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.

Pun.

Local bookstore.

Mona lisait. Get it?

Like Mona Lisa but lisait in French means 'was reading'. So Mona was reading.

The French are so witty.

Jingle bells.

Walking home from school post absurdly generous early Christmas iPhone surprise!