Chock-a-block full of F.U.N.

Lately I have been getting blissfully wound up in the sudden desires of my vacating friends to see the city they've been missing. Suddenly realizing their trip is not going to last forever and that the rigours of study have left them with too much to see in their remaining hours, it has become a race to scour a city long held as impossible to see in a short length of time.

Despite not feeling quite the same sense of urgency, there's something about seeing others trying to squeeze huge Paris into a tiny time period that has given me a jump start on the sight seeing (because I am nothing if not organized...)

Yesterday we set off early and walked through the Jardin des Tulieries (note: never walk through this garden in tourist season, which is pretty much always. It is SO busy you could barely call it a garden. More like an impromptu flash mob where everyone stands round and takes photos of each other while getting in other people's way. Very well choreographed.)

We sped through(of course snapping a quick photo of the bizarre statue that features a man with a cow head lying at the feet of a man who's penis has been broken off. Now something of a tourist activity and a personal favourite of mine.)

We arrived at the Musee de l'Orangerie and were met with a lengthy queue. Despite it still being early in the morning a mighty line had already developed, which is bizarre as it is well known that the lines normally begin in the afternoon. Nevertheless, we were there, so we waited. And boy, was that a regret. We ended up standing in a slowly moving line, outside in the freezing temperatures that made how ever many thick layers of clothing feel like you were wearing a bikini in Antarctica. About 40 minutes later when we reached the entree, I could barely feel my fingers, it looked like I had gone goth with my lipstick choice and my face was bearing the marks of wind chill on the descent from Everest. I was cold.

The Musee turned out to be tiny but pretty cool. It held Monet's Water Lilies and he actually designed the rooms himself which were set out to enhance the viewing experience of the viewer. The paintings were actually massive and filled two rooms. It was quite trippy because looking up close it seemed like a child's drawing, or even worse, something I could do. But when you step back or sit on the seat in the middle of the room, perfect distance back from the paintings and with a view of all of them, they were quite amazing. What looked like silly, random strokes actually became an impressive peice of artwork when viewed from further away, which may have more to do with my eyesight than the clever skill of Monet's artwork organization.

Today I headed up the Arc de Triomphe which I had never done before and was much like walking up the Notre Dame in that the spiral staircase went forever, made me dizzy and by the time I reached the top I forgot where I was and what I was doing.
Despite this, when you reach the top and look out over everything, a whole city with the most tangible feeling of magic and excitement, it is overwhelming.

The view was awesome! The view of Paris from above never gets old. It was incredible to be able to look all the way down the Champs Elysees towards the temporary Christmas ferris wheel, through the Tulieries and towards the Louvre. In the opposite direction the rue leads straight to La Defense and all the tall buildings that look like another land. The people looked like little black ants, all rugged up in their winter coats and looked comical when watching them try and cross the road to the Arc de Triomphe while dodging the wayward cars.

Other than this, things have become pretty hectic now. New Years Eve tomorrow will probably take place under the Eiffel (with the millions) followed by a trip to Champs Elysees where the parties take place (apparently...)

On Tuesday, we're off north to the wine tasting region of Champagne to visit Reims! Should be a day shrouded in dizziness and fun. Then on the 5th, N and I head off on our whirlwind tour to Belgium, Norway, Britain and Ireland!!

Excited. Is an understatement.

Here are some snaps of ice skating outside Hotel de Ville...

Paris...from the Dou Dou.

With the craziness of Christmas making the shops complete havoc and the toursits finally starting to wane, rushing home to their loved ones (and probably warmer climates), we thought it was the perfect opporunity to experience the Dou Dou on a quieter note. The 'Dou Dou' is slang for the Centre Georges Pompidou, the Museum of Modern Art named in honour of the former President (and a pretty rad guy I'm guessing, judging by the visual splendour (or eyesore) that the Dou Dou is).

Breezing past the paying tourists thanks to our Sciences Po cards which the lady took one look at and instantly printed off our tickets, no questions asked (she actually looked frightened so I have no idea what the last SP students were like. Maybe the reptuation of the insitution is based more on intimidation that prestige?)

Hands down, the best part of the museum are the escalators that take you up to the museum itself which are along the side of the Dou and give a complete (and completely breath taking) view of Paris, a view I had never seen before having never been up. The coolest part about the view? You could see our appartment!! (apartment, appartement, I have no idea. French spelling ruined me). In fact, you could even see the fake snow we have sprayed on our windows (which instantly excited me and then worried me given the number of times I've got changed, blissfully unaware of the ease with which people can actually see in). The view stretches from the Notre Dame, to the Eiffel tower to the Sacre Coeur! Its amazing. Definitely one of the best places to go for a view of Paris.

Oh yeah, and we looked at some paintings and shit inside the museum.

Joyeux Noel!!

Merry Christmas Everyone!!!

In NZ, it is now officially the day the red and white man graces our chimney's and remains the only day that dressing up as a white bearded, glasses wearing fat man without getting heckled is totally justifiable. For me, it commences in around 7 hours! Unfortunately, there is not yet any sign of snow. But you never know...

In honour of my favourite day of the year (and for this year, probably the weirdest one yet), I thought I would include a little about my festive trip north.

On Wednesday we set off at the crack of dawn (it was still dark outside for a couple of hours) and headed for the astonishingly desolate metro bar the homeless and cleaners (who looked equally cold and dirty). We sucessfully made it to our train and settled in for the journey, watching the dark, cold countryside speed on by.

A couple of hours (and a bit more sunlight later) and we arrived at Amiens! Famous for its Christmas market (and not much else). It was a tiny town, (when we first got the map we actually thought we were missing half of it), probably comparable to the size of Timaru..haha.

Anyway, we headed straight for a coffee shop to get our obligatory morning coffee's and chocolat chaud's. We were instantly reminded of the best part of travelling outside Paris, everything drops about 10euro in price! Everything was substantially cheaper in this wee town (and probably their single bragging point considering the lack of anything else).

As we arrived they were just starting to open up all their Christmas booths and so we took our time walking through the town. We made it to the stunning cathedral which was about 20degrees colder inside! It was super eerie because there was hardly anyone else inside and we're all used to the busyness (business? buisness?) of Parisian churches. There were no tour guides, no information handouts, no audio guides, just the wide expanse of sight-seeing the beauty of an extremely old cathedral. For me, it topped the Notre Dame. It was so intricate and delicate and was actually in honour of the engineers that defended Amiens and supposedly saved it. Tres cool.

Following our history bout, we returned to the Christmas stalls and throughout the day almost ate our weight in food, trying everything that looked remotely interesting. My favourite was a tie between tartiflette (a kind of potato salad with extra yumminess and creamy goodness, scorching hot on the cold day) and a gauffres (a waffle that is made fresh and you choose what they put in the batter. I chose compote des pommes et cannelle, apples and cinnamon. Mmmmmm). Definitely a sensible breakfast.

We grabbed some hot cider and looked at the various activities as part of the market. My personal favourite was the bizarre but hilarious attraction that included giant blow up clear balls with a hole that children crawled into and then they were pushed down into a pool of water. The kids could then stand up and run around inside the balls but it was really hard to stand up and so they kept on falling over and face-planting. It was extremely entertaining. I really wanted to do it but unfortunately I was a tad too large (would have been interesting to see what happened though...)

The city itself was really cool. It was so far north that it had influences of Britain and Belgium and all the houses weren't very French, often red brick and with white shutters. Felt like we were out of France! There was even a massive tower in the centre of the city that seemed very German. But it was actually extremely ugly! They had tried to decorate it with Christmas lights and make it look pretty but it failed miserably and ended up looking like Santa threw up on it on his way back to the North Pole.

By the end of the day, we could barely move from all the food we'd eaten and we were completely drained and exhausted (from eating so much food, naturally). The train back was filled with laughter, banter and weary eyes, the conversation steadily decreasing from philosophical discussions into the ever-interesting inappropriate talks reserved only for train cabins and their walls.

Omnipresent Hanna...school edition.

Last day of the prestigious walls of Sciences-Po home to my academic awakening and the final opportunity to etch my experience here into visual memento's. As we embarrased ourselves, roaming the campus in search of memorable locations, we were constantly accompanied by the security guards that pace the halls, scowling incessantly, their large, bulking shoulder pads dragging their smiles down. A charming lasting memory.

Moments before I was grateful to be experiencing the ridiculousness of the library for the last time. Not only is Sciences-Po endlessly criticised for its lack of computers (we're talking the Middle Ages equivalent here, its like one per 100 students) but they are painfully slow. Arriving at school, only needing to print my essay off and it took about 20 minutes for the computer to load and about 20 more minutes for me to click on the start key as my mouse refused to co-operate, deciding it would have the time of its life whizzing across the page like a cheetah on E. After finally taming the technological beast and getting to the printer, I waited in line for about 10 minutes (this is completely reasonable given past situations) and then logged on to the nest computer to finalize the printing process, one of SP's many crazy systems. The girl in front of me had decided to print off her billion word thesis on God knows what and I could almost feel the printer begging to stop. And it did. Right when it was my turn.

Flagging the obstacles involved with trying to restart a broken computer (technology and language on a team against me? Hell no) and so off I ran to the other side of the road to the equally stupid but marginally bigger library. Roaming the floors for a free computer (and burning off my breakfast crepe as I went) I managed to find one with about 15 minutes until essay due time to spare. Thankfully this time the printer co-operated and I stapled my paper French styles (folding the corners of the paper over, no staples required) and handed it into the Secretariat.

A stressful end to a semester of stress.

Following are the cringe-worthy but obligatory final day photos around campus.

Lesson Learned.

I have to confess something. Its not too embarassing or shameful (compared with the other ridiculous shit I've done in the past) but it definitely hints at my stubbornness, my 'rip, shit and bust' tendencies and, well.. reaffirmed, shall we say, my navigational skills (or lack thereof).

Last night I was once again lucky enough to attend a delightful dinner, with divine company, delicious French cuisine and friendly waiters. The restaurant was very French, it was located right next to the Pantheon in a really nice area of the 5th. All the tables were underground in caves and I thank my inherited stature that I can actually fit into these restaurants as the ceilings are extremely low and walkways very skinny. Our group took up most of the restaurant and our mis-matched banter and interchangeable language made us fit in with the diverse clientele this restaurant attracted (we had even been warned that a magician often performed at 11.30pm for the guests, something about being shocked by shear talent helping the food go down better).

Nevertheless, the evening was fun and we ended up staying pretty late (though it appears the magician was on leave that night and our high hopes for his true skills were tarnished).

After a couple of extra glasses of Sangria and a complimentary end beverage of a hard but unknown substance (which I'm guessing gives a rose tinted memory of the night, that wobbly chair, hard potato and tiring waiter swept to the wayside). We left together and headed past the glorious, Christmas tree-adorned Pantheon and neighbouring Sorbonne (tsk tsk) for the metro. Living close by and after a large three course meal (with a heart melting chocolate mousse to really set your taste buds aflutter) I opted to skip the metro and walk home. I had walked to the restaurant on the way there, meeting up with a friend to ensure we made it on time. However the walk to the metro had off-centred me slightly and so as I bidded 'bonne soir' to the group, I tried to establish the direction home.

Off I set, content as only a fine dining and full belly experience can do, admiring the beauty of the empty streets in the early hours of the morning. Suddenly becoming acutely aware that buildings in Paris look remarkably similar, I began to notice that I had walked a lot longer in the same direction than I had on the way there. Strolling along anyway so as to keep my face from getting frostbite and refusing to succumb to the preposterous idea that I had left in the wrong direction, I decided to walk on further. Well, I now realize that this was not the best idea.

After walking a bit further, I happened across a map on the side of the street (note: I did not have a map on me. I had broken my bag and was forced to take a small one for the evening, thus sacrificing the least important artefact of a night out in a big city that is impossible to etch into one's memory. In went cellphone, biscuits, hair dryer and the bathroom sink, but my poor map was sitting lonely and forlorn on the table at home. To top off the situation, the map I had saved on my iPhone was refusing to accommodate me and decided to go completely blank). So I glanced at the map and decided I was in fact walking in somewhat the right direction, I just had to veer east. Easy. I can veer.

Thirty minutes of veering later and I still hadn't hit the desired Seine. Problem.

I now had no idea what part of town I was in, didn't recognize the street signs, it was becoming increasingly deserted. Turn back?, you may think. But alas, no. Walk on, Hanna thought.

So I did. I managed to reach a busy street (or it would have been, had it not been for the hour I reached it) and actually caught sight of a metro. I found two 'normal' looking ladies coming out and asked them what direction the Seine was. One looked at me like I was crazy and the other voiced her thoughts "tres loin" she said. Very far? Hmm, not exactly what I was hoping for. "Mais voici le metro" she said pointing behind her, clearly concerned about the distance I was suggesting to. Hanna stupidity won over again. Off I set on foot for the 'tres loin' Seine.

After walking for a very long time in the direction she suggested I fell upon signs for Chatelet and with a boost of delight, I decided to follow them, failing to notice they were in the opposite direction I was currently heading. This new area beckoned bizarre stares and strange comments from passer-bys and I decided if I stumbled upon a metro again, this time I would flag 'mes pieds' and catch a train. Voila! A metro appeared. Finally happy, I bounded for the platform. Only to be greeted with the ever feared blank lines on the board. The last metro had already left. The next one would be at 6am. Umm....oops?

Turning round, I left the station and kept walking. By this time, my face was probably blue (regret of running late and forgetting my gloves and scarf an ever present and chilling torture), my fingers could barely function and then, because I really needed an added something to make the night a little more difficult, it started to rain. Cold, tired, lost, confused, Mrs. Sensible decided to make an appearance in my navgationally challenged brain and I walked to the nearest busy street to hail a cab. At least one thing seemed to be going my way and I managed to quickly get one.

Once in the cab, I suddenly realized I only had 5 euro left from dinner and the euro count on the cab was ticking past almost as fast as my brain was calculating the situation. When the counter got to 4.90 I told the driver that here was fine (it actually was, I could see the Notre Dame so knew what way to go) but once he stopped the surcharge calmly popped up alongside the desired 4.90, becoming an evil 6.80 that caused my heart to drop. I told the driver I only had 5 euro, thinking a kind soul such as his would give a girl a break and dedeuct a measly 1.90, but I guess his kids needed dinner the next night because he refused to relent. He drove me to the nearest cash machine (you would think in Paris they would have cash machines closer together, but no, I felt like I was back where I started by the time we found one). I got some money, gave it to him and thankfully retraced the cab ride back to the Notre Dame and walked the rest of the way home.

Tomorrow, I'm buying a bigger fucking bag and never letting that map outta my sight.

Mail.

Thanks so much G! Love getting mail. It has now joined our Kiwi/Christmas corner! And that's not any easy place to get a spot amongst, the demand is high.

I wish so much that I could come. If my time travel machine is complete before I am so going to be there! Hope you have an amazing night!

P.S. Please record the embarrassing speeches.

Yikes.

Currently deserted outside. An unusual sight. May be the time I'm returning home from a dinner and drinks.

Looooong story.

Any excuse for a kir.

This evening I took part in a regular event for Sciences Po students but something which would be considered a little less ordinary in other universities, drinks with my teacher.

This is a normal way to end your semester classes at SP but really just another French excuse to get to socialise and drink wine. We met at a cute wee bar in the 5th near St Michel, a good area for a nice drink. A lot of people were studying so there were just a few of us (a lot of the people in this class are French, hence their need to study) and it was a great chance to get to know the few that went.

Turns out my teacher is pretty cool and extremely nice (even more surprising considering she's American). She actually is distantly related to the duo who 'started' Hollywood and even performed as a dancer for 18 years before she became a teacher, including on Broadway! Respect.

It was such a nice night and I even received an invitation to spend Christmas with her! Told ya she was cool.

I topped off the night with a walk home along the Seine and detoured past Hotel de Ville, checking out the Christmas lights that sparkle and the giant Christmas trees adorning the entrance. There was even a massive stage being set up that I'm crossing my fingers is an ice rink! Nothing like falling on your butt on hard ice cold floor to get you in the Christmas spirit.

Finally, when I glanced back one last time to see Hotel de Ville in all it's Christmas glory, I managed to catch the Eiffel tower during its hourly sparkling sesh, the twinkling lights that drape the Eiffel basking the city in a magical Christmas glow.

Monday Morning Madness.

Today was one of the more interesting days I've experienced and made me feel more French than ever. Nothing like getting caught up in the ridiculous French bureaucracy to make you feel part of a foreign nation.

So last week I received an email from the French Immigration Office (OFII) that I had an appointment for today to receive my carte de sejour, another required document that allows me to legally be in the country for longer than 3 months (irnoic, considering I've already been here longer than that.)

My appointmment was for 9.30am and I got up early so I had plenty of time and wouldn't miss my sacred rendez-vous because I was 30 seconds late. I got mildly distracted on the way there (might have been something to do with staring at the Bastille monument and the amazing boulangerie's I've only just discovered litter this arrondisement) and arrived at the door just on time. (Its here that I have to thank techno geniuses that we have iPhone's because without it I would probably be half way to Germany by now, turns out my navigational skills aren't quite up to scratch yet. Sorry Dad, maybe I should have packed an atlas.)

Anyway, I made it to the right place without too much strife and instantly knew I was in the right place judging by the queue outside the door. I joined the who's who of homeless celebrities (Mr. I've Been Drinking For a Month Straight, young My Parents Haven't Showered Me Since I Jumped in the Seine, and Mrs. I'm Pregnant With My Twentieth Child to Thirteen Different Men.) I didn't know if I had to wait in the line but the doors and windows were tinted so I couldn't see what was inside and I've already learned that you don't want to mess with French officials (and I was about to learn again.)

After about 20 minutes (by which time my face and fingers were numb and I joined the communal smell of whiskey, cigarettes and wet socks) a man came out asking if anyone had a rendez-vous. I immediately jumped forward with two other girls and a guy who stood out from the crowd (read: clean clothes and sans their wardobe and kitchen sink in a trolley alongside them) and we were ushered inside.

Once we got inside it was quieter and cleaner and we were asked to show our convocation, a document that we had been said with our personal information. Unfortunately I hadn't been able to print mine and after explaining this to the nice man he lead me to another room. This room had a small, scowling lady speaking to a man and his daughter who looked like they had just hopped off the container from the ship that brought them to France. The lady looked at me and I told her my situation, that I couldn't print mon convocation. She speed off in angry French that it wasn't her problem, she was busy, had lots of work to do and people to see and that she didn't have time for petty issues like printing that should have already been done. I tried to explain that it was impossible for me to print it (half true) and that I had only recently received the email (not true). After a quickly escalating discussion in which I told her there was nothing that I could do, she finished with the people who were with her (and watching in awe as the small white girl with shocking French took on a fiesty French woman), she left the room with a disgruntled "I'm leaving my computer for 2 minutes so do what you can in that time". Strangest invitation to use an official's computer I've ever had.

I quickly printed off my forms and ran upstairs before she could attack me some more and arrived to another room full of people. Thankfully the added level (and weight) of the upstairs lady's made them far more friendly and I was able to give them all my documents and take my seat. It was at this time that the people coming up were saying the people in the queue outside decided the best plan to move things along was to try and bash the door down. Not sure how that plan was going to play out once they got in, use their limited literacy skills to try and forge their own forms?

Luckily I ran into a few SP classmates and the slow time wasn't quite so unbearable. After about 30 minutes myself and a group of people got called through (to yet another room full of people!) but there were no seats so we stood awkwardly in the entrance. This obvisouly got too much for one doctor who ordered us back into the other room to prevent crowding. Halfway back, the lady who originally took us through encoutered us getting taken back by the doctor and this caused a heated argument between the two woman which involved screaming, shouting, a lot of oggling glances, the group of us walking backwards and forwards between the two angry women and resulted in the doctor throwing the other lady's peices of paper on the ground and storming off angrily. Nevertheless we ended back up in the second waiting room, but alas, this time we had seats.

I waited more and was called through to the first testing room where I was measured, weighed (don't go there), had my eye sight tested (hilarious experience trying to strain my eyes, guess the letters and then say them in French, I think my awful accent actually helped in this scenario) and then was led through to the room where you get nude and have your x-rays taken.

This is followed by more waiting before the second testing where your x-rays are checked (Tuberculosis-free Mum!), blood pressure taken, heart rate checked and the question stage. Now, according to my records I have had my measles and tetanus injection in 2011 just before I came to France... Nothing they don't know won't hurt them right? I'll blame incoherency if I ever get a needle to the face.

Finally, I got to go through to the final stage where I waited some more, then was given instructions and obligations and sent on my way.

'C'est tout?' I asked.
'C'est tout? C'est pas suffit?' She asked me back, laughing heartily with her raspy smoker's cough.

At least someone had a sense of humour about waiting in queues for 4 hours on a Monday morning.