freddo come un lungo addio // cold like a long goodbye

A couple of days ago, I got an email from the US Embassy. For those who are curious, here is a selected quote:

"Last year, U.S. citizens reported that glass bottles were hurled, extensive public drinking and drunkenness occurred, and sporadic fighting broke out in Paris around the Champs-Elysées, the Champ de Mars, and Trocadero. Parked cars being set ablaze is also a fairly common feature of revelry in France, occurring even in upscale neighborhoods."

I did not see any burning cars, but celebrating New Year's in Paris was still a singular--and at times, traumatic--experience. But let me start at the beginning:

My friends and I all met up at P.'s apartment for appetizers and drinks. His place was ginormous and only a couple of blocks away from Etoile/l'Arc de Triomphe, so we opted to walk there afterward to greet the new year. This ended up being a really good idea, because all the metros looked like this:

Waiting for fireworks.

The stroke of midnight came as a bit of a surprise as there was no collective countdown. One moment, people were noisy and crazy, and the next...they were noisier and crazier. After exchanging bisous (the French don't hug, remember?!), we decided to walk down to the Champs-Elysées to see what the rest of the masses were up to and to celebrate. Unfortunately, the other 50,000 people there seemed to have the opposite idea; my friends and I were pretty much like fish trying to swim upstream.

Sea of fish people.

Speaking of fishing, you know how there's that scene in Mulan where all the soldiers are taught how to fish with their bare hands? Well, I was walking, trying to not get trampled by the mob, when someone definitely tried to fish me.

Yeah, um...what?

After the first grab at my ass, I was like, "Okay. Just have to keep moving, this is just like changing stations at Châtelet. Just keep moving." ("Just keep swimming," if you're going to stick to the Disney theme.)

So I moved away. He followed. From the nether reaches of creeperdom, there was another grab, with some finger action on the thighs. I pushed his hand away and tried to move forward. I made P. go walk behind me. The hand made a grab at my breasts.

Apparently in Paris, New Year's is akin to Opposite Day. Or rather, Do Whatever the Fuck I Want Because They Can't Stop Me Day.

Do you know what it's like to feel a strange hand tear your tights and try to finger fuck you? In a mass crowd where you cannot get away as easily? And know that the same creeper is doing similar things to your female friends standing right next to you? And to look back and see the person who was doing it, and find his face completely impassive?

No? I hope you never do. That was possibly the one time that I have felt terrified while in Paris. I still get angry thinking about it. Still freaked out.

Thankfully, the boys came to our rescue, and we eventually got to a less crowded space. I gave my camera to J., and he took pictures for the rest of the night.

J. knows I like eye candy. I'm not sure how I feel about these two, though.


This is the less-crowded part of the Champs-Elysées.

We ended up walking all over Paris, randomly taking pictures and just as randomly getting our pictures taken. My memories of that night include: bitter cold, very drunk P., J. almost getting into a fight, M. & I wondering why the hell we spent time with so many boys, J.'s friend playing gentleman and trying to protect us, P.'s sister E. and I bonding over our shared traumatic experience, and the bitter cold. (I have become quite the pussy--I'm sure that it was just in the 20's or something. It's just...I didn't have my winter clothes with me!)

Anyway, I did not make New Year's resolutions that night, and neither did my friends. I have made them since then--or rather, have had them made for me. We'll see how spectacularly I will fail.

For those following along on my love life: I did not kiss anyone for New Year's. I wanted a prince, not frogs. And these frogs (heh) all chain-smoked anyway. Man, I am so clever I kill myself.

Happy New Year!
-From some random quartet.

I know I'm writing about New Year's three days too late. But on 01/01/10, I was busy writing my Christmas post. Do take a look-see if you're interested.

mon beau sapin // my beautiful christmas tree

Happy new year!

...oh hey, it's also a new decade. How about that.

Many apologies for my long absence. I had friends visiting, and then I was traveling, and then I was run over by a truck, and then...

Just kidding on that last part. But I really was traveling! A monstrous post or two about my adventures in Rome and Venice is forthcoming. I promise.

In any case, I hope that the holidays have been good to you all. And that you spent it happy and warm, surrounded by family and friends.

On that note, did you know that I spent Christmas at a chateau in France?

The crèche. The family is Catholic, so this is pretty traditional, from what I surmise.

Before you get too jealous, though, known that I am still trying to decide whether it would've been more awkward to be the lone American amongst 160 French aristocrats (as I expected), or as the lone stranger amongst my host family's immediate family (what actually happened). The lowest moment of my Christmas séjour might have been when we were discussing Christmas traditions and my host mother mentioned that Christmas is a time that the French typically only spend with their closest, most immediate family members. Cue the awkward music.

And so it was that I spent Noël with Madame, Monsieur, their four children, their children's spouses, and their four grandchildren.

French Christmas trees, even aristocratic ones, are not as big.

Some highlights and lowlights:

1. I wasn't expecting presents, as it was way more than enough that they'd invited me to their chateau and fed me delicious French food for four days. But they got me books! In French, bien sûr. Madame said that it was to help me with my French. On a somewhat related note, I am currently working on A Thousand Splendid Suns // Mille Soleils Splendides in French; I have never read the English version.
2. The entire du P. family is extremely photogenic. Despite the fact that I felt like an ugly duckling 20 out of the 24 hours of the day, I think I spent my days in a dazed stupor, wondering how I was allowed into their company. Holy shit.
3. I ate a lot of good food. A lot. Oysters and beef ragu and foie gras. I think that foie gras might be the first French dish that I do not like. I had such high expectations for it, too! When the time came to eat it, everyone cut these huge pieces and put them on their plate. I, of course, followed suit. Except that it was possibly the richest thing that I have ever put into my mouth, and I had such difficulty swallowing it (no jokes here, please). I know that it was just me, too, since it was an old family recipe and everyone else loved it. But to the Asian in me, it tasted just like pure, unadulterated fat.
4. On a side note, I had the worst tiramisu ever. Someone had made it and added crème de marrons and used langues de chat instead of ladyfingers. As a result, the chestnut flavor was overpowering and there was no discernable pastry anywhere. Oh well.
5. If the chateau didn't make it obvious, then I will say it here: the du. P is extremely rich and blue-blooded. In the running for the Second Most Awkward Moment: everyone, including me, was sitting in the salon, when Madame says the following to her three daughters and one daughter-in-law, "Come to the kitchen. I just took out some old gold pieces that I want to pass on to you." Um.
6. That said, I was very surprised by the level of restraint that I saw. I guess it's because they're old money that they're not very ostentatious? The majority of the gifts were books and things that showed a lot of thought and care and not necessarily costly. I mean, there were the random opera tickets and necklaces, but still. I did notice the consumerism that seems to drive most of America. I'm just generalizing, of course.
   
7. The grandchildren are very well-loved, smart, and well-behaved. In short, not me. The smart and well-behaved part, I mean. This made playing with them so much easier. Not to add that it's much less awkward for me to play with children than to interact with French Strangers That I Don't Really Know But Am Celebrating Noël With Anyway. J. is 6, and she has two little brothers: C. (3), and F. (8 months). There is another grandchild, C. (6 months). And they are all so cute. Soooo cute. I think I am now known as the emergency babysitter, hahahaha.

I didn't take many photos, mainly because it's So Weird to take photos of a place that someone actually lives in. And the fact that Noël, while awesome, was also incredibly awkward for me as a Random Stranger from the States. The chateau is located near Dreux, in Normandy. It has its own postcard. Ask me to show it to you sometime.

That said, this was the view from my window. At the chateau.

To come: posts about New Year's in Paris, adventures in Rome and Venice, and the requisite places to visit should you ever find yourself in Paris.

quel est ce mystère // what is this mystery

I was feeling super-depressed when Thanksgiving rolled around. This was unexpected, seeing as I wasn't really into it while in the States. In addition, I'd thought that since the French didn't celebrate it, it'd be better since there would be no reminders.

Instead, I got out of class at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday night, feeling utterly bereft and maudlin.

This malaise, however, might have been due to the fact that M. had been whining about it too. And since misery loves company...

I'm not blaming anyone. Really.

In any case, we decided that a Thanksgiving dinner was, in fact, absolutely necessary. And that goddammit, the boys were going to have to dress up. (The girls, too. But girls don't need convincing.) And so we did.

We all showed up at M.'s place in Boulogne after having spent a fortune on American food ingredients. Despite the fact that pretty much everyone was milling around in the kitchen, each needing to use the oven and stove more than the last, we got dinner on the table in about four hours. Very impressive, if I do say so myself.

Our menu:

• butternut squash soup (I winged it again this year, adjusting things to my taste with much better results)
• smoked salmon & tomatoes quiche with confiture d'oignons
• garlic mashed potatoes
• green beans with lemon butter & garlic (I guess I was determined that we had some sort of vegetable on the table, even if it was slathered in butter...)
  
• roasted chicken (try finding a full turkey in France on a student budget...)
• pumpkin pie with whipped cream
• apple pie with vanilla ice cream
• M.'s whoopie pies from who-knows-when

and



I forgot my camera, so these pictures actually belong to M. from Princeton. I shamelessly purloined them from facebook.

There was, of course, red wine, white wine, and cider to round things out. Not bad for some poor college students three guys and two girls, huh?