J'Arrive
The sun is out, the skies are blue, the air is clean. It's spring in France.
I spent the day wandering around the city by myself. (My friends don't arrive for another two days). Lunch at an outdoor cafe where I had a real salad and wine that didn't make my taste buds stand on end. Wandered down the Seine and took pictures of young guys playing frisbee, cherry blossoms, and some break dancers in front of the Eiffel Tower.
I can't help but reminisce about my time here 11 years ago. Just walking down these streets makes me feel like I'm 20 again. Except that back then I could actually speak French. Now every time I try Russian comes flying out of my mouth.
When I grabbed a cab from the airport I ended up with this totally crazy Korean-French driver. At one point he pointed out a stuffed animal - a Lion, I think - in the back of another car and started making roaring sounds. Anything to communicate, I guess. But when I gave him the address I couldn't for the life of me remember how to say the number 63, so I just pointed to it on the paper. About half way between the airport and the city, it suddenly came to me. I exclaimed: soixante trois! He gave me a thumbs-up.
The style here is definitely different than Baku (dress code: black). French men all seem to wear scarves and although it comes off as slightly feminine, it is also really attractive. (Liam, guess what you're getting for your birthday ...) French women are still tall, thin, and ridiculously good looking. After a half year in Baku where I choose my clothing based on its durability against the elements, I'm feeling less than tres chic.
The French may have a reputation for being rude, but coming from Baku everyone seems ... well, ridiculously friendly. This afternoon when I was walking up to the apartment a little girl was having trouble opening her car door. I helped her out and she looked up at me with a big toothless grin and said, "Merci!"
Merci, indeed. This is going to be a great week.
I spent the day wandering around the city by myself. (My friends don't arrive for another two days). Lunch at an outdoor cafe where I had a real salad and wine that didn't make my taste buds stand on end. Wandered down the Seine and took pictures of young guys playing frisbee, cherry blossoms, and some break dancers in front of the Eiffel Tower.
I can't help but reminisce about my time here 11 years ago. Just walking down these streets makes me feel like I'm 20 again. Except that back then I could actually speak French. Now every time I try Russian comes flying out of my mouth.
When I grabbed a cab from the airport I ended up with this totally crazy Korean-French driver. At one point he pointed out a stuffed animal - a Lion, I think - in the back of another car and started making roaring sounds. Anything to communicate, I guess. But when I gave him the address I couldn't for the life of me remember how to say the number 63, so I just pointed to it on the paper. About half way between the airport and the city, it suddenly came to me. I exclaimed: soixante trois! He gave me a thumbs-up.
The style here is definitely different than Baku (dress code: black). French men all seem to wear scarves and although it comes off as slightly feminine, it is also really attractive. (Liam, guess what you're getting for your birthday ...) French women are still tall, thin, and ridiculously good looking. After a half year in Baku where I choose my clothing based on its durability against the elements, I'm feeling less than tres chic.
The French may have a reputation for being rude, but coming from Baku everyone seems ... well, ridiculously friendly. This afternoon when I was walking up to the apartment a little girl was having trouble opening her car door. I helped her out and she looked up at me with a big toothless grin and said, "Merci!"
Merci, indeed. This is going to be a great week.
posted by Jessica @ 9:22 PM
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