guess he saw in my eyes that I really kind of thought he was "dingue".
We went to Saint-Denis today and it's going to have to duke it out with Sacre-Coeur for most beautiful church (thought technically basilicas...basilici?). Incredible architecture and founded on the cult site of a beheaded saint, which are my two criteria for measuring if a site visit is worthwhile. Unfortunately, there was a strike, so we couldn't see all the tomb sculptures that were purposefully made to look like decaying flesh, but it they certainly looked interesting enough from behind the railing we leaned over.
So, I leave for Amsterdam in less than nine hours. I'll be sure to have photos when I return.

Secrets travel fast..

The week started out with a trip to Malmaison, the "modest" home and retreat of the imperial couple and ultimately Josephine's place of exile. But if we were to rewind a bit, we would find the author exploring her new neighborhood, hoping to discover potential haunts. It was in this setting that I saw my first Parisian cockroach, excuse me, cafard. It began as a simple hunger for Chinese food. I found a little place that looked tasty and inexpensive, with a second floor so I could look out onto the street and read Hugo in peace. Just as I finished my last crevette, something scuttled across the table. Er. I shooed it away from me with my napkin and it made haste towards the edge of my table, under a ledge that ran along the wall. I picked up my stuff and shook it out to make sure that there wasn't anything hiding in it. Then I did something I wish I hadn't: I looked under the ledge. Yes, it's what you're thinking. Several of them. Crawling all over each other and making cockroach love. My elbow had been there only moments ago. I left, not knowing whether to inform the staff or if they would even care. Unfortunately, I don't have a picture to commemorate my experience. Whatever, I'll go back.

Malmaison is not as impressive as you would think.

I mean, an Emperor lived there, but I guess I expected something grander. The rooms are surprisingly modest in size and lack the grandiosity of say, Napoleon III's apartments. Sometimes I cant's help but compare Napoleon to Augustus, although this is probably not a remarkable parallelism on my part. Although I think Augustus was definitely more astute when it came to image..or maybe not.

From the reading, I had this gorgeous chateau (grrr Blogger, why do you hate circumflexes?) complete with wild lush gardens in my head. Maybe it was just too gloomy out for me to really get the force of it. To be sure, my mom would dig the Empire style: her bedroom sports the requisite dark woods and Egyptian theme, although probably a little too Bed, Bath, and Beyond to qualify as such.

After discussion in the classroom with Paul on Tuesday, Sara and I decided to walk from the Institut to Sacré Coeur. I know, we're so cool. We walked up Sebastopol most of the way and went through what must have been the Weave/Nail District to be followed by the Hideous Bridal Gown/Prom Dress quartier. By the time we reached Sacré Coeur, it was just before sunset and. it. was. beautiful. I mean, first we had to bypass the entourage of guys trying to grab our hands so they could tie friendship bracelets around our wrists...and then the massive group of Italian? Spanish? students that were conducting some sort of experiment with giant dice on the slope between the steps...and then the group of tourists that were egging on the musical stylings of a couple of musicians that knew a whole lot of Bob Marley and Dylan covers. But then, by golly, that view was somethin' else.

The inside of the basilica is indescribable. I actually started reconsidering Christianity (well...). We had a chance to sit on part of Vespers and..what can I say? The atmosphere, the sounds of the nuns voices...It was very moving.

Wednesday was in the Louvre with Suzanne again. We had a pretty major set-back when we realized that the room housing Rubens's Marie de Medici's cycle was closed. However, this didn't stop Suzanne from attempting to lecture us in separate groups while trying to peer into the room, despite the constant reproach of a museum worker. It was definitely a disappointment to all. Later, we moved to David's Sacré and discussed its' significance in relation to Rubens, as well as its' mercantile significance.

This week we explored the Métro with Paul. Actually, today was my favorite site visit. I don't know if it's the appeal of the underground or the awesomeness of Guimard, or perhaps that we were discussing a time period that holds a lot of interest for me. Regardless, it made me somewhat regret my vow to take the subway as little as possible in order to save money and see the city (above ground).

Cou cou

Unfortunately, the last week or so has been a progression of me getting sicker and sicker. So, I haven't done as much exploring as I would have liked, especially in light of this week's readings on the Flâneur (which I found pretty adventure inspiring, all presupposing "bobo"-ness aside). Speaking of bobo, I returned to Pompidou last week and hung out on the fifth floor for a couple of hours. Soaking up all this early modern French art has been amazing, but I have to say that it was Dada, Surrealism, and Neue Sachlichkeit that sparked my desire to study art history.




Friday night, I went to a bar with Lena near the Place de Bastille. We had a good time chatting with some French fellow originally from Morocco. I spent most of the evening talking to this guy, Youness. He was nice enough, but call me a tease, I was really just in it for the dry-run in French flirtation. After suggesting some places that I might like to visit, he asked for my phone number and I didn't see the harm in giving it to him. It seemed like an opportunity to make some French friends in a seemingly harmless way. Stupid, stupid, stupid. According to Suzie, although she just told me this yesterday, in France they don't have that "X" amount of time before you call, between calls, etc. that so characterizes "typical" American dating practices. I don't know how true that is, but I wish I would have known that before. The calls started immediately after I left the bar and persisted the following two days. Lesson learned.

So, I did laundry last weekend for the first time. I was kind of hoping I could strike a deal with my host parents or that Marie-Pierre might offer to let me use their washer, but I decided that I would ask them where the closest laundromat was and see their response. No dice. Marie-Pierre kindly directed me to two laundromats in our neighborhood, citing the one on Rue de Seine as better because there's more to explore while you're waiting for your laundry. However, the one on Grande Auguste-Comte is closer, so that's the one I headed for. I packed my dirty laundry into my smaller suitcase and started down Rue St-Andres-des-Arts. I wandered around this part a little my first day, so after I got my stuff in the wash (and left...and then returned abruptly when I realized that when I set the temperature, I was thinking in Fahrenheit), I went in search of some good coffee. I've had some serious anxiety over finding a good espresso. If all my coffee geek friends back home hadn't already warned me, I would be really surprised about the quality of coffee in arguably the gourmand capital of the world. I returned my when my clothes were done washing, to discover that the coin operator was no longer working, so nobody could dry their clothes. The owners didn't seem to think this was a problem, but I decided that I really didn't want to wait 24 hours for my jeans and socks to dry, so I went looking for Rue de Seine. I wish I had had my camera on me, but suffice to say that my neighborhood is incredible. I hadn't been back by this little area before. I got manic. After dropping off my dry clothes and talking with my mom on Skype for a few minutes (back home, my car's dead, again), I returned to explore a little with Lena and have a glass of wine in one of the cafés.
That night (Saturday), I went home and had dinner with my host parents, Jacques' brother, and his girlfriend. Turns out Jacques' brother put on the first Parisienne rave. I love that. Then we looked at some of the pictures from Nick Cave's recent photo-shoot, the one featured in the Le Monde. Jacques's best friend just happened to be the photographer. So great. Not only is my location amazing, but my host parents are incredibly cool. They're constantly telling me about things they think I might like as they find out more about my interests. I love the way that Marie-Pierre introduced me to Jacques's brother:
"This is Erin. She's the student that's staying with us right now. She's from Michigan and she likes rock music".
"Oh, Michigan. Of course. Iggy Pop!"
The funny thing is that I've been telling people that I'm from Chicago, since the first few times I said Michigan, people looked at me quizzically. Since this introduction, I've been telling more people that I'm Michigan and I've gotten that a few more times. Iggy Pop!

Sunday, I wasn't feeling so great and the feeling has persisted. However, the classes with Suzanne this week have been really interesting as we have been discussing prominent female negotiation of power and legitimacy via art. Wednesday during break, she started telling us a little bit about her academic career and I got a few questions answered about graduate school. She's had the opportunity to do some pretty envy-inspiring things and I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with myself once I graduate in August.