raining again….our street is a lively one…
I think we live above a gay bar/club….we can hear the dance music pumping until 4 AM or later…we also have Parisiens shouting and racing down Rue St. Martin. One night I heard Americans out there….another night, it sounded like someone tried to steal a chair chained down to a outdoor cafe table…scrapping on the sidewalk…..
on Friday and Sat night…I had insomia. 4 AM equaled dinner time in Chicago. On Friday night…we gave-up on sleeping and headed out to the Boulebard de Sebastpol. We found the Taxi club…Mark ordered a mozerella and tomato salad. I had poulet et frites. Most people are nice to us when we attempt to order in French and end-up killing the language. I suppose they appreciate the attempt.
The next night…I went stir crazy….tried to read more of Hemmingway’s Movable Feast…wrote a bit….wanted to get out again…maybe I had another frits attack. I tried to go out on my own - determined to exert some independent woman attitude on my restless nature. I wanted to challenge myself and survive the Paris night….I got as far as the front door of our building…At 3 AM…two homeless men set-up camp for the evening. I didn’t want to push my luck….I didn’t want to make a scene….and I guess my independent woman attitiude melted into a little fear.
Stormed back upstairs…Mark couldn’t sleep either…We went out the Senior Citzens entrance and head back to the Boulevard. We found a kebab place that had steak sandwiches, frites et boission for 5,50 Euros. Sweet….
The exchange rate sucks ass….this morning, I ordered a 4 Euro cafe au lait. I think it had something to do with the upscale nature of the neighborhood.
We’re making dinner now….ok, Mark is making dinner….taking care of me…Class was fun…but we missed hanging out together….he stayed home and slept in. I discovered a direct line to the Science Po - from the Chateau metro stop. Our program distributed Metro cards for the week. A nice way to save on travel expenses.
I’m loving Paris. I’m getting used to speaking my Etas-Uni-trash French….I like ordering in French….
Oh…and when I carried my camera gear and tripod through the Rue de Lombards and on Rue de Rivoli….to and from class….a few Frenchmen asked if I wanted to take a picture….it grossed me out…but hey, at least they weren’t coming on to a ditzy American…it felt like my camera gear made me more than tourist.
A nice feeling.
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